The lost tape

My teenage years used to centre around going to school (it was the law or something) and drama club which was everything to me at the time. I would cycle 6 miles in and 6 miles back twice a week to take part in and help put on a number of youth productions of varying quality.  It was great, it provided me with true friends and girls to fall in love with (from a distance) who would talk to me and everything. It really was my safe place away from the awkwardness of school.

I used to act (willingly) and they’d make me sing (quietly) and dance (badly) and on some shows I’d help backstage. That essentially meant I was in charge of pressing play on the cassette player linked to a decent sound system when music or sound effects were needed.  I’d sit above the stage on  two planks of wood ready to slide the sliders up and press play! I loved it, apart from when the local taxi company suddenly broadcast on the same frequency and I could be seen just randomly sliding and pushing buttons to try to make them go away. 

After rehearsals of one show I left the cassette tape  somewhere on the stage of the great little theatre we were lucky to use. The following day the phone rang at home and one of the people who ran the club asked if I knew where the cassette was.  I didn’t, I knew I had left it there.  He clearly was cheesed off as it had all the original music on it which he would have yo record again.  He said don’t worry and presumably went off to set up his keyboards. 

Despite knowing I had definitely left it at the theatre my anxiety  kicked in for the first time that I can clearly remember.  The tortuous whirring of the mind and feeling like the world would end. What if it was my fault, what would happen, it’s definitely my fault, the world will end, everyone will hate me (just before the world ends), where did I leave it, they will kick me out, I’ll have no friends! Repeat on an infinite loop, reach for sweets, comfort eat, worry, worry, eat, fizzy pop, worry, worry, watch Grange Hill. 

After a couple of days at the next rehearsal where it felt like all eyes were on me ( they weren’t ) I broke down in a combination tears and snot and sobbing. Everyone was very kind and I awkwardly accepted a hug from a real life lady and I felt like a bit of a dick. My already very low cool factor continued to decline. 

The next day the lost cassette was found in the bag of someone else. Brilliant. 

And so begins 30 years of fearing the worst.