So today I began at the job I had been trying to obtain since I moved to LA. I called and called production offices, asking if they were still hiring. And finally, I got to be on the flip side of one of those calls. “Not at the moment but you can fax over your resume” …which will most likely be used for toilet paper. I knew those resumes would probably never see the light of day again. But alas, the light had shone on me! I have a job as a Production Assistant – on a sitcom – nonetheless. For someone pursuing a career as a sitcom writer, this is where it hopefully starts! It feels close, I can literally see the writer’s room from my desk, hear their laughter and their basketballs being thrown across the room (the writers room is like a playpen for adults – I’m not sure when they actually in fact, write). Yet, I have a whole lot of crap to get through before I can make my way in. It’s like initiation for a sorority, except it’s a fraternity so the hazing is harsher. And instead of pledging leading up to “hell week,” I am rushing during an extended “hell year.” My new acquired responsibilities include making sure the kitchen is clean and doing the weekly grocery shopping. Hopefully, this will prepare me for the role of a housewife, if the whole writers situation doesn’t work out and I have to go to Plan B- marry rich.
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The job is on the Paramount lot, which is filled with action. I already had two star-spottings from the cast of Glee! But, the problem with the lot is that it’s huge and since I’m not an Asian tourist, I had no idea what to do when handed a giant map. I walked in circles until I eventually found the building I was working in. Hours later when I exited through a different door than I came in, I once again walked aimlessly, lost. And the confusion wasn’t only on foot, but by golf cart as well! Anyone who ever attended sleepaway camp as a kid can attest to the forbidden fruit that was the golf cart. So fast it sped through the campus, while we sweat in the sun, the elite sat covered and cool, the 8 mph breeze in their hair. When I was told to pick up executives and bring them to our office on a golf cart, I almost peed myself I was so excited. Then it hit me that I’ve never actually driven a cart, and my “regular” driving isn’t exactly up to par. With two ABC executives on board, I came inches from smashing the one facing backwards into a wall as I backed up, and when my only recollection of directions was going the wrong way down a one way street, the ABC exec, strapped per time and clearly annoyed by his incompetent driver, told me to hit it. Breaking the rules already. But, if I’ve realized anything yet, there doesn’t seem to be any “rules.” I was never given, nor do I think I’ll find a job description. If I had to pick one word it’d probably be “bitch.” But I don’t even know who’s bitch I am. Literally anyone. At the bottom of the ladder, I’m going to have to kiss a bunch of asses that are on the rungs above me. On the bright side, if I fall, there’s no one below me to smash into. At least there’s one less accident in my future.