The Hollywood Assistant: Life Below The Line

By Micheal HaDera

Micheal HaDera's The Hollywood Assistant: Life Below The Line is a shocking insider's tale about the inner workings of one man's life inside a major Hollywood production. He details the everyday trials and tribulations of a Hollywood producer assistant in full color, leaving no surprising detail, ridiculous request, or scandalous event

• Language: English
• Publisher: Micheal HaDera
• Release date: Feb 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781777989910

Book preview

PRE–PRODUCTION

Chapter 1

The phone rang and rang, waking me from a blissful deep sleep. I debated answering it but knew if I didn’t, I would spend the entire day in bed. After twelve straight fifteen-hour days on Scooby-Doo 2, I had earned the right to sleep in.

Hello, I muttered, wiping the corners of my eyes.

Hi, Jackson? I recognized the voice, but in my dazed state I couldn’t immediately place her.

Speaking.

It's Lucy from Capilano College. We’ve had some of last year’s graduating class call us looking for people and I’m sending all the recent grads emails with their contact information. I don’t have an email on file for you. Can I get that from you?

Alert, I rose from my bed. I don’t actually have an email address. Can I just call them?

They asked to receive emails. Also Jackson, its 2003 you’ll need an email address to get work in the business. If you come by, you can write up your resume, then I can email it to them.

I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I jumped out of bed excited with the lead. I ripped open my curtains hoping to let in the morning light but it was another grey and rainy day in Vancouver, Canada.

I showed up to my campus. It had only been six weeks since graduation and it seemed completely different. The halls were quiet and bare, the only sound was me walking on the old and creaky wooden floors. Halfway down the hall, I walked into an office to see Lucy behind her desk.

Hi Lucy. Wow, you changed your hair. How much did you cut off? She’d always had long, curly hair, so her current straight and edgy bob was a drastic change.

Thanks, sweetie. About half. I wanted something completely different, she said, beaming. Do you like it?

I love it! You look powerful, I said, hugging her.

The doors to the computer lab are open. Just let me know when you’re finished.

Okay, thanks so much. I walked back down the hall towards the computer lab.

The dated computer had barely booted up when I saw Lucy at the door. Jackson, there’s a woman on the phone for you. She looked as puzzled as I felt. Who would call me at a school I already graduated from? No one knew I was here.

For me? Are you sure?

Yes, she called asking for your number. We can’t give them out but since you’re here, I mentioned I could get you for her. I walked back to the office with Lucy.

Hello? I said uncertain of who would be on the other end.

Hi Jackson, it’s Kim.

Kim was from last year’s graduating class. She had come in for a Q&A and I had unfortunately missed her, but other students had her number, so I got it and we’d been speaking over the phone. I lost your number and called the school for it.

Okay… and?

Well, I’m on a new show working for the director as his assistant, and one of the producers is looking for an assistant. Would you be interested?

Absolutely. I couldn’t believe I was getting this call. But don’t they usually have their own that they bring up from Los Angeles?

Not all. Usually it’s just the director, the producers and some department heads that come up. The rest of the crew is hired locally. The reason studios shoot productions here is because of the tax incentives they receive and paying in Canadian dollars saves them even more money. Would you like to come in for an interview?

"Absolutely—but what does a producer’s assistant do?" Since graduation, I’d spent three days working on the first season of Canadian Idol and the last two weeks working on Scooby Doo 2. It consisted of me watching equipment and changing garbage’s during the day while all of the real action happened at night when the crew was shooting. The experience left me feeling nervous for my future. I’d spent the last week worrying about how I was going to make the leap from a janitor all the way to a Hollywood producer or a studio executive position in Los Angeles. Maybe this was my ticket?

I decided I needed this job. I graduated on April 15th and had spent my last cent on April 1st. The two and half weeks’ pay from Canadian Idol and Scooby Doo 2 paid enough to cover rent, insurance, food, and gas for all of May, but now I was back to being flat broke.

You’ll do whatever the producer wants. All of them are different and so the assistant’s duties always differ. Can you come in today for three?

Yes! I shouted with excitement. Thank you for thinking of me. This was the opportunity that I had been looking for. I had to get it. It was full-time work, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

I raced home and put together my best Hollywood assistant look: black pants, a crisp white shirt, and a black belt to go with my black shoes. I finished it with a short-fitted blazer and a large, black, over-the-shoulder leather bag that contained my wallet and copies of my single page resume.

