In this case, Justin, our scene shop foreman, was entirely justified. After having shot him in the fragile bits with a bb gun, he absconded with the screw and handle that hold the seat of my five foot tall unicycle in place, effectively rendering me incapable of riding it until I got it back.
Well, a couple of days later he gave it back to me, in a fashion. He had placed it into a steel pipe, capped both ends, and welded them in place. I had to get Will to help me cut it out:
Eventually, Will popped off the top. We had done it!
Or so we thought. Turns out, there was another pipe inside of that one. Will set to work, again.
He was unhappy.
Turns out, after that, there was yet another pipe, this one the final barrier between me and sweet, sweet unicycling. Will cut through it, and then hammered the top off of it.
And . . . tah dah!
Here is what stood between me and my part.
They're like nesting dolls, only they drove me insane.
This sort of thing is why it is both good and bad that I don't have access to a lot of tools.
ReplyDelete