Now, lunch typically takes shape in one of three different ways:
Option 1: the production provides lunch. This is the best option, because the production is providing lunch.
Option 2: there is a walk-away lunch, but the production allows you to eat what the crew doesn't finish for lunch (the crew always gets fed). This is the second-best option…because it is.
Option 3: the production is a total dick, and they shoo you away from the food and make you buy your own food. This is the worst option…and if you can't figure out why, I take back the "dumb" statement I made about you all earlier.
Today the extras were given…………..OPTION 2!!! Sorry. Still stuck in GOSSIP MODE!!! Option 2. Oh…sorry…hold the phone. News flash from one of the nearby extras: "Making bread crumbs is so easy!" I did not know that.
Anyway…what was I saying? Ah. Yes. It was, what is called, a "walk-away lunch," but there was plenty of food left-over after the crew had eaten. Gyros. Delicious, delicious gyros.
So that's where I am now – belly full of gyros and pudding (I always have pudding on set, but no where else in life…and I have no idea why). Oh…wait…news flash 2: "Gnocchi is not that hard to make!" Do you hear that, Erika? MAKE ME SOME GNOCCHI!!!
Well, it's currently 2:01 PM…meaning that we are back from lunch -1 minutes ago. No one has moved, yet. Some day I'll talk about the dangerous "pack mentality" of extra work. When I have more time. Until then, I better go and loiter around set, in case I'm called to action.
Five hours elapse (Tim, I apologize if the verb tense is driving you crazy – in actuality I'm editing this two weeks later on a completely different set…but I'm trying to maintain some semblance of "tense continuity"). Five hours of waiting, thumb twiddling, etc. I decide to read my book. As compelling as I find Uhtred, my eyelids start to do battle with my brain. Eventually, the eyelids win, and I drift in and out of consciousness. At this point I've drained about 6 or 7 cups of coffee…but I'm mired in the depths of the "post-lunch sleepies," and my body is shutting down without my consent. So I prop my book open with my hand, bow my head as if I were pretending to read, and drift into a light sleep. After about 30 minutes of dozing, the caffeine finally gets its footing, and my body start to revive.
The guy next to me is stuck in the post-lunch bored-sies. I can tell, because he told me: "I'm bored." I make a non-committal noise, and continue reading. I was bored too, but the only thing worse than being bored is talking about being bored. Out of the corner of my eye I see him wiggling his foot and playing with his nametag. I keep reading. Then he totally rocks my world.
One of the background actors has been using a wheelchair as a seat. I hadn't noticed him until he stood up and said, "All right…I'm done sitting in that chair. Time to find a real seat." The bored guy chimes in:
"Yeah, man…I was thinking about sitting in that too…but then I thought about it, and it was…like…weird."
Wheelchair guy has gone, but I remain. Now, just because I always like to be the guy who "heard" a remark that someone says to anther person who walked away (or didn't hear in the first place) I make another non-committal noise.
"Because, like, if I were to sit in that chair, I'd be…it'd be like…what would it be like if I was paralyzed? You know? I mean…that would freak me out sitting there." There is a pause. "Man, sometimes, you can take things for granted." He took that opportunity to stand up and go to the wheelchair to demonstrate. He sat in it briefly, then stood abruptly, like Little Tommy Tinker. "Yeah, whoa! Can't do it, man. It's just…creepy."
I'd been watching the whole time, holding my place in my book with my finger. A lesser man would roll his eyes, or shoot him down with a snide remark…but I hate people like that. Still, I can't really think of anything to contribute to his stunning revelation, so I reply "Totally." I wait a couple of beats, and then go back to reading my book.
Suddenly, two hours after lunch was finished, there's a flurry of action. Anyone with light-blue scrubs was to report to set. I had grey scrubs, and dark blue…so I wasn't needed. Light-bluers started filtering in. Lucy was there, putting caps and masks on the men. And, predictably, several guys bent at the knee so she could reach their head easier, and every time Lucy would snap: "Just stand normal please." It happened to four guys in a row. Now I got it…Lucy just liked embarrassing people – there was no rational benefit from making the men stand lock-kneed while she tied on surgical caps. She just liked making them feel dumb. People like that need to be ridiculed blog-style…whenever possible. So Lucy, if you're out there reading this: "You're bad at your job."
