De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

The broadcast is timed to the second, each moment controlled, measured, and recalculated as the segment unfolds live on the air. One missed cue, leads to another and the show can quickly unravel into chaos.

I always get a crushing pressure in the middle of my chest before the show starts. My anxiety constricts the flow of breath to an impalpable silence.  I’ve forgotten how to breathe.  Can I anticipate where the errors might be? Can I take measures to prevent it from happening? I take in a quick, deep gulp of air and release it, molecule by molecule, with slow, precise control; my chest raised, stomach tucked in, forcing the pain under my sternum to ease.

I remind myself that controlling time is not my job. Like the cult, art-house film Metropolis, I’m just a gear in a larger wheel. If I do my part, the wheel will turn on it’s own.  Time belongs to the Line Producer, and then the AD, and is simultaneously communicated to the floor by the Stage Manager who says, “We’re going on in ten, nine, eight….three, two, __.”  “One” is never said out-loud.  Instead the talent begins their monologue like a horse released out its iron gate.

The show starts, and to my surprise, most of my anxiety dissipates.  There are no retakes, each moment is broadcast live and then it’s gone. Mistakes, when they happen can’t be corrected.  I can’t control this reality.  These moments are constructed for me.  I’m only responsible for all the other moments of my life, after the euphoria of another day at work subsides.

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1) Talent will always f-up the very last line of a long paragraph of script.

Solution: Ego massage about how hard it is to read a teleprompter, and a candid story about a famous broadcaster who calls himself a stupid a-hole every time he makes a mistake, usually does the trick.

2) When you try for a second, third, fourth or fifth take, there will be the following noise: a cell phone, a siren, or a helicopter.

Solution: There is no solution. You’re shooting in New York City, what did you expect.

3) When everyone’s nerves are frayed, and fatigue and impatience have set in, the producer will trip over a piece of equipment…while the camera is rolling.

Solution: Although they’re signing your pay check, they need your technical know how to get the job done. This is the time to suggest that everyone needs a latte to get through the next shot.

4) A writer or producer will always reword the script less than a minute before you start taping the show. Talent will have already rehearsed the old copy, therefore talent will stumble over the new copy. They will continue to reword it, until it no longer represents anything resembling the English language.

Solution: Think of ways to spend all money you’ll make in overtime. Avoid the following: barely audible groans. Take up the following: Soduku or crosswords

5) The more over-exposed the talent, the less likely they will show up for rehearsal, the more they will mess up, and blame you for their mistakes.

Solution: Make sure you own an invisibility cloak, a-la Harry Potter.

6) If you’re shooting a corporate video in an old office building, the sound man will also moonlight as the gaffer and camera assistant. He will plug all of the lighting and camera equipment into the same wall. He will insist that you don’t know what you are talking about because he’s a production renaissance man. The fuse will blow in that office, and a rolling black out will occur on the floor.

Solution: Silence is golden, even if you’re dealing with a dumb shit.

7) When you are done shooting you will notice that there was a flag was in the frame.

Solution: Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

If a piece of equipment falls, it will land on your foot. Chances are that it will be an open leathermen, the sharp end of a camera plate, or the c-stand that you forgot to tie down to your rig.

Solution: When object falls instinctively lift right leg like a flamingo or get use to wearing ugly steel toed boots.

9) After you arrive late for your call time, you’ll discover that either you’re missing equipment or the equipment is not properly functioning.

Solution: You won’t be coming back to work for this client so make the most of the craft service.

10) The more someone reminds you that you’re lucky to have a job in the entertainment industry, the higher the chances are that they’ll neither pay you the standard day rate for that job, nor will they pay you on time.

Solution: Be impressed with no one unless they’ve earned your respect and appreciate the job you do.

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About a month ago I wrote about a particularly brutal job I worked on at Radio City Music Hall. Afterward, despite the fact that the show itself was a major success, and there were zero hiccups in my department, my boss was emailed a very harsh letter about my performance on the show from the producer.

I give my boss a lot of credit for not reacting before he had all the information. Yesterday he emailed me and said that he asked someone else who worked on the show what they thought. They said I was fine and that they also received a copy of the email and that they didn’t understand what the producer was talking about.

That someone is one of the “premier” stage managers anywhere. Let’s put it this way, when he gave me the instructions and preamble for this job, he said that I needed to really work hard for this person. That they always did the Oscars and the Grammy’s and that his reputation in the business was outstanding. He never mentioned the director or the producer by name, he only told me to take care of “Gene.”

