Excerpt 6 / Part 2 - The Return of the Teamsters!
Inside on the passenger side, a chubby male redhead sat reading the same set of instructions in his copy of the Creative Scout. He didn’t look up. I approached.
Chubby Redhead: “Agency.”
Me: “You’re the agency? Are you going to discuss the sedentary—”
Chubby Redhead: “No. The agency’s standing behind you. Let’s get them in the van and get going. I trust you have the keys, George.”
I shook his hand, and spun around to get the agency into the van. There stood six prime heifers—all employees of said agency—munching on the latest offering from Dunkin’ Donuts. I turned back to the Chubby Redhead as they boarded.
Me: “How’d you know my name?”
Chubby Redhead: “My name’s George. George Pinto.”
Me: “More like a—”
George Pinto: “Yeah. Yeah. Perhaps, a bigger car made by Ford. The Pinto was the first subcompact made by Ford and was manufactured from 1971 through 1980. I’ve heard all the jokes. Someday I’ll lose some weight, but it’s tough in this business.”
Me: “You sure you’re not with the agency?”
George Pinto: “Funny. You’re not going to last long in this business.”
[Hah!]
One of the Agency Heifers: “Whuff nat?”
I won’t describe what the Agency Heifer had in his mouth at that time, let’s just say it took up a considerable amount of real estate, like the agency.
Off we went to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. A beautiful part of the country, but not in late autumn/early winter. We drove through the invisible barrier between the modern world and the traditional world of the Pennsylvania Dutch. The towns that occupy this landscape, past the suburbs of Philadelphia, aren’t much different as you approach the heart of the area, Lancaster, but what does alert you to the change are the horse-drawn carriages holding up traffic on the main roads.
Smith College Heifer: “What made Eddie think this’d work?
This place is too barren to shoot any of the trucks. And when are
we stopping for lunch?”
George Pinto: “It’s only ten o’clock. We need to pick up
Eddie and Andrzej first at Lancaster County Airport. Sorry.”
After that announcement, the heifers started squealing like, well, like stuck pigs.
WannaBe Novelist Heifer: “Why’d we leave so early?”
Agency Partner’s Kid Heifer: “Who planned this trip?”
Agency Partner’s Mistress Heifer: “There’s nothing here that’s right.”
Vegetarian Heifer: “You should’ve had two vans.”
I didn’t offer a comment regarding the size of the agency.
Smith College Heifer: “Why’d we even bother with Lancaster County?”
Uber Heifer: “Yeah, we should’ve gone straight to Duchess County in New York.”
Obergruppenheifer: “What’s shoofly pie?”
George Pinto had enough, but neglected to do anything. On the other hand, never one to miss an opportunity to raise the tension level, I offered my two cents.
Me: “From what I can remember from the scout selects, Lancaster County and Gloucester County in New Jersey were the two top picks of the agency. And we had to leave early enough to circumnavigate the loop from New York City to Lancaster to Gloucester before we lose all the light. It’s November and the days are shorter.”
That entire statement was factual, which is something agency personnel hate. Directors hate facts too, as do directors of photography and actors. Fortunately, producers like facts and depend on them, shockingly, to make sure the four previously mentioned groups get something to air that looks good and doesn’t negatively affect the national debt.
All the facts in the world, however, will not deter an agency employee from doing anything to save face.
Agency Partner’s Kid Heifer: “There weren’t many choices.
At least not enough good ones.”
Agency Partner’s Mistress Heifer: “Yeah, we came to
this because we didn’t have any other options.”
Smith College Heifer: “It’s not our fault the scouts didn’t do
a very good job.”
Uber Heifer: “Lancaster County is ugly.”
Vegetarian Heifer: “Yeah, we should have gone straight to Duchess County in New York.”
Obergruppenheifer: “What’s shoofly pie?”
I can only guess, if memory serves, the two last unimaginative comments belonged to the creative director and the assistant creative director. Fifty bucks says I’m right.
Given my familiarity with both locations—I attended college near Pennsylvania Dutch Country, and grew up in southern New Jersey near Gloucester—I got us through the itinerary in less time than other production assistants.
Got us back onto highways with no wrong turns. And found the properties listed on the scout chart without directions. For that, and for the speedy return to Manhattan, I received the following plethora of thanks from the heifers:
WannaBe Novelist Heifer: “The driver PA had attitude.”
Agency Partner’s Kid Heifer: “The driver PA had attitude.”
Agency Partner’s Mistress Heifer: “The driver PA had attitude.”
Vegetarian Heifer: “The driver PA had attitude.”
Smith College Heifer: “The driver PA had attitude.”
Uber Heifer: “The driver PA had attitude.”
Obergruppenheifer: “What’s shoofly pie?”
I told the executive producer at Bianchi Films I assumed they meant a good attitude, but she had the opposite opinion. We discussed my role on the shoot days.
Executive Producer: “Fortunately, the shoot days have Teamsters to drive.”
Me: “Fortunately?”
Executive Producer: “I’m pretty sure we’re done here.”
****
“Fortunately” turned out to be an interesting choice of a descriptor of Teamsters for a few reasons. Most of us who live in the real world of production, and that’s subject to consideration on a case by case basis, there’s something known as “call time.”
This is the hour and minute when you are to be on set, ready to work. Responsible adults allow for vagaries such as city traffic, children reluctant to leave for school, and familial squabbling, in order to make sure they get to work on time.
Teamsters had, and may still have for film production, something called an “out time.” This is the time you ask a driver to get behind the wheel of the vehicle in which everything from camera gear to nothing at all is to be transported. Yes, Teamsters drive empty trucks, vans, and cars to sets.
The purpose of the out time is to absolve the Teamster of any and all responsibility to show up on time with crucial things such as camera gear, wardrobe for principal actors, and key props. If you are shooting in Fort Lee, New Jersey, which is just across the George Washington Bridge from New York City, most human beings would be given a call time of eight AM and actually make it there by leaving Manhattan no later than seven. On more than one occasion when shooting there, I gave Teamsters (also known as professional drivers) out times of 6:30 AM, just to cover myself. Also, on more than one occasion, if anyone was late, guess who it was? And guess what the excuse was?
Teamster: “Pfffwww! It’s up to production to get me the right out time.”
Everybody with me? I could’ve given some of these professional drivers an out time of seven days prior to first shot and they’d still show up for an eight AM call at eight twenty-two.
Out times serves another valuable function. They put the Teamsters into overtime that much earlier than everyone else.
Back to the Dodge Trucks job. Bianchi Films housed the crew in hotels near location. And yes, we did end up in Duchess County, which is exactly like Lancaster County except without any of the charm, rolling farmland, and colonial era towns. But by golly those agency folks made the right call.
The location in Duchess County was so close to the hotel, it made sense to leave our production trucks and vans on set; hire security; and not have to worry about out times. Right?
Wrong.
MONDAY: Picking up Cigarette Butts in a Cornfield
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