Some of my co-workers are not the healthiest-looking people. I’m sad to say that because one day I’ll be their age or maybe I’m their age already. They aren’t necessarily tiny planets with arms, legs, and a head. But they’re still stocky-fat like bouncers at a club. Usually, they’re production assistants carrying around boxes of sodas to refill the fridge or they’re assistant editors emerging like bears from their dark cave of editing rooms.
But, at least, these guys look like they have a social life outside of work. The producers, on the other hand, look like the thoughts they are carrying around inside their heads are heavy metals weighing their heads down.
Sometimes they say hi to me, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they flash a quick smile at me. But that’s usually all they say. After the high of working in a new environment had worn off, I realized that some of these people were weird.
There is a bar I go to once in a while where the drinks are poured heavy and the outside patio is covered by tall, potted plants wrapped in electric lights. Very occasionally Hollywood people are there, and when they are, they’re mostly minor players like me.
I was in the patio smoking. Wavy blonde hair just up to her neck. Smoking. She was with a friend at her table, and I was waiting for a good opportunity. I made my move when her friend became occupied by another dude.
My opening line was you look like you play tennis. I don’t remember why I said it, but that was my initial impression of her. A girl who looked like she played tennis. It turns out she did. Play tennis. But that was in high school and now she worked as a make up artist on set. She had also worked on my show. She told me they were vampires, the people who worked there.