But I wasn't able to apply my "Lucy doesn't like it when people crouch down so she can do her job better" knowledge, because I wasn't one of the light blue folks. So I continued reading. Occasionally I'd get up to refill my coffee, or grab a Nutri-grain bar…but I waited a good 5 hours before I was summoned.
My final cross of the night was behind a doctor…left to right. I had to time it exactly, squeeze between the lady and a large piece of medical equipment in the hallway, and dodge an incoming extra that was shooting for the same gap that I was. Tricky, yes…but still work that a well-trained monkey could easily accomplish. And I'm just as good at my job as a well-trained monkey would be. So…booyah.
Finally, the end of the evening. The director calls a wrap, and the crew scatters. The extras have to return their props (my nametags and a file folder) and costumes (grey and dark blue scrubs) then check out with the 2nd A.D. Staph. My old nemesis.
So I change, return my clothes, and find Staph sitting on the hitch of the wardrobe trailer. The 2nd A.D. is responsible for assigning two things to the extras – an out time, and any "bumps" (meal penalty, smoke, wet, wardrobe, etc.) that may have accrued during the day…which add up to extra money on top of the regular check (usually anywhere from 8 to 15 extra dollars). So…having filled out my voucher completely, I approach her at the trailer.
"So, what's the out time?"
"Ask someone else." There is a silence. I'm not going to ask someone else, because it's her freaking job. "I just…my mind's not functioning right now." More silence. There are other extras standing around. None of them are listening to her. "Pete, what's the out time?"
"8:30."
"There. 8:30."
I fill in the time. Whatever. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of making me feel stupid. I then check the box for a meal penalty (because we went over 6 hours without a dinner break), and a wardrobe bump (because I wore more than two outfits during the shoot). I hand her my voucher. She looks it over.
"Oh, you don't get a wardrobe bump, because production provided the two changes."
"Okay."
"Yeah, next time, just ask one of us before you fill in that part."
What I should have said was "You didn't seem capable of answering questions about 2 minutes ago. Now you're going to bust my chops for not asking you about this bump?" But that snappy response didn't occur to me. I pulled a Costanza, and realized the perfect response only as I was walking away. So what I actually said was:
"Got it. Sorry about that. Have a great night!" And I walked off. But, then again, you know what? It probably would have felt pretty good to get off that zinger. I would have loved to hear her mumbling, incoherent response to my "snap." To see her eyes widen with the realization of her hypocrisy. Maybe she hangs her head in shame. Maybe she apologizes to me. Maybe the extras standing around hear it, and cluck their tongues…shaming her. Then burst into a spontaneous applause. Maybe Stephen Spielberg happens to be walking by on the lot, and overhears my "ultimate come-back," and hires me in a principle role for his next feature film…on the spot.
But you know what – snappy comebacks are never satisfying for people like that. She would have stood her stupid ground, because that's what bullies do. Best case, she ignores it and signs me out. Worse case, she remembers my name and raises a stink with Jeff Olan Casting, and a "negative comment" gets attached to my profile. All-in-all, I think "polite" really was the way to go.
Epilogue: Not really an epilogue…more of a P.S…but this isn't a letter…so I figured "epilogue" was the better way to go. Anyhow, I'm walking back home in the dark, after 13½ hours on set. It's a narrow sidewalk, and I see an unkempt dude in jeans shorts and a white t-shirt coming at me…talking angrily to himself and gesticulating. I tighten my grip on my laptop bag – it's "No eye contact" "walk fast" and "keep an eye out for sudden aggressive movement" time. Then I get closer, and see that he's talking on a Bluetooth. I pass him, and he barely notices me. My first potential street mugging turns out to be a goofy Bluetooth mishap. Good stuff…
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