So many meters.

Hey folks! I’m gonna cycle through a variety of hats I’ve worn in the past from the trenches of backstage theatre. Let’s have a look at all the unique and delightful personalities that were never happy just working real jobs. Starting off is one near and dear to me, the Deck Sound. It’s usually a doo rag or skull cap.

Deck audio. These are the pale folk who are responsible for strapping invisible microphones to sexy girls and sweaty guys. The job is slightly more invasive than “TSA Screener” and involves slightly more embarrassing pawing-up-on-of grannies and exposure to radiation, albeit in the form of wireless transmitters and receivers (which, for layman’s sake, I’ll refer to as “sprinkle pixie magic talk-talk box,” because explaining how they actually work makes slightly less sense).

The enemy? Sweat. A single, wayward drip of sweat can be the difference between a solo like whoa and a no-go show. At any point in the performance, the natural juices produced by performers performing may collectively overwhelm ridiculously expensive, sophisticated technology and wreak audio sweaty hell on earth.

Typical show procedure involves waiting backstage in mortal fear, cresting before each expensive lead performer’s big production number. Salty little fuckers perch on the tip of a practically disposable microphone, playfully toying with the thought of ruining your day. It can drop at any point, although likely when most deleterious to your career. It then becomes the deck audio person’s job to dive into the performer’s unmentionables and wrestle out whatever pertinent technology they have successfully destroyed this performance, only to instantly and invisibly replace it before the next time they are expected on stage. Most performers I’ve worked with are amicable to this, but I’ve always imagined the life of a professional performer to be rife with moments of career-critical stripping.

Consider this: hundreds of thousands of dollars and hours have been invested in design and development. We now have the best wireless microphones we’ve ever had in the history of humanity, barring some sort of lost Egyptian technology using, perhaps, reeds and crocodile paste. It’s a triumph of the human spirit that talented performers continue to innovate methods for completely destroying our technology simply by using it.

Were I to paint with a broad stroke, I suppose I would suggest working deck sound is a bit like chasing a pink unicorn made entirely of marshmallows through a crowd of sugar-starved eight-year-olds: at times, peculiar in retrospect. That said, there are precious few professions for cisgendered heterosexual males with non-medical technical training to paw with impunity through the undergarments of attractive young women and be thanked for the effort. Nothing’s really all bad, I suppose.