And despite the fact that Gene and I only exchanged a few words, and all of them were regarding the show we were putting on…Gene none the less, and knowing me for only a finite period, has taken care of me as well. Vive Gene…I pray he continues to do so well.

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Why do I do my job??? It’s the glamour baby!
1) Make sure that you’ve really hung up your cell phone before you shout “bastard…” at the Production Coordinator who just moved your call time up one hour. Never mind that you’re working until midnight. Sleep is for wusses’.

2) Go on an European vacation and don’t let your body get readjusted to the time change when you return home. For the rest of your life you’ll be waking up at 4 a.m. at least twice a week to go pick up video equipment and drive to the location by seven.

3) Don’t bother with the fancy wardrobe and forget about standing out. You’ll only need the following: a couple pairs of khakis, disposable cotton T’s, solid black clothes, and a ponytail holder. You don’t want to ruin the shot when the camera pans over in your direction. It’s your job to be invisible.

4) Forget about getting a pretty pedicure, no one will ever see your toes in those boots with the
thick rubber soles that you wear so you won’t trip over video and electrical cables.

5) This will start to bother you when you realize that all the men you’re working with still only look at all the colorful, well put together women strolling on the street. Make sure that you have a least one opportunity a month to dress up as if you’re going to the opera to offset any depression.

6) You’ll often be one of the only women on a set. Owning a Leather-man and knowing how use it is a great way to get those same men to stop treating you like an idiot.

7) Although you should always take advantage of an offer to carry your equipment or else your back will begin to ache in weird ways before you reach thirty.

There will be times when you’ll get more respect from all the men on a set than from the only other female working on that particular job. You’ll be tempted to ask her if she has tried the latest hormone replacement therapy. You should resist this urge.

9) If the above mentioned female happens to call you a name, such as “Princess”, point to the fact that you didn’t shower that morning, and that your jeans were pulled out of the laundry. Clearly a true princess would do neither.

10) And then, politely and calmly state that you’re willing to allow someone else to come in and work with her. Offer to leave the set. There is nothing like a half day delay to strike the fear of g_d into the most abusive and callous of producers, especially on a one day video shoot.

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Let me present the evidence:

My ATM card went missing. Still had the old one that I hadn’t cut up, but couldn’t find the new one that actually allowed me to withdraw cash.

This wouldn’t have been a problem except that I was working in New Jersey this week, and I only had $5.55 to pay the toll for the Holland Tunnel. The toll is $6.00.

Was asked to stay late on the job to make revisions for the client, when everyone else was wrapped and told to go home for the evening.

Therefore, I made it to a local bank branch at 5:38p.m. I frantically held up my ATM card to show the branch manager that I had a major problem. He neither opened his locked glass door, nor did he offer to issue me a temporary one that I could use in the ATM.

The local supermarket and Walgreens were both already closed. No chance for a cash back purchase.

Used mapquest to plot a trip back to the city via Staten Island to avoid a tie up on the Turnpike and traffic in downtown NYC.

End up in similiar gridlock in downtown Newark.

Feel like every lane, except the one I’m in, is moving. Started to take it personally.

Get lost with the directions given by mapquest, end up near Newark Airport.

End up going through the Holland Tunnel anyway.

Tell toll booth attendant, “Go ahead take a picture of my license plate. I lost my ATM card. Anticipate receiving a ticket in mail with a $30 surcharge on the $6 toll.

End up back home in Brooklyn at 8 p.m. and I can’t find a parking space to save my life. Cruise around neighborhood for a full 30 minutes before I end parking at 1st street and 7th avenue. I live at 5th avenue and 7th street at least a mile away.

I finally enter my apartment and I am overwhelmed by the smell of the cat box (I did that one to myself).

After I feed everyone, I attempt to fill the tub with hot water to soak an ingrown toe nail…nothing but luke warm water comes out of the faucet. Resign myself to the fact that my feet will just have to hurt.

Drink two glasses of milk and fall asleep before I realize I haven’t turn on my alarm.

Wake up an hour late.

It’s raining heavily, and traffic is once again tied up. Get soaked before I realize that I forgot my umbrella.

Make apologetic phone call to director, luckily everyone else is late because of the rain as well.

