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“Live in 3 minutes!” Micah shouts as they jog down the hallway, knocking on every door in sight.
This is so something that they thought was below their (not very impressive) paygrade when they got the promotion to Assistant Technical Director of the theater. Sure, Micah’s still Assistant Stage Manager for stage right, but it’s a notable upgrade nonetheless. Theater is made on hierarchy, after all.
Unfortunately, it’s mission impossible to staff a sports event. The gays don’t give a shit and are wanting a break between runs of real shows. Apparently, this was a last minute venue change because of a union pay requirement for award shows’ labor that scales according to organization budget. Leave it to the multibillion dollar corporation to be cheap about labor.
Even though Micah hates being a sorta-scab, they also can’t afford to break their contract and get fired. Decent, stable jobs in the technical theater industry are hard to come by. Seriously, there's so few permanent gigs willing to consider somebody without a BFA.
The other place was an event venue that’s used exclusively for film, so their union falls under NABET-CWA. On the other hand, Micah’s unionized under IATSE because they do actual theater more often. So they're technically different industries entirely and not really scabbing.
So, here they are. Running around like a fool looking for Ilya Rozanov based off of a single photo from Wikipedia. Micah hasn’t even ever met the guy! He didn’t even show for dress rehearsal! Fucking sports ballers. Management has really gotta stop taking these gigs.
Much to their chagrin, they only hear a “Thank you, three,” in return from some PAs and hair/makeup. This is certifiably not the goal of this expedition all over the theater. The expedition that started at the 7 minute mark, for that matter.
“Booth, you got eyes on Ilya? Dirty blonde curls, presenter,” Micah prays they’re not out of range of the comms system.
“You lost the talent?” Cara, the spotlight operator, laughs at him.
“Shut the fuck up, Point-And-Shoot,” Micah snarks back, “You’re not even booth. Why the fuck would he be anywhere near catwalk?”
“Rude. Some people like the ambiance here,” Cara petulantly argues.
“It’s like seven billion degrees up there and it takes a flight of stairs and two ladders to get there. Also, he’s a wholeass hockey player. Man ain’t crawling around up there for fun,” Micah rolls their eyes.
“Saw him outside during my smoke break an hour ago, haven’t seen him since,” Juniper, the stage manager and head tech director, replies.
“Motherfucker,” Micah sighs.
Micah glances down at their watch. It’s officially two minutes till air, which means it’s time to haul ass back to the stage. People who say tech isn’t working out are a bunch of liars, because they’re sprinting back right now.
Also, all the hardware is not light. Sure, these are all a bunch of hockey bros who lift cars for fun or whatever, but Micah likes to think they have some muscles after being in the industry for so long.
They get back to the stage at 1 minute and 15 seconds till air.
Being oh so helpful, the other ASM, Shayne, doubles over laughing at Micah being out of breath as fuck, “Skip cardio day, Mikey?”
“Fuck you, Shayne,” Micah pants out over comms, probably a little too loud, “You’re striking alone now.”
“Sorry, am I in your way? Or late? I mean, I could stay after if it’s really needed, you guys make this place run. Not sure what striking is, but I can learn if necessary,” some well-dressed guy apologizes while he anxiously idles.
Ah shit, there goes the one rule of the night of not upsetting the multimillionaire talent. Seriously, the guy could pay off all of Micah’s debts and pay their rent for five years and pay for their fuckass old car to get fixed and have so much to spare. Talk about different tax brackets. Hopefully he’s not one of those annoying rich people who get all offended.
“Shit, are you…” Micah glances at the script, skimming to where they are, “Shane Hollander, Montreal? That's a bad coincidence, damn.”
“That’s me,” Shane Hollander nods, “Did I do something wrong?”
Micah shakes their head, “Nah, you’re good,” then sharply points across the stage to the other wing and turns on their comms set again, “That motherfucker laughing at me is named Shayne, with a ‘Y', who could’ve split the venue with me to find Ilya!”
“Dude, Shayne. You made Micah cover the whole venue alone? That’s homophobic, it’s literally Pride Month,” Cara replies.
“I’m literally bi and we’re all going to pride next week,” Shayne throws his arms in the air.
“Transphobic too, only cis man of the stage managing team,” Juniper adds on to the joke, “Guess who’s striking the rail too now.”
