There was a good omen in the absolute opening moment. John and frogboy29, Michael, were in the studio rehearsing. It was a sketch I had written about a police force who had been accused of multiple unnecessary shootings so they are assigned an intellectual to ride in each cruiser to provide a broader philosophical and moral context for any situation they come across.
I was in the booth with Scott, our engineer. The speakers were turned off and I was watching John and Michael silently do their lines through the window as they warmed up. Behind me, in the hall, I heard an irregular tapping noise. I turned and saw a well-dressed blind man with a red-tipped, white cane standing in the door.
Scott said, "Can I help you?"
The blind guy said, "Yes, I believe I'm supposed to be in this studio."
Scott looked at me and shrugged. "Umm, what group are you with?"
The blind guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief and dabbed his forehead over his sunglasses. "My group is coming in to do some vocal work. We're going to record a musical version of the Lord's prayer that I wrote." He said that with great pride.
At that moment the receptionist appeared behind him. She said, "I think you have the wrong room. I'm going to go back to the front desk and check the book. Wait right here."
The blind guy stood where he was smiling and swaying slightly. Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head. He swirled around in his chair, flipped a switch and turned the speakers on in the studio.
John was trying out different versions of one of his lines, so out boomed John's voice, "So, she's fucking beating him in the head with a Bible. So, she's hitting HIM in the head with a fucking Bible. He's praying for her to stop and she's hitting him in the GOD DAMN HEAD with a Bible."
Michael, meanwhile, was reading straight through his line, "Hasn’t that been the purpose of the word of God since its inception? To control man, whether it is through emptry threats of a non-existent heaven or being hit with a Bible, it’s all oppression. How much humor is there in pain?"
Scott turned white and fumbled with the buttons trying to turn the speaker off. I started silently laughing, afraid to look up at the door. As soon as Scott turned the speakers off, we both turned. The guy was gone and all we could hear was a fast series of clicks as he ran down the hall.
I managed to stifle my laughter until I made it into the studio and shut the door behind me.