Wretched Set Disassembly

Hork! Was the noise I kept hearing. Was it the cats leaving us moist hairballs? I don't really know, but the sound permeated this dream. I was up at an outdoor amphitheater after the last performance of a show called Wretched to help dismantle the set. I started helping by using the electric drill to remove drywall screws from the tops of the roof details. Hork! The screws sang as they flew out of the set. Ping! As they hit the ground. Just my luck, while SCV and I were crawling around on the top of the set, way up on the second floor, someone on the bottom decided to knock the supports out of the lower floor and just tip the top down "to make it easier to work on."
"Don't," someone shouted in the darkness "you'll kill the writers."
"Too late," shouted SCV as he slid along the floor, managing to catch himself of a step. The door above the step swung open and S let go, dropping about 10 feet to the ground. The door punched through the wall and tore itself loose. S managed to duck under the collapsing set, out of the way of the falling door, but not out of danger. I managed to loop the cord of the electric drill over a pipe hanging from the light grid and used it to support my weight. I tried to keep the set from collapsing by wrapping my legs around the top of a flat, but only managed to slow it a little, as the flat soon tore away from the floor. S and several stage hands rushed out from under the set and the whole thing collapsed, leaving me hanging with a sputtering drill under my armpit and my feet dangling 15 feet above the wreckage.
"Well, you said you wanted to design a new set," offered S.
N ran up shouting at the stage hands, "Get a ladder, get him down."
"No rush," I spun slowly around to watch them scrambling for a ladder. "I could hang out here for seven or eight minutes." The electric cord made a strange hiss and pop, then the drill stopped. The cord stretched and I dropped a couple of inches. "Or not."