Okay, so there haven't been any awards yet.
If anything, they would be more like citations.
So I guess it's good news that this is just a "conceptual thing"...
Whatever keeps us out from behind bars.
You approach the darkened doorway when a flashlight
suddenly switches on and beams across a sign that
hangs on the doorknob. You struggle to focus in the dark
of the night. The sign, a fingerpaint affair, hangs
crookedly, and you wonder if this operation is legit at
all...
At the door, a man with a flashlight whose face you
cannot see. You offer him cash for admission which
he denies. No admission...how bizarre. He leads you
downstairs to a small,
windowless room. There is a makeshift stage area and
forty or so mismatched chairs, one of which you take a
seat in.
Godwilling, the audience begins to fill out, and soon
it is standing room only. Just as the air becomes
nearly insufferably thick with the presence of a crowd,
the lights dim quickly and unceremoniously, and a hush
fills the room.
There is a snare drumroll, and a spotlight, and you
have your first glimpse of the emcee. A greasy, gothic
sort, she tells you to relax and enjoy the ride...
The emcee exits and the players enter. The speedy delivery and
hilarity of their performance is something you have
not had the good fortune to behold in a long, long while.
And though the technical quality of the performance is
pretty much nil, you find yourself enraptured by the
clever performance and the wit of the original script.
The players conclude the first act and the lights come
on again. The flashlight man and a helper are serving
free drinks out of a few nasty-looking old thermoses and
they're pouring them into an array of mismatched disposable
cups. You grab a drink but inspect and sniff it first:
Hawaiian punch and Citrus soda. Not exactly Club Med fare,
but you take a couple of belts of it and sit back down.
No one in the audience knows anything about these strange
folks. The house is a veritable cacophony of questions
and befuddled exclamations. Then again, just as the
crowd becomes overwhelming, the lights go down once more.
Again the players enthrall you with their clever banter.
They exit, and the emcee reappears to summarize and
bid you good evening, when suddenly you hear the sounds
of police sirens outside, and a crash at the door!
The emcee just laughs and bids you a hasty adieu, and
you see the players clamoring for an alternate exit.
They barely escape as the fuzz arrive; two uniformed
officers and a plainclothes detective. They search for
the players in a frenzy but find they have indeed escaped. The detective
turns, "They've struck again...The Break-In Players."
"I found this note on the floor," one of his subordinates
pipes in, and hands him a scrap of paper which he reads
aloud, "'The Break-In Players will strike again, one month
from this night, at the Corner Coffeeshop after it closes
at eight o'clock.' Rats!" he exclaims, and crumples the
paper, "All right, everyone clear out of here," he tells
you all, "there's nothing left to see here."
He and the other two usher you out to the lot, where you
suddenly see the emcee and players laughing and giving
each other high-fives. You have no choice, you and the
rest of the audience burst into spontaneous, raucous
applause. You hear the detective's voice, behind you.
"There they are, round 'em up!"
Fortunately, the emcee hears him as well, and she
the players leap into a van which speeds away. The
cops are too late to even pursue. The detective shakes
his head.
"All right, lock this place up. You folks run along,
and enjoy the rest of your evening. And try to forget
about these delinquents, if you can."
