Super Bowl Sunday.

Doesn't add up.

The tour was to be camped out right outside of DC for a week, which meant it was a rare point on tour when I could relax and figure out something fun for the cast and crew to do. On the first free day, I got my hair done, did some shopping, and met up with relatives. On the second free day, I organized a tour team trip to see the various monuments and museums which, at our age, meant having a bus drop us off right in front of the Washington Monument and saying, “Meet back here in six hours.” Our show had been on the road for several months at this point, but touring through the winter is never fun. We’d spent most of it in the midwest too, where all that wide open farmland really did nothing to keep bitter cold winds at bay. For myself and other city dwellers on the tour team, this stop was a lot like coming back to civilization after spending weeks on the moon. 

The third day marked the end of our real off time but a relaxed load-in with no show to do that night was a godsend. A few cast members came in for swing rehearsals (there are certain people on the cast who are “swing” members which means they understudy for multiple parts and can swap in when needed). A few more came in to brush up on some choreography that had been losing its integrity as of late. And miscellaneous crew members would use the in-venue downtime over the next two days to repair props, costumes, and set pieces. However, as usual, our time at the venue began with the production manager and I introducing ourselves to our point of contact. And that is when we met David. 

David looks like the typical white American dad with a beer belly and a hairline that barely peeks over the horizon of his scalp. He’s got big, meaty hands that he reaches out with to introduce himself to Mark, the production manager, with a smile and a booming voice. I reach out my hand to do the same, introducing myself as the tour’s company manager. He looks at me funny, ignores my hand in favor of the slightest of nods, and then leads Mark by the shoulder further into the building like they’re about to spend the next hour tossing a football back and forth while talking about car engines. I sigh and follow behind for the rest of the venue walkthrough. 

The confused or, in this case, cold reception isn’t exactly uncommon. At this point, I am twenty-six but still routinely get told that I look like I’m right out of high school. I’m not notably tall (though to my understanding, being 5’4” is a pretty typical height for an American female). I tend to be more on the soft-spoken side unless I’m putting in the effort not to be. And on top of all that, I’m a black woman. So if anyone from a stagehand to a dock chief to a venue manager is expecting someone to emerge from within the circle of tour buses and big rigs, it’s not me. They presume I’m a production assistant at best. Perhaps a lost merchandise assistant or “hospitality girl.” Or even a rogue singer or dancer. 

There’s often a look of surprise when I say I’m actually in charge of the whole circus that just pulled up to their doorstep which is the most unusual for venue managers who I’ve been emailing with for the past few weeks. They know my name. They know I’m a woman. Odds are we’ve spoken over the phone. So what’s tripping them up? But once Mark emerges (or sometimes any man who even looks the part, including truck drivers) questions have a funny way of getting funneled to him. Luckily for this tour, Mark is actually a manager so he can answer half of those questions, the ones that have to do with stuff happening on stage. The other half he just turns around and asks me. Getting this particular job in the first place set that tone from the very beginning.

“You’re not our first choice,” the head of HR told me once I’d closed the door to her office. “In fact, you’re our last choice but we don’t have time to find anyone else right now. Nobody here thinks you can run this tour, including me. Quite honestly, you look like you’re sixteen and even though you’re not, we tend to hire people who are older than you. So I’ll give you one piece of advice: We’re not sending you out there to make friends or hang out or have fun. The guys on this crew will no doubt walk all over you. Don’t try to be their buddy just to gain their favor.” 

Who did they bring me in to replace? A guy whose alcoholism had him passed out drunk next to a dumpster in a venue’s back alley one too many times and a guy who was meant to replace him but got freaked out by the complexity of the math he was expected to do. Math that was quite simple, it was just enacted across a spreadsheet with an insane amount of equations that were easy to get lost in if you didn’t understand the accounting principles behind what was going on. And while I was no accountant, I definitely understand show contracts and how they orchestrate the flow of money. When I passed that particular test with flying colors, the entire finance department was abuzz with delight. 

Anyway…

I run into David in passing a few more times as we go into a full rehearsal day and then three packed show days. I see him shooting the shit with Mark almost routinely. They’re talking about the Super Bowl which is happening on our final day at the venue. There would only be an early show that day so people could get going to their respective Super Bowl parties. But it’s only on that Sunday when he finally speaks to me directly and he does so first thing in the morning. 

“Mark says I’m settling with you tonight. It should be quick,” he says. 

Between the fact that the deal for this engagement is a co-pro (co-promotion), not a straight versus deal or guarantee (it’s a tiered deal which means the money is split up one way for the first few tens of thousands, another way for the next few tens of thousands… so on and so forth), and the fact that we had a couple extra days for production (which would cause many additional deductions that aren’t usually there), plus five very well sold shows, I know at the end of the night David and I are going to be sitting down to sign off on a rather large dollar amount with a great many line items. And usually, I find, this makes for a bigger chance that things - in fact - might not be as quick as one would hope.

“He probably said that because it’s the Super Bowl tonight,” Kate, the stage manager, told me. We occupied the tour production office alongside Mark. I ask Mark if he thinks David has been acting funny. He says no and I once again push it out of my mind. 

Throughout the day, David comes to my desk dropping me pieces of prelims, each time behaving as if I’m the last person on the planet he’d like to be talking to. I retrace my steps to try and figure out if I did or said anything that upset him. 

“Are you even looking at these?” he snapped when handing me another document after catching me in the middle of the hallway. From a glance, I could tell it was an out of date labor invoice. 