Two hours later, I pulled up to the Lion’s Gate Studios front gates in North Vancouver, stated my name and was allowed access to the lot. I loved that feeling. I had spent years watching others experience it in films and discussing what it was like to be on a studio lot, and now I was living it.

Seeing the lot was magical. There were trailers on all corners of the lot, women were wheeling around wardrobe racks for a science fiction movie, and to my immediate left sat two men in zombie costumes enjoying a cigarette.

I needed to get this job.

Walking into Building Nine, all the walls leading to the third floor were covered in framed movie posters—Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, On the Waterfront, The Birds—all classics that I was certain inspired the current studio employees to pursue their careers. Once on the third floor, I walked to Office 330. The office had four women and a man all at their desks. They all looked up at me and, within a second, looked back down at their computers.

Hi, I’m Jackson, I announced to the man closest to me. I am looking for Kim. He pointed across the room and looked back down at his computer. I walked across the dead quiet office and made no eye contact with anyone. Having never met Kim before, I wasn’t sure what she looked like. But towards the end of the office a large friendly smile ended my confusion. I approached her desk while she stood up. She had short, red hair with long bangs, and her blue eyes pierced through her clear lenses.

It's so great to finally meet you, Kim. Thank you so much for calling me! I went to hug her, but she extended her hand instead.

No worries, she said shaking my hand. Now, Douglas is in a meeting and almost done. I’ll walk you over to his side and you can wait for him there. She walked around her desk and across the hallway.

There were two small offices and two small chairs outside of them. I sat down and tried to think of what I would say. I had never been in an interview with a real Hollywood producer before. I wanted this job. No, I fucking needed this job.

Is the next one here? announced a loud, flamboyant voice walking towards me. I sat up straight as my heart started to beat faster. I was nervous. I was never nervous.

Hi, are you Jackson? he asked. I looked up to see a man in his forties with caramel-colored skin, a venti Starbucks in one hand and documents in the other. He wore dark-blue jeans, a powder-blue cashmere sweater and a striped, pink, collared shirt that poked up at the top.

Hi, yes. I’m Jackson. I stood up, looked straight past his gold frames and into his hazel eyes. I don’t know why, but I felt like I was looking at my older self. I held my breath and repeated to myself, ‘You must get this job. This is your job.’

I followed him into his office. Its simplicity was another surprise, nothing like I imagined it would be. He had a large mahogany desk, a leather desk chair, a tall mahogany bookshelf with a fake plant in the corner, a three-person grey sofa, and behind the door a TV stand with a 27" television and DVD player finished up the room. Describing it as bland would have been an understatement.

He walked back around his desk, grabbed a pack of his blue American Spirit cigarettes, pulled one out and lit it. He collapsed into his desk chair, inhaled his first drag, and paused while glancing at my short resume, sizing me up before he finally spoke.

Tell me about yourself, he said blowing his smoke in my direction and leaning back in his chair. I felt small, barely visible. He curled his right hand into a fist and placed it on his waist.

Sitting up straight, I said, I’ve recently graduated from Capilano College where I majored in Motion Picture and Television Production. I have already worked on two separate shows, but I would really love to be your assistant as, someday, I would like to be a producer.

With each word spoken I lost more confidence. I hoped I sounded assertive. I couldn’t tell. He grabbed my resume from his desk while he inhaled another puff. He scanned it and almost immediately threw it back. The look on his face went from open to what can only be described as pure boredom. He wasn’t impressed, completely uninterested. He fought to keep in a sigh of irritation.

Well, he said, "Supra is a story about a dark, lawless world that pushes a passive ordinary woman to her limits forcing her to take the law into her own hands. It will be long hours. There are no set days or duties that you’ll have. He glanced at his watch. I was losing him. We are planning on shooting for four months."

The hours are fine, I replied. I really like to work.

This was my job. One look at Doug and I just knew this was the person that would teach me how to become the producer I planned to be.

Okay great. We’ll be in touch, he said. As I left the office, I saw him grab my resume and place it into his inbox where I knew it would be lost—just like my opportunity.

‘That was it?’ I was in there for less than three minutes. I expected several questions about me and at least somewhat of an in-depth interview. I’d blown it.

I waved bye to Kim and left the building, got into my car, and began the drive home. But halfway home, I pulled over, sat in my car, lit a cigarette, and turned off the radio.

