Category: communications

The Ask

The federal election campaigns are now in full swing here in Canada, and I’m proud to say the this year is the first time I’ve ever both requested AND received a sign from the candidate for whom I intend to vote.

Although I must admit receiving the sign didn’t go down exactly as I would have imagined.

In my head, I pictured the candidate coming down, shaking my hand, celebrating my public announcement that I intend to vote. Making the neighbours uncomfortable with my oh so visual opinions, on display for all to see. A photo op maybe? The leader of the party even shows up on my doorstep and we play a game of “Questions Only” together because I’ve told him I run an improv company, and he cares about small businesses and the arts! (Swoon!)

Now, it’s been incredibly hot in Ontario the past few weeks and so stupidly humid. Also, I work from home, and when I don’t have to be on Zoom, then comfortable, breezy attire is the way to go for me.

I was working in the garden one day for a little bit – not too long, because it was so dang hot, watering some plants. (BTW I’m growing tomatoes for the first time ever, and it’s very satisfying. They’re turning out great, so if you want some tomatoes, let me know, because I don’t actually like to eat tomatoes.)

I went to return the hose and noticed a car pulling up in the driveway.

The Delivery

Now let’s be honest, this is not a common thing anymore. Since the pandemic started, it’s rare strangers just show up on your driveway, unless it’s to drop off the SkipTheDishes you ordered when you get too overwhelmed to go to the grocery store.

I was in a good “no ordering food online” place, so I was confused. Who was this stranger?

A middle-aged man steps out of the car and asks, “Did you order a sign?” (I do feel it’s important to mention his age and gender.)

Ah yes, this makes sense. He’s here to drop off my sign! I’m actually getting a sign!

I approach him, he asks where I would like it, I indicate. The whole time he looks me up and down very strangely. I attribute it to the pandemic regressing everyone’s social skills. I try to continue with pre-pandemic social pleasantries and carry on with exceptional politeness.

I ask him if he’d like a glass of water. (Again, because it’s friggin’ stupid hot out – he’s even commented on the heat by this point.

He looks terrified I’ve asked him this. He says “No thanks,” and basically runs back to his vehicle as quickly as possible. I wonder what I could have possibly done to scare this adult man. He then stays in the driveway for what I would describe as way too long, and eventually drives off. (Side note — if you turn down a drink of water and run away from a person, you probably shouldn’t linger in the driveway. It’s very off-putting.)

Just then, I realize I’m still in my gardening clothes. I’m wearing a shirt I’ve had for at least ten years. It has holes everywhere, namely a big one right above my nipple. Granted, I was wearing a bra, however the bra was skin-coloured, and may easily have been mistaken as my actual boob skin.

The Outcome

He caught me in garden-mode! I didn’t have time to change! I keep to the backyard! I certainly didn’t expect anyone to come to the door!

But NOW… this random NDP volunteer thinks I’m some disheveled boob-exhibitionist trying to lure him into my house with promises of water and who knows what other inappropriate propositions.

TBH, at 20% in the polls right now, they should really take all the support they can get. Boobs out and all.

Improv tics.

We all have ’em. The little things about this craft we love that just rub us the wrong way. Let me tell you a little about mine, if I may.

*Brie steps forward, a spotlight shines down on her as she addresses the audience, as though the rest of the people on stage disappeared and therefore, no longer matter.*

THAT’S IT! RIGHT THERE! Stop it! Cut it out!

Let me remind you, improvisers:

  1. You’re not the star;
  2. Your job is to make your partner look good; and
  3. This isn’t friggin’ Glee. Calm down and collaborate.

It’s not often we get a super-long time on stage to play. Unless you’re one of the more experienced teams or duos, you have limited time up there, and you’re on the clock. It’s better to spend that time connecting with your partner(s), not tooting your own horn centre stage, ignoring everything and everybody else around you!

If I wanted to watch one person talk at me, I’d turn on CNN.

This is improv, I want to see you make discoveries with your partners. I want to see you create something together. The audience wants to see you build worlds together.

Sure, there are a couple exceptions. It’s pretty much mandatory that you step out and give a ‘lil monologue when playing any “film noir” or Oscar Moment scene. And obviously the storyteller of an Armando has to take centre stage and speak to the audience to tell their monologue. Or maybe you’re doing solo improv, lawd have mercy, why would you? But maybe you are.

What I see when an improviser goes rogue and sacrifices the scene for their moment in the spotlight is someone who doesn’t trust either themselves or their partner. Which is fine. We’re all along this journey and there’s no mistakes in improv. Got it. Save it. Move on. Now stop that.

Look at your freaking partner, in their freaking eyes. In their freaking face. That’s where you’re going to find the information you need. The answers to your terrified mind-questions. You’re not going to find it in the audience staring back at you impatiently. You’re not going to find it at the back of the room in the booth. You’re certainly not going to find it in the blinding lights above.

You’re gong to discover it in your partner. Please please PLEASE don’t leave them behind.

Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much. —Helen Keller