Now, I want to tell you a true story. In 1991, I was interning in the business office of Manhattan Theatre Club in New York City. The offices and rehearsal studios at the time were on West 16th or 17th Street, and I would walk from my sublet on East 15th Street every morning. The theatre would sometimes rent its studio space out to other groups, and this new, avante-garde group called "Blue Man" was renting one of the studios. No one I worked with really knew much about them, but there was a bit of a buzz in town about them as they prepared a new show that would open in the Village. All I knew was that nearly every day, these guys would haul more garbage into the studio. I glanced in the studio one day and there were piles of trash... old toasters, a rusty old oven, mountains of scrap metal and lots of PVC pipe. At least, that's how I remember it.
One day, there was a huge typhoon that came through Manhattan and everyone arrived at the studios soaking wet. My lunch was in a paper sack that was thoroughly destroyed, so I bought something that I needed to heat up in the microwave in the small kitchenette. As I opened the microwave, I was surprised to find a pair of soaking wet Levi's neatly folded inside. I realized that someone had thought they could actually dry their jeans in the microwave oven (brass zippers and all).
I took the soaking wet, neatly folded denim out, which was kind of gross, especially since I needed to cook my food in the wet microwave.
I stood there for a moment and then opened the freezer and put the wet jeans on the ice tray.
Later that day, I checked on the jeans. They were rock hard. And soon I noticed a member of the Blue Man group dressed in his coveralls, looking for his pants. I didn't say anything, but I probably should have.
Only a member of the Blue Man group was imaginative enough to think he could dry his jeans in the microwave.
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