I took a drama class in college. It was fun; we studied famous plays, practiced dialogue and performed scenes. Then we did some really goofy stuff like pretend to be different types of animals, and learn how to say, “I love you” or “I hate you” using only the word “rhubarb.” One day the professor asked us if we’d like to be supernumeraries in The Metropolitan Opera of New York when it came to Atlanta.

Supernumerary is just a fancy term for “extra,” and my prof pitched it as a way to get to see an expensive sold-out opera, up close and personal, while getting paid to do it. I didn’t see any downside, and signed up right away for three of them.

My first “super” role was for Richard Wagner’s Lohengrin. On the night of the opera, I arrived by a backstage door. I was hustled into a dressing room with all the other supers, where we were quickly given costumes. After dressing, we were moved as a group onto the stage, where we played a crowd of people. I recollect that I participated in three scenes with a costume change between each. It was the last one that has remained burned into my memory.

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