My First Event

While I was on the IKV Praksis, I learned a new meaning for the word event.  An "Event" in Klingon culture is the wearing of a costume in public.  My first "event" was a frantic phone call from Henry on the early afternoon of  Monday September 18, 1995, asking if I could help at the Canadian Red Cross in Halifax.  The Praksis was supposed to help out at a Blood Donor Clinic passing out cookies and juice for those who gave blood, and he did not have any one who could or would help out.  Could I get my costume and get to the Red Cross Center as soon as possible?  This event was going to give the Praksis some much needed exposure in the Halifax community.

I had the costume.  I had not, however put it on.  I had a foam latex forehead, technically known as an appliance.  I had managed to get my hands on a wig.  And I even had a tube of dark make up.  I had not used any of it together. 

I arrived at the Red Cross, latex and foam costume over my arm and a plastic shopping bag full of my other goodies.  Henry met me at the door.  His costume had changed since I had last seen him.  He now was using my tailor.  I was impressed because we were starting to look uniform.  I also had a walking template of what I was supposed to look like.

I was ushered to the Men's washroom, where I was to transform myself into a Klingon Warrior.  I had major decisions to make.  Should I put the costume on first, or put the make up on and then the costume?  I decided to start with the tube of color.

In the men's washroom the only tissue is what was on the roll.  For the first time in my life, I was using this stuff as it was advertised - on my face.  I applied the grease paint to my face using the tissue paper as a applicator.  The dark grease paint started to streak.  As I was looking at myself in the mirror, the thought screaming at me is, "this can't be right!".  I remember looking at my watch further stressing myself out because I was taking far too much time with my transformation.

I was used to preparing for parades where the attention to details of the uniform are minute.  I had no clue as to what was 'right' or 'wrong'.  I was also acutely aware of the time.  I could hear my digital watch tick.  I started to sweat.

By this time the sink was fouled with dark brown grease paint.  I was frantically looking around for something, anything to clean the grease paint off of the white porcelain sink and the only available aid was that roll of toilet paper.  A lesson learned that night; you can not clean a sink with toilet paper. 

Now came the wig and the latex forehead.  I lucked out there because the wig acted as an anchor holding this mass of molded rubber in place...sort of.

I made my entrance.  Henry was not impressed that I was wearing my Command Cloak.  Henry made it very clear that I was not a Ship's Captain; I did not command anything; and I was not entitled to wear such a badge of authority, so I had to lose the cloak. 

Henry also wanted me to "talk like a Klingon".  I don't speak Klingon and I have a hard enough time with the French language.  Henry told me that I didn't have to actually speak Klingon, just sound like a Klingon. 

"OK Henry, how does a Klingon sound?"

"Like the Klingons on television." 

My best attempt at sounding like a television Klingon ended up sounding more like Peter Jurasik's character Londo Mollari from Babylon 5, complete with a Newfie accent.

A reporter from the Halifax Herald arrived.  I then realized that our exposure was going to be in the local paper.  The photographer grabbed a lady who had just donated blood, and asked her if she would pose for a picture for the paper to showcase the Blood Donor Clinic. 

He sits this lady in one of the chairs that is used for blood donations; one of the nurses comes by and thanks here for giving blood and posing for the picture.  The photographer then blocks the shot he wants to take.  Henry and I then take our places on either side of the chair.  I told her I was a Klingon with my best Londo impersonation.  The three of us laughed and the photo was taken.

  

Eventually it was time to take the costume off.  When I removed the 'body armor, I felt the chill of the air.  I was soaked with sweat.  The black turtle neck that I was wearing was dripping with sweat.  My head was soaked and the foam forehead appliance was soaked with sweat.

The wig and the forehead went into the bag with the tube of grease paint.  I think there was more of the stuff on the tube than actually in the tube. 

The Industrial Strength Toilet Paper was not going to clean out the sink.  No amount of trying would change that.  Someone had left a small white towel.  That should work.  I started to wipe down the sink and was pleased at my results.  The sink was returning to its original porcelain white again.  I did not want to leave the Canadian Red Cross with a bad impression of the membership of the IKV Praksis.  That was until I tried to rinse the towel.  What I held looked like a wet Klingon Battle Flag.

When I left the washroom, trying not to look guilty for ruining their towel, I was again greeted by the nurses who worked the clinic.  They went out of their way to thank us for helping out with the coffee, cookies and juice.  I smiled, accepting their praise, my face still streaked with the grease paint and hoping it would hide the shame I was feeling.