While in college, I did work study in the university’s scene shop, building sets for the school’s mainstage productions. This was a really beneficial experience– I learned a ton and developed a lot of really useful skills– but it was also just a ton of fun. Here are some humorous memories I look back on fondly:

We kept a running tally on the shop’s whiteboard counting how many drill bits each of us broke during the semester. The idea was to (playfully) shame us into being more careful, but the shop supervisor had to clarify a few times that it wasn’t meant to be a high score tracker. I think one of us had a kill-counter in the upper teens.

We started using little magnetic pieces that you could attach drill bits too. It sort of shielded the bit and held it in place. One of the upperclassmen showed me the new purchase and how they worked. At the same time that I declared, “oh, it’s like a foreskin for the drill!”, the shop supervisor walked by us. He only shook his head.

We built and hung a humongous zeppelin from the ceiling for Trix’s aircraft in The Drowsy Chaperone. It was a nightmare all around. Building it sucked, hanging it sucked, getting it to move when desired during the show sucked. One of the upperclassmen who had spent a significant amount of time with that monster of a zeppelin was given a sledgehammer and first-smash privileges when we pulled the prop out to the dumpsters during strike. She vented a lot of rage that day.

One day, a couple of us were working in the metal shop, which was a small room off the main shop space. As we’re getting some pieces prepped for welding, we hear the sound of the circular saw, and screaming. We all book it into the shop to make sure everyone’s arms are stilled attached– they are. There was a feshman theater major who had to take Production class to fulfill his degree, who was so afraid of the saws that he decided to vent that fear by screaming the entire time he used them. We watched him load a piece of wood, begin screaming, turn on the saw and cut the wood, turn off the saw, and then stop screaming. I’m pretty sure his saw privileges were revoked after that.

While not working in the scene shop one day, I was helping set up some things for a choir event. The director, knowing I worked in the scene shop, waved me over to help him lift and move something. I warned him that I am not strong, I have always had an astonishing lack of muscle. Our scene shop was a very collaborative environment, and there were always a number of people around to help you lift as needed. The director figured I was underplaying my abilities. He lifted his end of the heavy wooden bench we were moving easily– and I could barely get my end off the ground. Appalled at my shocking lack of strength, he gasped, “don’t you build sets?!”

The scene shop supervisor was keen on having a couple students in charge of any given “area” of our work. There were a couple who were mentors for carpentry, some for electrics, and some for paints. The previous mentor for the metal shop had graduated, so the shop supervisor began training me as a freshman. I took to metals very easily– I found them much more forgiving and a lot more fun to work with than wood. One day, he and I were working side-by-side on a big metal structure. We were passing the MIG gun back and forth, taking turns so he could evaluate my welds and give advice. After I completed one, we both lifted our welding masks and appraised it. All he said was, “give me the gun.” I handed it off, and he cranked out another. We raised our masks again, he breathed a sigh of relief, and said: “Whew, I just wanted to make sure I could do one that looked that good.”

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If you get the chance to participate in scenic carpentry or production work, you should absolutely take it! I can’t recommend the experience enough.