‘That was my future, my job.’ It was a sign to get that call this morning, and there’d been a reason I’d been in contact with Kim all those months. How did it go so wrong? I sat and played the interview in my head over and over again, and the longer I sat there the more horrified I became. I had not been myself, hadn’t shown him who I really was and how capable I am.

I had to go back. ‘These are the moments that define who you really are.’ And did I have a choice? I was down to $5.00, half a pack of cigarettes, and a quarter-tank of gas. Rent was due in two weeks and I wouldn’t be able to make it. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Without even thinking about how I would get back on the lot or what I would even say to Doug, I started my car and was on my way back. My mind was completely clear; I felt a sensation of complete calmness. Somehow, I knew the words would come to me by the time I reached the studio. I pulled up to the same entrance, lied to the guard about leaving my wallet upstairs and, to my surprise, he not only let me back on the lot, but he didn’t call the office to confirm.

I pulled into the same parking spot and turned my engine off. My heart was racing and beating so loud I was certain my car was vibrating. Fear overtook my body. Walking up the stairs my knees began to shake, something I had never experienced. I started to feel sweat building on the back of my neck and shoulders as I reached the third floor.

‘What if someone else is being interviewed? What if he is in a meeting? What if someone sees me before I get to Doug?’ I would lose my contact with Kim and would most likely be banned from the studio. At the top of the stairs, I took in three deep breaths, steadied my shaking knees, and began my walk to his side of the office. The door was closed and there was no one waiting for an interview.

Suddenly, a girl appeared from the other side. Hi, she said, obviously confused. Uh…you’re back?

Yes, I just need to talk to him again. I continued towards his office, but she stood in front of me.

Is he expecting you? The look on her face was the same one I hoped he wouldn’t have.

No, but I’ll only be a second. With that I slipped by her, knocked her arm out of my way and opened his door.

I found Doug standing up and filing his paperwork. When our eyes met, he looked confused. In this moment, I experienced something I didn’t expect or thought was possible. I was completely calm and fully in control. I was going to say what I thought and be heard. The girl from the other side was still behind me, staring, upset that I had pushed her. She would hear and see what would go down next.

Hi. Listen, Doug, I said. I want this job and I want it bad. I want it more than anyone else you will meet with today. I may not have the experience that others have, but I can guarantee you no one will fight, work harder and hustle for you more than I will. It would be a huge mistake on your part to give it to someone else.

There. I’d said it. I was calm, I made sense, and I didn’t feel like I came off like I was some delusional juvenile.

He looked directly at me, like I was a completely different person than the one he’d met earlier. This was the moment that would predict the coming years in my life. It would either go down as a brilliant attempt or one that would forever peg me as a lunatic.

Suddenly, I could see the beginning of a smile form on his face. His mouth dropped, he slammed his hand against his desk and looked surprised, pleased, and unsure what to say.

Okay, he said standing up straight, still smiling. I will reconsider, and we’ll let you know.

Thank you. I smiled back, turned around, received an odd look from the girl I had shoved, and made the walk down the hallway then down the stairs into my car.

Chapter 2

It was 7:00pm on a Friday night. I sat around and waited and waited. The job began on Monday, and I hadn’t received a call from the production office. Damn.

Then my phone rang. I took in a deep breath and answered it.

Hello. I lit a cigarette, hoping it would help me cope.

Jackson? I instantly recognized her voice. It was the same girl I shoved. I was certain she was calling to not only tell me I didn’t get the job but that my behavior was completely unprofessional, inappropriate and that she was going to see to it herself that I never be allowed back onto the lot.

Hi yes, it's Jackson, My world came to a pause. The smoke from my burning cigarette was the only thing moving.

"It’s Lisa from the Supra production office. I’m sorry for calling you so late. She was sweet, polite and didn’t seem to be upset. I wanted to let you know that you have been selected for the job. Are you still interested?"

Really? Instantly everything came back to life. I could hear traffic outside my opened window and the slight breeze against my face. Yes! Definitely.

Okay, great. Congrats and we will see you Monday at 9:00am sharp. You’ll need an organizer and a Blackberry. I could tell she felt my enthusiasm and her tone put me at ease. I ended the call and jumped on my bed screaming with excitement.

I couldn’t believe it worked.

I got the job.

The first person I called was my mother. She was worried about what I was going to do now that I was done school and unemployed. My mother didn’t understand or feel comfortable with the idea of working freelance. My parents immigrated to Canada and had high hopes for their first-born son. Being an African, I didn’t have the pleasure of going through life with the option to dabble and wonder on about what I would do with my life. It had been preselected for me.

