Our eleven-year-old is in the thick of the annual youth musical production at the Firehall Theatre. His first show was The Wizard of Oz: Youth Edition; last year was Finding Nemo Jr. (despite the title, the protagonist was Nemo the first, not the son of Nemo). This year, it’s Rodger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella: Youth Edition. The designation of “Jr.” and “Youth Edition” means that the show is appropriate for children – no chopping off any of the stepsisters’ toes or heels in this one – and the length is greatly abridged. The Firehall Theatre’s Cinderella runs one hour wire to wire (or shabby shoe to glass slipper), which is exactly the amount of time a person needs to quietly eat a package of candy in between applauding the near-constant musical numbers.
Oh, you don’t have a package of candy to eat in between applauding the near-constant musical numbers? Well, you are in luck, because I am the self-identified queen of the Firehall Theatre concessions.
The very wonderful Firehall Theatre runs on hopes, dreams, and very little money. Part of the reason it runs on very little money is that it only seats 60, and the other reason it runs on very little money is that it doesn’t charge enough said money for its wonderfulness. Eleven’s participation in Cinderella, for example, cost us $50. This summer, he was in a (much worse in every possible way) youth musical at a fancy theater company in the Twin Cities, and that cost us $500. This pricing disparity is obvious to many; at the last showing of Cinderella, a grandma gave the theater manager the business for not charging more for concessions. The manager shrugged her shoulders and answered as she had many times before: they want theater to be accessible to all.
Since the Firehall runs on hopes, dreams, very little money, it also solicits the help of volunteers. Every year, the youth production sends out a list of volunteer opportunities. The most important of the helpers is the hair and makeup team, and the Firehall asks for volunteers who are “confident in hair and makeup skills.” If you’ve seen me in real life, you will know that I am confident that I have virtually zero hair or makeup skills. Even still, I help Eleven with his stage makeup every year. This year, the makeup instructions for the male roles included bronzer.
“What does bronzer do?” Eleven asked me as we walked up and down the aisles of Ulta.
“I think it makes you look more bronze,” I said.
“Why do you want that?” He asked.
“For, you know, stage reasons,” I said, because I had, and have, no idea what bronzer does.
The second-most important of the volunteers are the backstage helpers. Backstage helpers keep the actors quiet, respond to emergencies, and assist with backstage crossings. As I’ve never been quiet a day in my life and can’t tell you if stage left is the audience’s left or the actor’s left, backstage helping is also not for me.
Which leaves the least important of the volunteer roles: the concessions helper. You’d better believe I’m the A+ Number One person to raise my hand for that role. This year, I signed up for four of the ten concessions slots, and I would have taken them all but I figured I’d better leave a few for the other non-makeup, non-hair, non-backstage parents out there.
The lobby of the Firehall is smaller than a single-stall garage, and the concessions stand – a little rolling countertop – is about three feet wide and two feet deep. It sits against the wall next to the auditorium door, so when the door is open, half of the stand is cut off. The concessions volunteer stands behind the little counter, pressed up tight so as not to disturb any props also stored in that area (in the case of Cinderella, Cinderella’s coach, hidden under a white sheet). While challenging, this location not does hinder sales in the slightest because the lobby is so small that there’s really no avoiding it, and also because the stage manager always does an amazing job setting up the candy to look inviting, and ALSO because it’s a youth production and much of the audience are children and children like candy.
For the first time in three years, Kyle volunteered to help me, the self-identified queen of the Firehall Theatre concessions, with concessions.
“Okay,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it.
We arrived at the theater. I took my place at the concessions stand. Kyle shoved in next to me. Due to the space restrictions, neither of us was able to stand flush to the stand.
“I’m going to organize a bit,” I said, digging underneath the cabinets and pulling out a few extra items to put in the candy display (which did not need anything more).
“I’m going to take inventory,” Kyle said, opening a drawer and finding an old envelope and a pen to do something that did not need to be done.
“Okay,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it.
I organized and he did inventory and that took all of thirty seconds.
“Look,” he said. “Someone wrote how much they made at the concession stand last year.”
He flipped over the envelope. Last year on a random date in December, the concession stand made $20.
“We can beat that,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, this time meaning it.
“Is there any wiggle room in the prices?” He asked. “They need to charge more than a dollar for water.”
“No,” I said, pointing to the pricing sign. “There’s a sign.”
“Harumph,” Kyle said.
The audience began to arrive. Since there were two of us and the room was really small, we started selling the candy from the moment they walked in the door. As the concession stand was really only wide enough for one person to make a purchase at a time, our aggressive sales techniques probably didn’t make a difference. Still, we made $27.
“Beat ‘em,” Kyle said as the lights went down.
“Team Kosior: Grownup Edition,” I said, low-fiving him in our seats.
I tried to take a photo of the self-identified queen of the Firehall Theatre concessions at the concessions stand, but it came out blurry. Instead, here are some of the actors currently starring in Cinderella: Youth Edition.
This week on North Dakota Today we talked about Mandan High School’s first-ever state tennis championship, as well as an event this week to unveil a new sculpture in Hazen in honor of Major General Eldon Joersz, “the fastest man in the world.” (Valley News Live)
Here’s the first bit of my latest column in the Grand Forks Herald:
There’s nice, there’s really nice, there’s North Dakota nice, and then there’s the Greater Grand Forks Sertoma Club.
Founded by Jay Seeger on Nov. 1, 1958, under the motto “Service to Mankind,” the Sertoma Club has lent its hearts, hands and wallets to generations of Grand Forks residents. The work club members do is big in both impact and scale. For 68 years, they’ve lit up the Fourth of July skies with spectacular fireworks shows — the club’s weekly lunchtime meetings open with a prayer for “no rain on the Fourth of July” — and hosted an annual Independence Day festival that has been a community tradition for more than three decades. They are the organization behind Sertoma Park, one of the largest parks maintained by the Grand Forks Park District and home to a Japanese Garden, arboretum, Greenway-connected trails and Ali’s Boundless Playground, which was the first playground in North Dakota designed to be accessible to people with disabilities.
Trail cameras? Good. Otter puns? Very good. (KFYR TV)
Speaking of trail cameras, a camera and some nice North Dakotans recently saved a woman’s life. (Valley News Live)
Looking for some free jazz? Look no further. (Grand Forks Herald)
If you live in North Dakota, you probably recognize the name Taylor Fisher. Billy and Sue Fisher, her parents, are doing good in her honor. (Facebook)
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