Lookingglass Staff Retreat: Or, Theater Sneaks up on Me

During our Lookingglass staff retreat, David Catlin led the staff in both boisterous theatre games, and sobering reflection. As the Lookingglass Marketing Intern, I was invited to participate.

The Box Office crowd presented their piece next.

At David Catlin’s suggestion, Lizzie Perkins thumped on the moss-colored wallpaper, and Erik “ting”-ed out a beat on the radiator, high and quick. Lizz Edele and Jonathan Green rocked back and forth to the beat, hands raised in claw shapes, teeth bared, stifling giggles.

The effect on a whole was somewhat primordial, us all sitting cross-legged on the ground, watching people mime the story of their everyday lives.

For the last piece, Catlin had Heidi and Jenny sing, “My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean” as the Development crew high-kicked, speaking on imaginary phones, and holding out their hands—smiling all the while like Cheshire cats.

“What were you kicking?

“The copier.”

“We were kicking the copier, too!” shouted the Artistic team.

The real kicker was that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After the applause, Catlin leapt in front of us once more. “Okay, now, everyone partner up with the person they know the LEAST.” Production staff found Development staff, Artistic staff found Marketing. I found Lizz Edele, the assistant Box Office manager. We were assigned to “interview” each other, then share the results with the group.

After swapping answers in one of the labyrinthine rooms of the Hancock building, we joined the others on a circle on the floor. People began to speak, gesturing to their partners when appropriate. I was too busy running through Lizz’s information in my head to notice. Her last name’s pronounced “Eeee-dah-leee,” not-

I blushed as all the eyes finally turned to me.

“This is Lizz Edele,” I stuttered, gesturing awkwardly. “She, ah, her first pet was a… parakeet named Peepers…”

At each mention of a correct sentence, Lizz nodded encouragement, shifting eagerly from cross-legged to kneeling. I suddenly noticed, as I spoke, that all eyes were on Lizz and her reactions, not on me. “This is the girl whose childhood pet was named ‘Peepers’? Why, she’s not so different from me!” I began to listen as others were introduced. These people weren’t so scary!

I started to have vague flashbacks from my work on the “Brothers Karamazov” study guide and its themes of interconnectedness. I glanced at Catlin, suddenly afraid of his ability to impress emotions onto an audience at will.

Then I remembered the name of his first pet, and relaxed. Such a man was all right.