You can be a doctor, lawyer, a gold-winning Olympic medalist, and if you can’t handle that, you can be an engineer. Those were the words I heard all my life, usually immediately after I was told the long story about my parents’ journey to Canada. She came from a generation that believed a good job—a real job—involved hard work, working in an office between the hours of nine and five and receiving a paycheck every two weeks. Anything else was unheard of. The arts were unpredictable, unreliable and for children. You couldn't have a real life in that field.

I’d been forced into swimming, diving, and soccer. My mother bent over backwards to keep me away from any kind of arts. However, when she finally accepted that I wasn’t an athlete and wouldn’t be going to the Olympics, she moved on to direct me toward careers in business or IT—two fields I had absolutely no interest in. Though I understood why she felt the way she did, I was happy to report good news so soon after graduation. I couldn’t wait to tell her.

Hi baby, how are you? Did you hear back yet? Every conversation I had with my mother involved her cooking in the background or washing dishes, even though she had a dishwasher.

I got the job! I was beaming with excitement.

You did? Oh, praise the Lord. I’m so happy for you. God is so good. So, how was the interview?

Not good actually. After it was finished, I went back, burst into his office, and basically demanded the job, I said laughing, playing it over in my mind.

You what? Are you serious? she asked, stunned.

Yes, and it worked!

Wow. Well make sure you do a good job. You have to work hard, very very hard. Your father and I have done nothing but work hard all day and night all our lives and it pays off. God has given you an opportunity, so don’t disappoint him! she pleaded. Again, they were words I’d heard all my life.

Don’t worry, Mom. I’m ready for this.

Truth is, I wasn’t.

As the elevator rose to the twenty-second floor, I was already buzzing, unable to stand still even though I hadn’t even taken my first sip of coffee.

I checked myself out in the elevator mirror: black jeans, a grey and white-striped Club Monaco shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, my shoulder bag draped off my right shoulder and, in my hand, my newly-purchased personal organizer and Blackberry 7200.

‘I look the part, don’t I?’ I certainly thought I did. ‘And why not?’ I was made for this, and this was the beginning of the career I'd been dreaming about my whole life. I was officially an employee in the movie-making business; an assistant to the producer Doug Lester on a summer blockbuster motion picture for one of the biggest studios, Hidden Hills Studio.

Outside of Doug’s office, a desk had replaced the interview chairs. I walked over to Kim’s side of the office after noticing her when I walked in.

Hi Kim, how are you?

Great, she said. Congrats on getting the job!

Thanks. So, where do I start?

He’s not in yet, she said. But you’ll definitely need stationary.

I followed her to a large metal stationery cabinet that might as well have been a remote Staples store. There were notepads in all sizes and color combinations, every pen and pencil ever created, millions of paperclips, and a selection of sharpies that would have made Michelangelo blush. Anything you could imagine was available, so, not knowing what I’d need, I grabbed a few of everything.

Don’t forget to grab distribution. They’re on the big distribution shelf by the printer, Kim added. I took one of each distribution document that was available: the contact list, extension list and crew list. I was pleased to see they were so organized.

Kim showed me around the office and introduced me to everyone I’d be working with. They were much friendlier than on my interview day. First, there was the Office Production Assistant, Dan. He was the link between the production office and set, helping to order supplies that all departments needed. He was 5’11, had a buzzed haircut, perfectly manicured facial stubble, and an incredible tight ripped body beneath his even tighter black T-shirt.

We shook hands while giving each other the look; the look only two gay men could give each other. It was a combination sizing each other up, who was the hotter one, who had the better body while simultaneously categorizing which homosexual group the other belonged to. I was the queen/diva/fashion/gay because I was femme, demanding which is code for black and stylish and he was clearly a total circuit muscle queen, which meant he lived at the gym, would dance topless at the bar to an overly remixed Britney song, but it meant we could be friends since we belonged to two different categories and weren’t in competition.

The Second Assistant Coordinator was Malinda, an attractive girl with a big smile and even bigger breasts. She was in charge of ordering supplies and taking care of all the distribution work in the office.

