This is a story that I'd totally forgotten about until I wound up in full-on nostalgia mode at the bar last night. It occurred to me halfway through the story that it would fit perfectly in this thread.
Going back to late 1993 here. Senior year in high school I was not a stage manager yet - I was, however, a wannabe director AND head acolyte/altar girl at my suburban church. (For those of you who know me and my subsequent lifestyle choices this will be incredibly amusing.)
As I was a precocious little kid and an accomplished brown-noser, I had an arrangement with the PM and Assistant PM at the Hartford Stage Company that permitted me to sit in on their tech rehearsals and watch everything as it unfolded. I was down there every 8 weeks or so for another round of observation. (It was really fun!)
That year, the Episcopal Diocese of Connecticut appointed a new head bishop, who was to be ordained at the cathedral in Hartford, across the street from the Hartford Stage Company. Churches from all over the state sent people to participate in this service, and I was sent from my church to serve as an acolyte. Due to the huge number of people attending, they had rented the Hartford Stage space for the overflow with CCTV showing what was happening in the actual cathedral and one of the other bishops serving on the stage of the theatre in person.
I was assigned through the names-in-a-hat process to be the acolyte for the theatre overflow service. As I was supposed to be leading the procession for this group of clergy, I found out about this 15 minutes before the service started, when I was giving my marching orders for where I was supposed to lead the procession. It was for most of the acolytes a less-than opportune scenario as it didn't allow them to be seen by the majority of the congregation. I believe I burst out laughing when I was informed.
So, carrying a rather heavy cross and wearing full religious regalia, I led my little posse of bishop... and priests... and a small choir... up the aisle of the cathedral (don't trip)... out the side door (eek it's bright out here)... across the street (this is getting surreal)... into the theatre... past the Assistant PM who had no idea that I was coming. I made eye contact with her only briefly and the look of combined sudden recognition, amusement and relief on her face was truly impressive. I took my seat on the stage and spent the entire service trying not to giggle at the absurdity of the entire situation.