“Nooo, I won the bet so Micah has to do it this time!” Shayne complains.
Micah was really hoping they had all forgotten about that. With Juniper double dipping to run lights tonight, it was a tossup of who would have to strike the lights to reset them for the next show. Unfortunately, Micah lost the last poker night more than Shayne did (Juniper always wins). With the chorus of agreements on comms, Micah has been doomed to striking all night.
“I hate all of you, happy fucking Pride Month to you too. Really feelin’ the love. You're so lucky HR doesn't hear y’all,” Micah sighs, “Can I get a 2 minute hold for Ilya? Can’t fucking find him.”
“Holding 2,” Juniper replies, “Standby, homos and Shayne,” she effectively shuts up everybody.
Shane Hollander— the Hockey Shane, if you will— looks like he’s seen a fucking ghost. He’s on his phone, but was obviously listening in on Micah’s conversation. Ugh, leave it to these sports ballers to get all in a tizzy about the mere mention of gay people.
Whatever, the MLH agreed to pay a 2x salary rate for overtime. Sometimes, homophobic sacrifices must be made for financial security. Still chump change compared to the NABET-CWA contract that would've charged the MLH 5x standard pay for all hours, not just overtime.
Micah puts on their professional voice again, “Apologies, sir. We need to hold an extra two minutes for your partner. If he doesn’t show, we have an alternative script for you.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Thanks,” Hockey Shane looks even more taken aback, “I don’t— he isn’t— Rozanov isn’t my partner.”
“...Are you not presenting with him? Scene partners?” Micah questions, scrutinizing the script that definitely has Ilya and Shane together.
“Oh, yeah. That. Yes, presenting together,” Hockey Shane replies, “Uh, I don’t have his number or anything to text him. Sorry.”
“Y’all don’t kiki? Sports and all,” Micah accidentally lets slip out, to which the cishet man looks even more confused, “My bad, assumptions that all sports people talk.”
Hockey Shane sighs in relief, which is weird because there’s nothing to be relieved about, “No. We’re rivals. You don’t watch hockey, do you?”
“Sir, my job regularly requires 100 hour weeks and 24 hour shifts. I’ll be here till 6am. I could not keep up with sports even if I wanted to,” Micah candidly answers.
Look, they’ve been up for way too long to keep up a real filter. Running all over the place for Ilya did not allow for the previously planned caffeine break they had.
“Oh,” Hockey Shane distantly replies, “Sorry.”
“Ilya Rozanov, please report to stage right immediately. Live in 1 minute whether you’re there or not,” Juniper threatens over the god mic.
Icon. Happy Pride Month. Nothing feels like liberation quite like threatening the 1%.
Speak of the devil and he shall come, because another man in a tuxedo strolls up to stage right. He looks enough like the Ilya Rozanov Wikipedia picture, so it’s probably him.
“Wow, nice watch. They give it to you for free or what?” Ilya teases Hockey Shane, elbowing him a little.
“Where the fuck were you? We’re on in five seconds,” Hockey Shane does not take the jab at all.
Well, at least Hockey Shane is making Micah’s job easier. They’d have to do this whole “Sir, in the future please try to be more timely to avoid delays” politeness bullshit. Hockey Shane says what internal Micah is thinking. Love it. Icon.
“No, 25 seconds,” Ilya doesn’t hesitate to shoot back.
“What were you even doing?” Shane flatly asks.
Ooh, tea. This will be great fuel for strike gossip, which is the only way to get through the tail end of a 24 hour shift. Besides, of course, fast food and energy drinks. Those are the real MVPs of the theatrical tech industry. Which, arguably, is the MVP of this whole sports award show. Just objectively speaking, of course.
“I was busy,” Ilya replies after a few beats, fiddling with his tuxedo like he’s on top of the world.
“With who?” Shane snaps back, okay king.
Ilya doesn’t answer because they get called out to do their job or whatever. Boo no closure. What’s a queer gotta do to get some good gossip in these trying times of working the world’s straightest event?
“Music 73 go.”
“Cams 171 go.”
“Spots 57 go.”
“Music 74, Cams 172, Spots 58 hold.”
“Standby stage left talent.”
“Standing.”
