Let There Be Light, Part I

As part of my job, I'm assisting in hosting and ushering people at an event at a theater. First it requires setting up a place with the building contractors and subcontractors. I feel a lot of anxiety about whether or not I'm doing it correctly or messing something up—I keep feeling like I'm making a big error, which will then get these people at my job coming at me all crazy, yelling, "Why'd you do that?!" and, "Did you forget?!" and asking me questions I couldn't possibly answer truthfully, or correctly, or in anyway to satisfy them.

Later, I'm in the lobby while people start arriving. There are my bosses from work, and a celebrity—who I don't recognize—I think it's Matthew Modine—didn't he give up acting? Finally, Peter Barrickman arrives, and he's wearing a tie. I'm wearing a tie, as well—we're all wearing ties. I usher everyone into the theater, to a section in the middle that's roped off, reserved for us. The lights go down, slowly, and completely, and there is a prolonged moment of pitch darkness before the movie begins.