Then there was Ursula, the First Assistant Coordinator, who was in charge of all accommodations and travel, dealing heavily with immigration to grant the cast and crewmembers visas. An obese woman in her late thirties, Ursula had thick shoulder-length dark hair, a fresh, clean face without a drop of makeup, and wore a florescent-green, fleece sweater that was not at all flattering. Her desk was covered in candy wrappers, and two large 7-11 Big Gulps sat at either side of her computer. She barely gave me a glance and shot me the most insincere welcome I’ve ever received.

We moved onto Brenda, the Production Coordinator of the show. She had a face with small features, short dark hair, and dressed casually. Lisa was the other assistant. She worked for the Executive Producer and wore a comfortable powder-pink summer dress and clear glasses. Her bright warm smile put me at ease, especially since I had pushed her out of my way when I returned on my interview day.

After I finished introducing myself to the rest of the team, I walked over to my desk and set up my area, carefully unloading my armful of office supplies. It had only been a few minutes, and suddenly there was Doug walking towards me. He looked right at me, smiled, and walked into his office.

Hi, Mr. Lester, how are you? I said, following him into his office.

Good morning, Jackson. I’m well. Just call me Doug. He placed his venti Starbucks on his desk and dropped his oversized, fabric bag onto his couch. I couldn't make out its logo, but it was clear he’d had it for years. I’d later find out it contained everything from bandages to five-year-old receipts.

Thank you so much for hiring me. I extended my hand, and he shook it back, firmly. I was thrilled that he would be my first boss. I was certain that he and I were very much alike.

Is Phillip here? he asked, transferring documents and scripts from his bag to the mahogany shelf.

Oh, I don’t know who that is. The instant the words left my mouth, he froze and looked at me, displeased. I didn’t know what I said but I knew it wasn’t good.

He’s the Director. You need to know these things. Get yourself a crew list and familiarize yourself with it. Go check with Kim and see if he’s in. We need to have a meeting before our call with the costume designer.

Will do, I said, running out of the office and away from that look on his face.

Kim, is Phillip in yet?

Who’s asking? she responded, avoiding eye contact.

Doug is. He just got in.

Yes, he’s in his office waiting for the call they are going to have in– She looked at her watch. –fifteen minutes.

Okay, great. Doug would like to speak with him before that call.

Okay, just have him come over.

I ran over to Doug’s side of the office, found him still unpacking his bag. Doug, Phillip is in his office and ready for you. I looked at him to see if I could read him and got nothing.

At my desk, I grabbed all the documents relating to the show, found the crew list, and began to go through it. As would be the case in all the shows to come, the first thing I’d do on my first day was go through the entire crew list and memorize the above the line crew members.

Above the line was an industry term used to describe the cast, director, producers, and anyone related to the show at the studio. Essentially, it was the important people. Once I had those memorized, I would then move on to everyone below the line, which included department heads, their teams, and basically everyone else.

The phone rang just as I was about to flip the first page. I grabbed it on the second ring.

Doug Lester’s office.

It's Kathryn. The woman’s voice was cold and bothered.

Can I help you? I found it odd she didn’t mention who she wanted or why she was calling.

Is Doug there? she snapped back.

Oh! Yes, he is. One second. I saw the orange hold button and pressed it. Doug, I have a call for you.

Well, who is it? he shouted back.

Kathryn. I waited for a response.

Put her through, he said. Though there was a wall between us, I could tell he was displeased.

‘Great,’ I thought. Then I realized I had no idea how to do that. Panicking, my eyes darted between the phone and Doug’s door. I saw a transfer button, but where would I transfer it to? I grabbed the extension list and looked for instructions. Nothing.

What’s happening, Jackson? It was clear he was becoming annoyed. I’d been working for less than an hour and had already upset him twice.

Thankfully, Kim appeared on my side of the office to inquire if Doug was on his way to see Phillip.

Kim! Thank God. Do you know how to transfer a call?

She grabbed the receiver. It's for Doug, I added, breathlessly.

There’s no call. She looked at me confused.

I looked down to the extension lines and saw the line’s light had gone dark. The phone rang again, and Kim passed the receiver back to me.

Doug Lester’s office. My heart beat frantically.

It's Kathryn. It was the same woman.

OK, I'll transfer you. I passed Kim the receiver. She hit transfer, 1122, and transfer again. I memorized the process. I could hear Doug’s phone ringing and him answering it. I collapsed into my chair overwhelmed, looking at Kim.

Just let Doug know to come once he’s done with his call.

I will, thanks. I grabbed my personal organizer and wrote down the correct way to transfer a call. Hit transfer, the extension code and transfer again. After that experience, I was certain it was tattooed in my mind. But I wasn’t going to risk it.