This is Micah’s favorite part: where they don’t have to do anything. It doesn’t last very long, but let a person dream once in a while. They watch the two sports-ers present. God, Ilya and Hockey Shane are not good at this. Maybe it’s Micah’s working-in-theatre-bias, but it really cannot be that hard to not sound so stiff.
Then again, Hockey Shane mentioned being rivals or something. No clue what the big idea about that is, but whatever.
“Hey! Before we give out next award, can I get a selfie with you?” Ilya asks like he’s wired up for the police and bad at faking it.
“What?” Hockey Shane cheats towards Ilya.
“Come on, when will this ever happen again, buddy?” Ilya pulls out his phone.
Somehow, Micah isn’t convinced that Ilya would ever voluntarily say the word “buddy,” but eh, the straight writers of the MLH might just be mediocre. Lots of cishet white men get way too far in that industry, full offense.
“Okay fine, but hurry up,” Hockey Shane leans a little towards Ilya.
Ilya holds his arm out and… what? Puts a hand on Hockey Shane’s neck?? Is this what no homo bro rivals do??? Micah can't help but pull out their phone to snap a picture.
“Ilya has a hand on Shane’s neck. It is not the upper back,” Tech Shayne reports out, obviously cupping the headset around his mouth so nobody hears him whispering.
“Can confirm,” Micah replies.
“Thank you, homo thirded,” Cara replies, putting a spin on the standard response of “Thank you.”
The audience awws a little and there’s some light chuckles. Micah is struggling to hold back their laughs that are disproportionate to the mediocre acting. Then they lock in. There’s movement.
“Hand is on the move, I repeat, it is going down the back more sensually than my ex with me at Badlands,” Micah live reports, snapping a couple more photos. For a group debrief, of course.
“There has been ass contact! Brief cheek to hand contact!” Tech Shayne adds.
“Is he gay or European? It’s hard to guarantee,” Cara softly sings.
“This has to be a yes and sitch,” Micah notices the way Hockey Shane doesn't flinch away at all. Arguably, he even likes it, “Does sports ball is gay???”
“Women's field hockey does is gay, therefore men's ice hockey does is gay too,” Cara logically reasons, making Micah laugh even more.
“Definifely. Standby spots, music, cams,” Juniper cuts off the gay speculation, then huffs out a laugh, “Hold gaydars.”
After a few moments, the names get called and Juniper calls go for the next bit. One bro speech later, the winner goes back down to his seat and the lights go dark.
Micah wants to stop to chat with Shane and Ilya, just to be nice and give a little queer signal. A subtle standing invitation to Badlands next time they're in town or something, maybe a Rocky Horror mention. Unfortunately, they don't get to because Hockey Shane bolts off stage and past Micah out the side doors.
Ilya looks confused for a quarter of a second, then follows Hockey Shane. Micah doesn't get a chance to say anything before the next cues come up and the next presenters start pestering them. The rest of the show goes on with, unfortunately, no more homoerotic moments. Boring.
Soon enough, but simultaneously not at all soon enough, the theater clears out until it's only staff. Building Maintenance will come by tomorrow to vacuum the house, but otherwise it's all on their measly skeleton crew of 4.
The MLH brought in their own sound guys for some reason, but they left with everyone else. Without cleaning up, as a given. Another day, another plight.
Of course, the remaining theater crew spend the whole wait eating Taco Bell and gossiping about the highlight of the night: Hockey Shane and Ilya. It's settled that 1: They will never breathe a word of this to anybody. 2: The two are definitely gay for each other. And 3: Micah will protect the photos with their life.
In theory, strike shouldn't be too hard. There's not even a set. Just put things back how they were before, prep the rails for the upcoming show, clean out whatever shit was left backstage. In practice, it's a lot more specifically on Micah.
The crew had agreed to stagger their shifts for this show so that everybody still has a 24 hour shift, but they all finish at different times. Despite it sounding inefficient, it actually works really well for this. Heavy lifting first, then individual tasks. All that to say, it's 3am when Juniper leaves and Micah is left alone.
They're playing some music over the sound system because who's gonna stop them? And so what if it's a little on the loud side? What's the point of working at a world renowned, historic theater if not to take advantage of its sound system?
Anyways, the MLH people brought in a bunch of their own lights. Micah could not be bothered to argue it. That means that they now have to take all them down, package them up for their people to pick up in the morning, and rehang the theater's lights. It's not hard, it's just tedious.
