Today I was transported back to about 4 years ago when I was what they call in the production  world a very “green” PA. I had never heard the words “call sheet” or “production report.” When ADs blurted into the phone “copy that” I would immediately dash over to the copy machine, expecting to find documents that they needed me to copy for them. I didn’t realize “copy that” meant that they understood what I had said on the phone. Yeah, I was that lame.

The learning curve did not come without warning. My bosses repeatedly commented, “You’ll get it. There’s just a learning curve.” Oh, how I quickly began to “get” most day-to-day shit. Food was the most important aspect of a TV show. If a certain woman executive, we’ll call her L, didn’t have a whole wheat bagel ready for her on stage every morning, there would be hell to pay in the production office. Also, my producer, who we’ll call S, once almost had a breakdown when her pizza was overcooked.

I also “got” that your role, in the beginning of your production life, is a thankless one. Forget flexible hours in the beginning. Forget about making plans with friends for drinks on a week night because, knowing your luck, you’ll somehow get stuck running off scripts in the copy room and have to drive them all around the fuckin’ town. Oh, and you might get a flat tire along the way in some remote part of West Hills. AND you might get so lost in gated neighborhoods with horses galloping around (you think I’m kidding, don’t you?) that you don’t even get to go home and sleep for a few hours. You end up driving from your script drop-offs back to where you came from… WORK!

There was a time during this “learning curve” that I would stress out more than I thought any human being was capable of stressing out. Here’s a day in the life of the old Korlina at work and what would set me off…

FLOATING CLOUDS BRING US BACK TO 2004…

Korlina (moi) brings back 25+ lunches for both the production and writers’ offices. Korlina is exhausted & hungry. Once Korlina delivers everyone’s lunch, complete with 2 napkins and cutlery, she licks her lips in anticipation of her tuna melt (even though it’s probably not as warm and gooey as it was before I left the restaurant and placed it in my trunk). Korlina throws herself down on her uncomfy desk chair, takes out her delectable sandwich, (at this rate anything of the food variety would constitute as delectable) and is about to take one big bite wheeeeeeeeeeeeeen…

“Kooooooorlina!!!!!” It sounds like a little kid in a playground whining & on the verge of major meltdown. It’s the one and only S, one of my bosses, and the show’s producer.

I bolt up from my desk, forgetting about my hunger. When S calls your name, you run, run, RUN to her office doorway. “Is everything okay, S?” I let out breathlessly, already knowing that NOTHING is okay when she calls my name. “This PIZZA, ugh. It’s overcooked! Didn’t you tell them not to overcook it???” S not only sounded like a spoiled brat in a playground, she looked like one too. I was waiting for the moment when she would throw the damn pizza at me, on my new shirt (thankfully, she did not, but I have heard PA horror stories where burritos were thrown at PAs who messed up a producer’s food order).

“S, I’m so sorry. I did tell them to not overcook your pizza, I…. umm umm ummm,” fumbled my words. And started to cry. A lot. Started to sob. A lot. My other bosses, R and M, were standing behind me, arms crossed, looks of disdain and simulataneous disappointment on their faces. They were like S’s security guards. Oh sorry, did I say security guards? I meant to say slaves. I flew out of that production office without saying a word, but somehow R knew what I was up to. “Korlina, you don’t have to go back [to the restaurant]. S doesn’t want you to do that!” But I knew deep down that that was just a lie. It was just a stupid test, and at the time, it was a test I wanted to pass.

Today, where I am now in my “production career,” I just laugh at memories of my old self. Sure, I still get uptight about some ridiculousness on occasion, but for the most part, I breathe deeper and care much less about the stupid bullshit.

For instance, this morning. I was expecting an important package for our make-up dept. to be delivered via UPS (why of course). It was supposed to arrive yesterday, so I became concerned when it still hadn’t appeared this morning, especially when the make- up lady needed it urgently for today. My heart rate increased after I got off the phone with UPS. They claimed to have records that showed it was delivered yesterday at 1:06 p.m. Ugh, great. It was dropped off to a girl and they didn’t have record of a name (again, why of course). After frantically asking every girl in our building, even the girls downstairs who have less to do with the show, if they in fact had signed for a package, I began to lose hope. I also began to think about the look on the make-up lady’s face (I’ve seen the look before, guys. It’s NOT pretty) when I’d have to tell her that her package was lost.

As I called back UPS, chatted with another rep, still not getting anywhere really, (“maam, we delivered it yesterday at 1:06 p.m.”) I started to feel something different. A “wow, I must be growing up, caring less, knowing this WILL in fact get resolved, or all of the above” something different. Since 2004 up until about this time in my life, in 2008, I realize that nothing is perfect & that I don’t have control over every situation in making what ever thing is not perfect perfect. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it was worth the pain. It was worth the pain because now I can at least pretend to go back in time, to S’s doorway, to a grown woman acting like a playground toddler, and understand the situation differently. I would say, “Sorry, S, it won’t happen again.” Then, without a tear in my eye, I would sit back down to my uncomfy chair (perhaps even recline a bit!) and take a huge bite out of my rather lukewarm tuna melt sandwich. I’d think to myself between chews that yes, it’s just not worth it.