WTD ... three more days to go

Yesterday I got yelled at by a pregnant woman, whom was pretty justified in her yelling. We had a bogey car that was parked right outside of set, directly in our DP's way, and it just HAD to go. "Find the owner", our PM said, adding, with a point of one finger, "start at that building right there."




The time was 12:15am. Being the lowest monkey on the Locations chain, it was up to me to go from door to door, buzz people awake, and ask if they owned the blue Volkswagon Passat with Iowa plates. The few that actually responded to their doorbells were less than estatic with me. There was this one dude with a basement apartment that I could see was up - he even had a hot chick sitting on his couch that was in plain view. Apparently I was interfering with the guy's booty call, for when he popped out (after several rings...he was playing asleep for awhile) he pretended to be angry/sleepy and asked me if I knew what time it was. I said I did. No luck.

There was this woman on the other end of a talk-box that I must have annoyed because I held down the button to talk to her about ten times before I realized that I was just pressing down the buzzer, and she could only listen when I kept my hand off of it. Both times I talked to her, she was really nice. It was surreal.

Then came the pregnant woman. As soon as I rang her buzzer, which I could hear from the ground floor, she appeared, furiously descending the inside steps like a drill sergeant about to lay some verbal smack down on a rookie private. Dressed in a shiny pink robe and with perfect bedhair, she was a thing of beauty, skinny with just a little bit of plump belly giving away her trimester age. She was also mad as hell. "You don't understand - I have two kids and they're both up, and I'm pregnant!" Ugh. Nothing stings worse than realizing you just really screwed up somebody nice's day, especially when they're pregnant, with kids, and probably single. I'm just guessing that if her husband was around, he'd be kicking my teeth down the stairs and into the black metal fence.

"I'm very very sorry ma'am, I know it's late and I don't mean to disturb you..." my gut sank. I hate making people mad at me, but my hand was forced! "...and it's only because it's an emergency. . . We're looking for the owner of a blue Passat, Iowa plates."

She hated me.

Flying into a rampage of helpful hints and furious energy, she burst out another slew of very true facts about how I was screwing her night up and how I could find better help in the area. She recommended the bottle bum who sleeps next to her apartment, because he knew better than anybody what lives on the street and to whom it would belong. We checked, but he was out for the night - probably due to all the racket we were making. With another helpful but painful batch of whispered shouts, she closed the door and quickly made her way back up the inside stairs to her apartment.

We never did find the owner of that car. Instead, we used it in the scene - it wound up adding a cool motion - Killian slammed into it at half-speed! Take after take, sweet, sweet revenge unfolded.



_Epilogue_

Tonight we left the bottle bum all of our excess 2nd meal food. Burgers, fries, salads, it was all boxed up and put at his doorstep. As we pulled away in John's car, we saw him just waking up to the feast. I wonder if he ate any.


ps, IMAGE DUMP


pps, yesterday someone was shot a block away from Set. BedStuy is not a safe place.