Maybe they should've argued.
Allegedly, maybe, Micah is straight up jamming out to queer punk right now. It's Pride Month! Let a gay have some fun when they're stuck at work for a billion years. Their partner is swinging by later to bring some food, though, so they've got that going for them.
“Oh wow, you're really still here,” a voice scares the literal shit out of Micah.
“The fuck?!” Micah takes a defensive position, arming themselves with the blade they've been using to cut down the shitty daisy chaining the MLH crew did.
That's when Micah processes the person in front of them, “Oh! Hi, there,” they lower the knife.
“Whoa, sorry,” Hockey Shane holds up his arms, “I forgot a bag in the dressing room.”
“They're open, don't fall in,” Micah gestures in the direction of the dressing rooms, then processes that Hockey Shane is holding a bag, “...But you figured that out already. You could've sent an email, we ship lost things all the time.”
Honestly, Micah's surprised Hockey Shane doesn't have an assistant or something to do this for him.
“Fall into what? Huh?” Hockey Shane looks confused, “Never mind. I also wanted to stop by myself. I'm sorry for causing you so many problems today, it sounded like I got you in trouble with your boss. I can put in a good word or something to explain?”
“What?” Micah turns down their music, “Where did you get that idea? Me and June are cool. She's a menace, but cool.”
Hockey Shane chuckles like Micah's missing the joke, “I'm familiar with the type. What are you doing right now?”
“Fucking MLH left all their lekos and movers. I need to swap them out for cue-by-cue tomorrow morning,” Micah complains, then realizes they're talking to the face of the MLH.
“I… don't know what any of that means,” Hockey Shane admits, “But I heard of a lot of problems this year with contractors.”
“I need to take down a bunch of these lights and put up our normal ones before 6am so that our normal people can come in and program them for our next show,” Micah rephrases it.
“Would you like help? My flight’s pretty early, so it's easier for me to stay up,” Hockey Shane offers.
Micah says yes because they're in no place to refuse help. Anything to get off even a little bit early, right?
“Sorry, what's your name?” Hockey Shane asks.
“Micah, they/them. I'm the Assistant Technical Director for the theater and do most of the rigging. Like… making physical things be in the right place so the smart people can program it better,” Micah tries to explain.
“They/them?” Hockey Shane looks confused.
In hindsight, Micah should've known that the sports baller wouldn't know, “My pronouns. So you use he/him, I use they/them. I'm not a guy or a girl, I’m just Micah. Nonbinary is the word for it.”
“Oh, that's neat. I didn't know that was an option,” Hockey Shane awkwardly says, “Anyways, what can I do to help.”
Micah gives him instructions on how to pack the lights and gloves so he doesn't get burned. Maiming a millionaire is not an activity that's in Micah's tax bracket.
“This is so not worth the extra 250 net,” Micah complains under their breath when they come across the billionth tie with no courtesy tab.
“Wait, what?” Hockey Shane pauses.
“Yeah, my normal rate is 31.25/hr, 8 hours overtime at 2x, $250,” Micah rattles off the numbers that are second instinct at this point.
“It's a 24 hour shift and you're only getting 8 hours of overtime?” Hockey Shane questions.
Micah nods, this is always annoying to explain to people, “16 hour shifts are the norm in the technical theatre industry. My show weeks are really intense and usually are around 100 hours, but my off weeks are only 15 hours, so it evens out mostly. Plus I get a week of PTO, which is nice.”
“This feels like a labor rights violation, and I work for the MLH,” Hockey Shane comments.
Micah bursts out laughing, “Union approved! Honestly, it's a good deal for the industry, it used to be a lot worse back when I wasn't union yet.”
“You should make more, you make this whole place run,” Hockey Shane doesn't back down.
“God, tell that to the C Suite. They make fucking bank with their new cars and mansions, meanwhile I'm barely making it work and renting a dinky apartment,” Micah complains, “Don't tell management I said that, I need this job. Can't fuck over my little siblings and partner like that.”
“You live with siblings?” Shane politely asks.
Micah nods, “One’s my bio little brother, and then my partner’s bio little sister. They're both in middle school right now, it didn't work out with our parents,” they vaguely explain, not wanting to get into the homophobia aspect of it.
