The van is beginning to show its age.
It runs a little louder.
It's lost its pickup.
The A/C doesn't work.
The power steering also hasn't worked in years.
And there's still a huge bashed-in dent on the tailgate.
One morning in 2007 I awoke to discover that dent.
Some overnight hit & run.
I looked into fixing this stuff.
If I ever run into an extra several thousand dollars, I will.
Today when I picked up the executive producer the sliding door wouldn't close.
I had to get out and shove it shut.
He pretended like it was okay and I pretended to be embarrassed about it.
When I dropped them off, I made a nutty maneuver around some construction horses by the hotel lobby, instead of sitting in ten more minutes of traffic.
The director made a comment about the maneuver.
"Is that how you got that dent in the back?" he poked.
"No, I woke up to that," I said.
He made a joke about me living in the van.
It got a big laugh.
I had to eat that one.
It was well-timed.
Back at the office, I handed the production coordinator the detailed floor plan I had drawn for the day of the shoot, as per the assistant director's instructions.
It looked tidy and organized and well thought out.
She made a face.
A snobby valley girl "okayyy?" face.
"Okayy?" she eye-rolled, and set it very aside.
No.
She was right.
I am a fucking idiot for even trying.
On the call sheet, I saw my friend Karisa listed as talent on the job.
Karisa took my class at Annoyance a couple of years ago.
I cast her in
Death Roast, a show I Barbara Streisanded at The Annoyance.
Oh good.
She'll get to see what I've been up to lately.
Getting coffee.
Cleaning tables.
Handling garbage.
Today was the pre-production meeting.
It seems like everyone hates these.
Basically, the ad agency people and the clients meet with the producers and the director to discuss the commercial.
The producer has to make everyone happy.
This means I have to buy the good napkins at Whole Foods.
So I did.
I bought the good napkins and the good cheeses and brought them to the sporting goods store.
I don't think the producer likes me.
For some reason I'm not doing anything right.
Here's the thing.
I am doing it right.
I'm just not doing it with the eagerness of a 23 year old who lives to work in the industry.
After I set up the good cheeses and the good napkins, she cordially booted me out of the pre-production meeting.
I sat on a bench and wrote like a 14 year old who lives to stay 14 when he's 35.
God I feel awake. The bad awake.
The coffee-induced anxiety + mild nervous
butterflies in the stomach kind of awake.
I've been shuttling the director + executive
producer. T
It's windier than hell - 50 mph winds -
too windy to roll down the windows.
So they baked in the sun magnified thru
through the van windows. No A/C.
The passenger side door doesnt work.
Bummer.
These people expect the best.
When it's not the best, it's quiet.
Lots of quirks.
Dont buy water made by Coke or Pepsi.
Must eat at Panera Bread Co.
I got lost yesterday with people following
me.
"Where did you take us?" she asked.
The producer.
I cant tell if she likes me or hates me.
Probably both. F I used to have a higher
vertical leap.
People make jokes about me sleeping
in the van.
The half-truth hurts.
I miss being able to nap on the job.
I'm just sitting here outside on a
lacquered lump of log outside the
conference room where 15 people
have gathered to talk about ←negotiate
this commercial.
Tonight I have to man the door at the
BAR. I wish I werent broke again.
I can't believe they're playing "29 Palms"
on the radio. I heard obscure Byrds
here yesterday. Oh + "Boom Boom" by...
I clearly had nothing to say.
So I went to the bathroom.
The producer texted me.
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
Verdict: Loss
