The Vagina Monologues performance we volunteered at was an eye-opening one for me, a night chock-full of firsts. Destini and I arrived at Woody’s (a local gay bar) before 6pm on 2010/4/10, just as the Boys ‘R Us group had finished their audio setup. From the energy the members put into the impromptu rehearsal during the sound check I could see that I was in for an intense ride during the actual performance.
They didn’t give us anything to do while running the last-minute practice, so I took this time to examine my surroundings. Woody’s is an outdoor bar/grill, located close to the Tucson mall. The outer wall featured signs prohibiting firearms and one that said bluntly: “This is a Gay Establishment. If this offends you/ DO NOT ENTER.” This fact didn’t offend me, and after flashing the bouncer my license I found the inside to be a scene similar to any other bar I’ve ever been to. Aside from the sign, there was nothing to suggest that I was standing in a “gay” bar. I watched the ensemble finalize positions on stools around dynamic mics and noticed several conspicuously-placed security cameras that covered the parking lot and interior. One half of the outdoor space housed several pool tables adjacent to the bar proper, which offered stools and spirits to its patrons.
The other half of the space was obviously geared towards performance and relaxation. The triangular stage was tucked into the corner with a wide selection of patio furniture surrounding it. Tents and gazebos proffered shade. As darkness fell, more people stopped by to visit – I’m tying this to 1) the upcoming performance event and 2) folks getting off of work and standing by to have a good time. I didn’t want to stare at the clientele and instead tried to immerse myself in the environment. I saw couples, singles, friends, and acquaintances; there was a noticeable contingent of tattooed females in Hanes white tees and lowslung jeans. I didn’t notice any sort of interpersonal interaction I hadn’t seen before; people in bars across the world raucously toast drinks, sing songs and clap each other on the shoulders. We didn’t order any food or drink, but the help was extremely helpful and polite otherwise. Rachel showed up and we helped her retrieve lights, props, and cables from her SUV.
Arrivals at the bar started picking up around 7:40. As more guests started to file in, Destini and I helped to arrange seating – opening folding chairs and holding reserved seats. For the duration of the performance, Dante and Rachel had us light up and man the merchandise booth. They sold Boys ‘R Us t-shirts (navy accented with neon pink with “KNEEL B4 YOUR [drag] KING” printed on the back) and artful photographs illustrating alternative gender expression. They also offered (with donation) bumper stickers, pamphlets, and packets of condoms and lubricant. The booth’s placement directly in between the bar and performance area offered views of both bargoers and performance attendees. We couldn’t see the performers but heard the pieces very clearly.
I’d never heard the female organ talked about this openly, ever. This includes experience with the hyperbole you can only find in high school boys’ locker rooms. I wonder why the topic is so taboo; maybe it’s the media outlets I expose myself to. The line repeated in 2005’s “The 40-Year Old Virgin” comes to mind: “You’re putting the pussy on a pedestal.” I don’t lionize the body part like the movie dialogue describes, but the topic isn’t at the forefront of a regular conversation I have with a member of the opposite sex. The vagina is an enigma, and any vague notions of understanding I might have held before the Monologues show were further mystified into an inscrutable mess.
The Boys ‘R Us troupe performed for about two hours under different colored floodlights. The bulk of the show’s content was an exhibition of factual vaginal information and how perspectives on the subject are shaped by each individual’s unique experience. Each member of the group did a different piece. “Hair” was the first piece, and it touched on that region’s coiffure (trimming the hedges vs scorching the earth, as comedian Dave Chappelle put it). Next was a piece that asked “What Would Your Vagina Wear?” My favorite answers were rain slickers and galoshes. “The Flood” was a story that detailed a woman’s personal vilification of the orgasm as an abnormal – and almost inhuman - biological process, and the “Cunt” piece was a defiant reclamation of the contemptible term. Other engaging compositions followed, and the production went smoothly.
I was engrossed by how they closed the show. The second-to-last selection was a chorus of sorts, where the cast pantomimed moans by various vaginas (including different ethnicities, “valley” girls, and college students). Interesting to note was the audience reaction to the brusque sexual talk - females got into it while males fidgeted uncomfortably. For the most part, though, the audience ate it up, and this piece was easily the performance’s best-received excerpt. It was very effective then, for the group to end with a memoir that touched on abuse, and human trafficking in “The 8 Rules for Surviving Teen Rape.” The violated and furied tone of the closing piece resounded in stark contrast to the lighthearted chaff of the previous – nobody laughed while the last lady spoke. The audience sat rapt with attention, captivated by the passionate performance at the show’s climax.
Afterwards, Destini and I put the Boys ‘R Us merch into a couple of bins and helped tuck away the seating and cables we’d arranged earlier – the audience area was to be used as a dance floor for the “Tomcat” event scheduled to followthe monologues performance. After carrying the march bins to Rachel’s SUV, we got our signatures and headed out.
The selection of pieces raised a few points in my head. I have an idea of what a vagina is and can mean to the person it belongs to, but my assumptions stem solely from a male perspective. Is my nature of my relationship with my genitalia the same as the one that exists between a female and her private parts? I would think not. How is that relationship different, then, for a non-heterosexual female? Is the relationship between a non-straight female and her pudenda closer to mine than the traditional female’s? I’m sure volumes have been written on the subject, I need to go to the University Library.
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