“I am. But you’re not giving me final numbers. I’ll still need some time once all the finals are in to be able to sign off on a settlement. It’ll also take me a while to go through the final show’s box office reports.” 

“The computer does the calculations for you,” he argues. And it’s true. All the big venues have their own spreadsheet templates that auto-populate everything. But because our show has a lot of funky deal stipulations and a lot of random discounts going on with ticket tiers, only combing through the numbers of a settlement line by line will guarantee accuracy. It’s what the home office explicitly trained me to do. And if my settlements aren’t accurate, I’ll have the home office blowing up my phone first thing in the morning. Odds were they’d be staying up tonight to get my numbers because they know it’s going to be a big pay day that even their own bosses will be wanting to know about before going to bed.

“I will be doing my settlement to company standards. But I assure you, I’ll be going as quickly as I can,” I said. Each word just seemed to make him more pissed off. I should note that David is not the one Mark or I advanced with. He was probably the midlevel guy who got stuck having to supervise a show on Super Bowl Sunday.

Forty minutes after the show's end, even once I’m done with my sparse on-stage duties and helping with meet and greet, I still have no box office reports (they’re having technical difficulties) and am still missing most finals for expenses or their appropriate receipts. A truck driver hasn’t arrived on time so I’m working on tracking him down while Mark begins the full load out. While sorting out the truck driver fiasco, David emails me a settlement with the box office reports attached. It’s a lot of new information to sort through. He asks if we’re settling in his office or mine. 

Usually, to get away from the noise and traffic of load out which always has a habit of spilling its way into the production office, I elect to go to the venue’s office to talk over numbers as it’s usually quiet and secluded. But the vibes I’m getting from David are so severe that I told both Mark and Kate that I’d be doing settlement in our own production office and I’d like them to be present. Not involved in the conversation itself, per say, but just in the room. 

“I have a feeling I’m going to need witnesses,” I told them.

I run into our merchandise manager in the hallway and ask her if she’s settling with David tonight too. She says she is coupled with a knowing look on her face.

“I don’t think he likes me,” she said. I tell her what my plans for settlement are and she asks if she thinks it’s that serious.

“I hope it isn’t,” I told her. But the way things work when you’re on a bit of a high profile show at a bit of a high profile venue representing a company that has been conducting business with that venue for a long time, if something goes sideways with settlement, the seasonal hire that no one wanted in the first place is not going to be given the benefit of the doubt. And I hadn’t had such a strong feeling a settlement was about to go sideways since my days working in nightclubs.

I do the math that David sent me and, as expected, it doesn’t add up. It actually doesn’t add up more than I thought it would. Rather than simply tidying up the kitchen, it’s looking like we’re going to have to install new plumbing. 

David walks in and it becomes quickly apparent that he’s expecting to just pick up a signed copy of the settlement and continue on his way because he doesn’t feel the need to sit down.

“I think your calculations are off but if you take a seat we can start at the top and see if I’m just misunderstanding something,” I said even though I’m pretty certain I’m not misunderstanding anything.

So we do. But it’s not far from the top where things already start to go off. He can see it highlighted on my print out. I only get through about half of these highlights when he stands up with a force that shifts the entire table, papers go sliding, he takes a step toward me and his finger jabs me in the chest. 

“Look, you little girl, I-”

Time out!

You know… for all the stories I tell on here, I’m obviously not recounting word for word how various conversations went down. What I’m doing is restructuring basically how they went. But much like one of my earliest settlements back at my first steady job at a nightclub where a table was flipped, money flew everywhere, and firearms were flashed, I truly cannot recollect all the things David spewed at me. There’s a narrative near blackout in my brain regarding this interaction. From what I was told later, there was a lot of stuff about my lack of intelligence, my appearance, how I’d never get anywhere in my career, and how he didn’t want to change any of his numbers. I offered to get my superiors on the line in the finance and booking departments who - by this point - were fans of mine because what used to be the company’s “problem tour” in terms of management now had no issues climbing so far up the chain it would ever reach their desks. And most importantly of all, I never messed up when it came to their money. 

What told me that David knew I was probably right was that he didn’t want to get anyone else involved either on my side or his side. Slowly but surely, he backed away and sat back down. I went through the numbers. He listened. He took the marked up paper between us and walked out saying he’d send the updated one via email. I said I would sign it electronically as soon as I received it so he wouldn’t need to walk all the way back down here. 

“What the ACTUAL FUCK?” Kate shouted after a few long moments of tense silence. “Oh my god Anna, are you okay?” 

“Yeah?” I said, the adrenaline only then just kind of taking a step back. I wondered if my voice was shaking. “That must be one helluva Super Bowl party he was running late to.” 

“I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life,” Mark said. 

“As long as the both of you saw it. I’m going to put this in the show report as tactfully as possible.” 

By the next day, the story of this settlement had spread through the whole tour party. Kate was the driving force behind this. 

“I honestly don’t know how you didn’t cry. I would’ve. You remained so calm and controlled, staring him down like that. Legendary.”

I really didn’t recall it going down that way, but Mark relayed as much the following afternoon when the booking director got the three of us on the phone. While my description of the situation was a bit vague in my report, apparently David had lit the fuse on his end too. To my relief, his bosses saw how wrong his numbers were and with the full unfolding of events witnessed by two other people, I was entirely in the clear. 

“Thanks for handling the situation,” the booking director said. “On to the next one.”