Yes, Excuse Me, I'm Very Important

There's some great feeling that comes with being important. Or people thinking you are, anyway. (Hey, it's the next best thing, right?)

Here I am, sitting across from a the real life version of Michel from Gilmore girls, in a building lobby of Beverly Hills, typing on my laptop as I open the door for people and check their names off of a list. I'm the mysterious person who looks important. My roommate is producing a movie, that hired me as the editor today, (woo?). They needed someone to let these actors in that are coming to audition for the part. It's not that I'm not being friendly, I am. It's just I have internet access and am bored out of my mind, so when I barely look at them, it's not because I'm being snotty, it's because I'm playing an intense game of Sudoku or reading some stories, or hey, writing a blog.

Now when these actors walk in, they look around like they are unsure of what to do next. That's when I speak up. I make sure they look at least a little confused before I do so, just to ensure they don't actually work in the building or something. When I ask them if they are here for the audition, they smile warmly towards me and gravitate my way.

Now, I believe in humanity for the most part. I'm sure that many of these people truly are interested in my day and hope that I'm doing well. But after while, all the niceness had me thinking. These people must think I'm powerful. They must think that I'm going to have some sort of say in their casting. Yesterday, I had multiple laughs at my not-so-funny jokes and one man called me a goddess for waving a piece of paper in front of a motion detector that would open the door for him to enter. Also for this motion, I was compared to the Fonze. For waving a piece of paper. (Let it be known I have stopped even looking at the door as I do this, let alone actually opening it for them.)

Maybe they feed off of each other. One person is nice, and everyone miscontrues it as me being very important. I've never had so many doors opened for me in my life. Some guy just gave me a rose. A rose.

So I'm not complaining here. I like feeling important. I don't mind that these people think I'm someone I'm not. Yes, I ask them their names, but I certainly am not marking down points for how many times they make me feel like a princess. Little do they know, I'm not all that important and will probably have nothing to do with the casting. For the better as it seems. ("He'd be perfect!" "Really? Why?" "Well he gave me a rose so....")

And then this woman walks in and I swear it's Sharon Osbourne. But I can't tell for sure and don't want to stare. And then she comes back and I look again. Still unsure, I decide that it had to of been her. It is only when this Michel wanna-be asks me if that was Sharon Osbourne do I feel like, yes, I saw my first celebrity in Los Angeles. He then mumbled something about her having an office here and I figure it had to be her! Woo! My first celebrity sighting and she was so nice! Or well, she smiled at me.

This casting thing has been an interesting experience. Just watching how the actors size each other up subtly. Looking at their competition. No one has even spoken to each other, this only being especially awkward early in the evening when the first four were told to wait in the lobby with me while they finished setting up. With two chairs and not a lot of room, it was quite a relief to finally get that phone call that said, "Send 'em up!"

Well I'm back to looking important. Only a little longer of this treatment and then I'm back to being unimportant minion walking the street.

My Uncle The Romantic

This is the uncle with whom once looked me straight in the eye and told me, "A woman's job is to raise children and take care of her family. That should be your number one priority, whether it means putting your own career on hold or not."

Don't get me wrong. He means well. Yes, he has a twisted view of the world and would probably agree to that old famous line, "A woman belongs in the kitchen", but he's a good guy.

Since I announced that I was moving to LA, this uncle has been particularly interested in my life. Surprising, as it seems, he's just as interested in me succeeding as he is in me bearing children. He's done everything since my announcement including giving me the name and number of all his business associates in LA, and calling at least once a week to check on how my job searches are going.

Today was no different. He called and asked how I was settling in and how the job hunt was going. We chatted for a while and I told him I was actively searching. He then proceeded to give me good old fashioned advice, including to exploit the fact that I was a woman, and therefore a minority. Which is fine, I guess, as he told me that in a joking manner. He told me things like, "Don't take no for an answer" and "Never give up." I appreciate the sentiment, and even more so when he tells me how he knows I'll do well.

The conversation drifted to more casual conversation when he decided to give me an update on his step-daughter. She a little older than me. Divorced, with three children. He told me she had been talking to some guys an eHarmony, and by his tone, I could tell he was trying to convince me to do the same. "It's great how they match you up by your background." Slyly then turning the conversation back to LA and how when I meet someone I need to know their background and make sure I know their true intentions. If he was trying to sell eHarmony to me, he failed his conquest when he mentioned that one of the guys she's talking to told her, "You can learn more about me by watching 'The Notebook'". Gag. Amazingly, she swooned. I swear, if a guy ever said that to me, I'd say something to the effect of, "You can learn more about me by watching 'Fatal Attraction'".

Anyway, I digress. We then continued talking about how I can present myself to find a job...I think. He starts saying that no matter what they say, whether it's I'm too short, or too tall, to not give up. He continues to list attributes which seemed to me to be more fit for a Dating Game rather than a job search, but never came right out and said it, still working under the pretense of a job search.

The guy is smooth. He's a saleman, and is good at his job. But I caught on. I guess it didn't take a genius, but he was talking just as much about me finding a potential husband and seed-bearer than he was me finding a job. (Of course, in hindsight I do remember him saying something about there being lots of people with a lot of money here, so maybe he was grouping the two.)

The conversation went on, unfortunately. Not that I don't enjoy talking to him, it's just the man can talk and talk and talk and say about three things fifty million ways. He went on to tell me the story of how the CEO of Bank of America got his first position in the bank. The story goes, he interviewed and didn't get the job. He went back home to his father who was furious. His father had some big connections at local banks, and according to my uncle, called the bank and demanded they give his son a job. He went back, and got the job. I guess the lesson I learned here, is if at first you don't succeed, get a parent on the phone to tell the prospective employer how independent and self-sufficent you really are.

Or of course, as he pointed out, he has some clients in NY who are, "Italian with some sketchy connections." I kid you not. In all seriousness, he told me that if I had a problem with someone, let him know and they can, "Take care of it". What?!! I may be naive, but I think the least effective way of getting a job is somehow harming your potential employer. He went on to tell me that they claimed to know where Jimmy Hoffa was. When he asked me if I knew who that was, and I answered in the affirmative, he went on to tell me anyways. Because that's just the kind of guy he is.

I know he has nothing but good intentions, but the last 45 minutes I spent talking to him, were some of the most entertaining in a while. Man, if and when I ever get married, this Uncle is going to be tossing some major birdseed.