Doug came out of his office, venti latte in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. I’ll be in Phillip’s office. Hold my calls. Then he was gone.

I took a deep breath and began to unwrap all my stationery items when the phone rang again. This time, I felt no intimidation and answered like this was the way I had answered phone calls all my life.

Doug Lester’s office. I was sharp-toned and had a pen in hand.

Hi, I have Stephen for Doug. The voice had an English accent and seemed friendly.

Sorry, Doug is in a meeting.

Can we leave word? She sounded disappointed. Everyone seemed disappointed with me.

Sure, what word? I asked.

Um, leave word… Meaning let Doug know Stephen called? she said in a patronizing tone.

Oh, okay. Sure. I got their office number and ended the call.

I went back to getting my desk in order. I copied all of the executive numbers off the crew list to my personal organizer, but, as clean and organized as I was, I really didn’t know where to begin. I calmed myself and thought, ‘How bad could I be doing? Who gets axed on their first day? Before I could finish my thought, I heard steps walking towards my side of the office.

Did Stephen’s office just try calling? Doug appeared in front of me, Starbucks in his left hand, right hand on his waist, eyes burning into mine.

Yes, I have his message for you. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, but I knew by the look on Doug’s face it wasn’t good.

You need to tell me these things! Phillip and I were waiting for his call. He’s the costume designer. Get me another Starbucks! Ask Kim how I like it, he said storming off.

This was not how I imagined my first day. Though I had never been an assistant before, apparently I’d underestimated its importance.

Thankfully, the rest of the day was quiet. Around 7:00pm, Dan came by and dropped off the prep schedule. It listed the daily meetings for the week, whom they would take place with, which departments and crewmembers needed to attend, and what the meetings were regarding.

It was created by the First Assistant Director (AD) who was in charge of helping the Director with every aspect, but especially with the set and scheduling. He was also the liaison between all the departments and the Director. Once we started shooting, the first AD would approve the call sheet that the Second AD would build. The call sheet was referenced by all departments because it stated what we were shooting, what locations we were at, what page number we would shoot, what scenes we would shoot, and the day's total. It also showed everything every department would need for that day’s work, from props to transport.

I placed my prep schedule in my organizer and walked into Doug’s office to hand him his copy. I found him sitting in his chair, smoking, and reading Variety—the industry's go-to magazine that stated anything and everything that was happening in Hollywood.

Hi, do you have a minute?

Yes, he said, continuing to read. He palmed his fifth Starbucks of the day and reclined into his chair.

I have the prep schedule here for you. Where would you like me to put it? I walked up to his desk and sat down in the guest chair across from his desk.

Just throw it in here. He pointed at his inbox tray and inhaled another drag of his cigarette. He ripped out a page from the magazine and pinned it onto his wall. The headline read, Kate the Great Passes. Katherine Hepburn had passed away. His gaze turned, and his eyes bored into me. I felt a glean of sweat run down my back.

Sorry about today, I said, rubbing my fingers, trying to meet his eyes. Doug, what are the things I need to know so I can be really good at my job?

He froze, looking me dead in the face, took a long inhalation of his cigarette and, while blowing its toxic contents in my direction, he said, Everything!

I didn’t know what to make of his response. Surely, he wouldn’t expect me to know everything? How could anyone know everything? And what was everything?

Back at my desk, wondering what the hell everything meant, I tried to memorize the crew list. I felt like I was out of my league, a complete fake in an industry full of professionals.

That was when Doug popped out of his office with his bag on his shoulder, eyes forward. I’m leaving. See you tomorrow, he announced, and with that my first day was over. I exhaled, then proceeded to wait thirty minutes after he left in case he called. Finally, I packed up my things and ended my day. I walked over to the production office, told them I was leaving and made my way home.

There, as I laid in bed, chain-smoking and reliving the moments of my first day, I convinced myself the next day would be smoother. It was a prayer I would come to say daily, because everything just got harder, the situations even more extraordinary.

Today, I often wonder to myself:

Had I known what was to come, would I have done it all over again?

Chapter 3

The next couple weeks went by as smooth as I could have hoped. There were mistakes but I was able to fix them before Doug was in the know, and the ones I wasn’t able to, he understood. Well…as best he could.

When I received my first paycheck, I realized I was now making in one week what I was used to making in four weeks. In addition to my pay, I made an extra $500 a month on my car. The show gave