“Oh, that must be a lot. What does your partner do?” Hockey Shane asks.
“She can't work because of her disability and the kids, so it's all me. Sometimes they sell their art, but yeah. Since we're married, they don't qualify for disability, so it's a whole thing,” Micah vaguely gestures, “I don't mean to dump on you. It's late, no filter. We're surviving. Most Americans are only one crisis away from being homeless, so we're not special or anything.”
“It's okay,” Hockey Shane nods intently, ”I don't mind listening.”
“What's got you up this late, anyways? I'd be beat after actually dealing with people like you do at an event like this,” Micah tries to pivot.
“I was out with somebody, but they wanted to go to sleep earlier and I felt restless. I was packing to try to catch an earlier flight, but realized I forgot something and now I'm here,” explains Hockey Shane. It feels like something's missing, though.
The two keep mindlessly chatting up until Micah's partner comes waltzing in.
“Hey, babe,” Micah pulls them in for a kiss, “Meet Hockey Shane, he's been helping me out. Hockey Shane, this is my partner Kat, they/she pronouns.”
“Hockey Shane?” Kat and Hockey Shane question in unison.
“Yeah, yanno. Hockey event, there's a Shayne on crew, sounds the same, needs a difference,” Micah explains.
“Most people call me Hollander or Hollzy,” Hockey Shane chuckles.
“I'm not a cishet man bro, no thanks Hockey Shane,” Micah refuses to no homo at that level, “Anyways! What did you bring me, sweetheart?”
“Iced coffee and hardboiled eggs. But, I brought some bread. Y'all still got that weirdly large PB&J stash from that fundraiser?” Kat asks.
“Fuck yes, we do!” Micah exclaims, quickly running off to grab the company toaster oven, a jar of peanut butter, and a bottle of grape jelly.
“It's the 13th, right?” Kat asks as Micah sits down and makes their toast.
Micah nods, “Yep, 15th is when SNAP funds disperse, paycheck hits the 16th. Hockey Shane, you want some?”
“Oh, uhh, it's okay,” he tries to politely refuse.
Canadians, right?
“No, really. I insist. It's rude for us to eat here in front of you, and it's my union break,” Micah smirks, giving Hockey Shane half of their own breakfast.
Kat gives Micah a worried look. They both know they're tight on money and food right now. Not that the kids would ever know, that's not their problem. Also, they get free breakfast and lunch at school.
Micah waves them off and pulls them in close to whisper to them, “I'll stop at the UNLV food bank on my way home, they don't check my ID because I look young enough.”
Hockey Shane eats and politely makes small talk with Kat, “So do you watch hockey?”
Kat happily shakes her head, “Nope! We're not a sports family really. It's expensive and the teams here suck. Mikey gets us into a lot of shows for free, so we're more into that.”
“Oh, that's understandable. My family's big into hockey, evidently,” Hockey Shane gestures to his Montreal sports-y looking shirt, “If you ever wanted to come to one of my games, I can get you guys good tickets. Sorry, is ‘you guys’ okay?”
“You're good, no worries,” Micah replies, “And you don't gotta repay us for me putting you to work and feeding you a pathetic breakfast.”
“No, but you were kind to me. Helped me get my mind off of Ro— things. It's been nice. I'd like to hang out again,” Hockey Shane awkwardly proposes.
Micah feels totally out of their tax bracket with this one, “Yeah, of course. We can't really travel, but if you're ever in Vegas I'm down. Here, we can exchange numbers,” they pull out their phone.
“I'll add you and text you, what's your last name?” Hockey Shane asks.
“De Luna Ramirez Cole, separate words, no hyphens,” replies Micah, then they rattle off their phone number.
Moments later, a text notification pops up from an unknown number, Micah adds the contact as “Hockey Shane Hollander.”
“Cool. I need to get going to catch my flight. It was really nice meeting you both,” Hockey Shane gets up and leaves.
Micah waits until the door is firmly shut and it's obvious that Hockey Shane is gone, “Oh my god, Kat. Hockey Shane was gay on main with another hockey dude named Ilya. I've been dying to tell you since they presented, holy shit. You can't tell anybody, but holy shit.”
Years later, that cishet fucker leaks the video of the two hockey players and Micah sends their longtime friend a text.