I Did Not Eat Pasta
I got up around 4pm.
I took a shower.
I took my time.
I ate a bacon cheeseburger from a grimy drive-thru.
I did not eat pasta.
I did not eat pasta.
I did not eat pasta.
The director read a passage from a book about Vince McMahon.
It was really happening.
The last night of Grundler Bend.
Amazing Race
Dan and Patti went on a run.
I joined as a journalist.
We went to Meijer.
The atmosphere was jovial.
They bought picture frames.
They played carnival games.
They drove around the parking lot in old people carts.
We took our time.
We went to the hotel.
I put all of my stuff in Patti's trunk.
She had railroad ties in there.
I don't know why.
We talked about religion.
Between the three of us, we couldn't solve it.
Patti turned up the radio.
It was one of those pop songs you hear at the mall.
And when you smile,
The whole world stops and stares for a while,
'Cuz girl you're amazing just the way you are
"This is the best song to sing to a girl."
Patti is 17.
I did some math.
I could be her father.
I laughed and let her be 17.
Oh, you know you know you know
I'd never ask you to change
If perfect what's you're searchin' for
Then just stay the same...
Don't Get Mad - Get Rest
Wentley had disrespected Holli for the last time.
"Your schedule is meaningless," he told her.
She handed her AD hat to Alex and walked off set.
"Any room in here?"
I was taking a nap in wardrobe.
"Sure."
Leaving room for the Holy Spirit, Holli and I snoozed away in the production RV.
Faintly over the radio, Alex conducted the set.
He sounded more and more miserable with each take.
It isn't easy being meaningless when you're awake.
K.I.T.
Dan apologetically woke me up.
"Where are the picture frames?"
The picture frames were Sid's idea.
As a token of appreciation for all the hard work that the unpaid volunteer interns had done over the last month, Sid had us xerox the Grundler Bend logo onto a few sheets of paper. Then we secretly got some of the crew to autograph the papers with generic encouragements like "Great work" and "Hope to work with you again". Then he had us frame the pieces of paper in $2 frames from Meijer. The frames would be presented to the interns at the end of the shoot.
Dan couldn't find the picture frames.
I searched for over an hour.
It was beyond ridiculous.
I went back to sleep.
Dan found me.
"Did you find the picture frames?"
"All but one."
"Do you want to go to Meijer and get another one?"
"Not particularly."
I know.
I suck.
Mikey ended up buying the missing picture frame.
Mikey the unpaid volunteer intern.
"Why am I buying a picture frame?"
My Only Friend, The End
The sun finally came up.
Don Barge's sound cart sat orphaned near the trees.
Patti managed a few zzz's between takes on her lock-up.
All at once, the entire world stop caring about Grundler Bend.
"Ladies and gentlemen, that is a wrap!"
A smattering of lukewarm applause.
The director gathered us all around for a speech.
He insisted that everyone be present.
He said stuff.
Sentences.
It didn't matter.
We were all over it.
"Did I miss sumthin'?"
Goodwill Games
The people that wanted to say goodbye to each other did so.
I gave hugs to Holli, Mikey, Alex, Patti, Kate, Zhangela, Marcie, Britt, Doug, and Stu.
Mort apologized to Dan for being difficult to work with.
That was cool of him to do that.
Inspired by the gesture, I left a healthy load of craft service goodies with the grip and electric guys.
They threw their used ear pieces on the ground for me to pick up.
It was officially time to get the honest-to-goodness fuck out of there.
Dan and I paraded the RV's past the wrapping crew.
I waved to the data tech and the slate girl.
I waved to the key grip.
I waved to the 1st AC.
Wentley and I did not wave.
At the RV lot, Dan and I hugged manily enough.
"Are you going to the wrap party tonight?"
"No. Are you?"
"No."
Holli wasn't going either.
Neither were the grips.
Or electric.
(Lightning)
Or Don Barge.
(Thunder)
Or the cast.
(Pounding rain)
Or...
Rain On The Brain
Grundler Bend was finally over.
I was going home.
The rain poured down in kiddie pools.
I ignored the hypnotizing metronome of the wipers.
My eyes concentrated on the grey blur that was probably the road.
I tried to find closure in the daydream of the windshield.
So what went wrong?
Why did I leave feeling ugly?
Couldn't I overcome dumb obstacles?
Well, I was put into a position of authority early on.
Unfortunately, I simply did not know enough to take on that role.
I suppose I could have pretended.
That's what we do in improv.
But I failed to adapt those skills to this.
Because this was real.
Even though it wasn't.
Everyday was a Missile Command of challenges.
Often I let my little cities blow up.
But I had a few decent rounds.
Holli said I had a good learning curve.
The people who knew me seemed to like me.
But that's not the issue here.
It's not about people liking me.
I could have masterminded 9/11 and I'd still have a million Facebook friends.
When I want to, I can get anyone to like me.
Well, almost anyone.
At the beginning of the night, I wearily asked the gaunt hipster best boy for some power to the RV's again.
It was the same old song and dance.
"i will i have more important things to do right now" (swoosh)
Why did he irk me so much?
Why did he cause my fists to clench?
Why did I want to discover his body in a field and piss on it?
The answer was a cliche.
A bit of armchair psychology.
A pamphlet from the Church of Latter Day Saints.
Because he reminded me of myself.
Let's see.
Arrogant. Check.
Asshole. Check.
Skinny. Oops.
Not anymore.
The gaunt hipster best boy was essentially me when I was a bike messenger.
Back then, I hurled my shitty attitude at every security guard, cabbie, trader, SUV, cellphone, and jaywalker I could.
And I was skinny.
You see, I'm getting old now.
And fat.
And the gaunt hipster best boy treated me like a security guard.
And I'm not comfortable becoming my past nemesis.
Either that or he's just a piece of shit.
That's how I felt on the set half the time.
All these 25 year old art school hot shots were just being assholes.
But they were doing it wrong!
Yeah, I know.
They're not doing it wrong.
They're just doing it in their own new way that I don't get anymore.
Because I'm an old, fat security guard.
I do have to give those guys credit.
They did it.
They made a movie.
They got a large group of strangers together and created this thing.
I've never done that.
I wish I could have cared a little more about it though.
But I just didn't.
Which speaks to my own selfishness.
It's easy to sit on the periphery and shoot grenades at the ridiculous castle.
Hey, it's what I do best.
I dunno.
Maybe if we had been doing something worthwhile for mankind, I probably wouldn't have been such a shitty asshole.
So then why don't I do something worthwhile?
Verdict: Loss
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