Thank my lucky stars for bad weather.

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I was slightly late for work on that day. This was my habit. It was a bad one, but my boss at the time, was a new mother. She rarely chastised me for what she couldn’t do either. The Path train into the city came every couple of minutes during rush hour. I knew I could get out of bed and be at my desk within the hour.

I came out of my connecting New York City Subway train and looked up into that crystal blue sky. A digital clock on the side of one of the skyscrapers read 9:05 a.m. My office was in midtown and few short blocks from Central Park, facing west. There was no view of the chaos taking place downtown. The streets were not extremely busy, no one was looking up at the sky and nothing said “you were just in incredible danger.” I was blissfully ignorant to the events taking place downtown.

On that day there were two path trains that connected to my stop: one to 33rd street, the other to the bowels of the World Trade Center. The World Trade Center train, came twice as much as the 33rd street train and if I was late, I would jump on it, and connect to my subway there. On September 11th, 2001, I decided to be just a little bit more late and wait for the 33rd street train.

I took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor expecting to play catch up with all the other assistant buyers who had already finished their weekly sales reports. Instead I walked in and everyone was hundled around one computer in the cubicle next to mine watching video stream from CNN. Obviously we never started work that day.

At first I called my grandmother in California, as an afterthought. I didn’t want her to think that my office was close to the towers. I had woken her up with my call. “Nana, don’t worry, I’m okay, they’re locking up the building, and I’m not downtown.” I called her again after the towers fell but the call was cut off, communcation and phone lines were beginning to falter.

Security locked up the building for our safety, no one was getting in or out. We were also listening to 1010 WINNS, the local am information station on the radio. Another plane had hit the Pentagon, and there were false reports about a bomb at the Supreme Court building.

At one p.m. all New Jersey residents were evacuated to a bus that was going to drive into Westchester to another bridge that crossed between New York and New Jersey. We all walked single file out the front door. This was the first time that I had to experience the confusion and chaos firsthand. The air was a little less clear and a distinct smell could be detected that would last for days. A sea of humanity was traveling on foot heading uptown trying to leave the city. Traffic was slowed to a crawl. All lanes had been diverted uptown as well. Hours before we had we had fought to make our daily migration into the city. Now we were just trying to find a way to get back home.

Those who lived in the city were also trying to decide where to go. One buyer decided to walk to St. Vincent’s hospital and donate blood. Another had reconnected with her husband and they were going to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge back home.

I sat in the bus next to my boss, clinging to her for comfort. She called her husband and made arrangements for us to be picked up on the other side of the bridge. The bus pulled out from it’s parking space and slowly meandered on to Third Avenue. As it turned left, I looked south toward downtown and saw the great cloud of grey smoke blackening out the sun and traveling toward Brooklyn.

I walked into the door of my Jersey City apartment, nine hours later, shaken but whole, and grateful that a random series of event had protected me. I was too shocked to breakdown or cry, instead, a knawing ache lodged itself into my chest and throat. What was going to happen now?

The attack on the World Trade Center has brought out the absolute best and worse in people. We all suited up and returned to work that Thursday. We listened to 1010 WINS and kept our bags packed incase we had to leave again quickly. Despite over 90, yes 90 bomb threats, and multiple closures at all three airports, we stayed our desk and continued on with our work. The opportunity that some would take advantage of this uncertainty, did not change our resolve to go about our lives. It seemed like the only thing we could do.

I was at a social meeting a few days later, my spirit had started to dampen as polarization began to take hold. I couldn’t respond when a woman said that she stood on her roof and watched the planes hit the towers. She wasn’t horrified like the rest of us. Instead she said that she understood why the terrorist had done it.

I looked around at the half empty room, wondering which one of my acquaintances wouldn’t be returning. Were they alive? Or did they just leave town? I couldn’t understand how this woman who had also sat with them as a friend could be so callous and full of hate. There would be a time for debate and discussion about US Foreign Policy, but this wasn’t it. I wish I would of had the strength to speak up and tell her to shut up, or at least to leave the room. Instead I sat quietly, waiting for someone else to have that courage. It didn’t happen. All of us were too shell shocked and numb.

This has been my world since that day. Although I’ve moved to Brooklyn, changed careers and had many more interesting experiences, there will always be a part of me who thinks back to that moment at 9:05 a.m. and wishes that sense of wonder and innocence about my life in New York would return.

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