During the 90s I worked for a local television station. One individual, a popular author, who was responsible for airing the program, wrote and began shooting a movie during that time. I was more than happy to participate, because I was writing a screenplay and getting to watch a movie being made was fascinating to me.
Due to my supreme ethical and moral standards, I cannot divulge any information about the movie or the other participants related to this movie because one of the actresses, who appeared onscreen, was breaching her contract to appear in this short film. I wouldn’t want to get her in trouble, even though I have no idea what the statute of limitations for movie contracts is.
So back to my story. Another pseudo actress, who was not well know – actually, she was not known AT ALL and STILL isn’t – had a very high opinion of herself and a very low opinion of me, perhaps due to the fact that we had both applied for positions at the TV station and I had been the one to receive the job. Whatever. It’s what happened one day before shooting began that sours me.
On that day, the day designated for choosing costumes, Pseudo Actress announced that she had to find an outfit that was kind of – how did she put it? Oh, yeah, “trailer trashy.” She glanced down her nose, acid dripping from her eyes, as she lifted her eyebrows and scanned the room.
“Anyone? Anyone?” Nobody responded, but then she excitedly pointed at me. “Oh, you! I want to borrow the outfit you’re wearing.”
And I let her.
See, this is why I’d never make it in Hollywood: I’m not good at holding my tongue.
Me either. I find talking difficult when I hold my tongue. And since I so obviously dress like trailer trash, at least according to the – ahem – actress, the only show that would be appropriate for me would be the Beverly Hillbillies.
Love the ending.
(If you ARE a lemon, is it OK to be a little tart?)
Ah, punny! Of course!