Busy Weekend
Last Thursday, I received an invitation to the opening of a new club in London. The invitation advised that I could bring a friend. It was good for either Friday night, or Saturday night, but I had to RSVP by noon on either day, in order to be put on the guest list. Reviewing who might be available, I decided to invite my friend, Tom. As he's done so much for me in the past, I like to involve him in as many freebies as possible. That reminds me of something that happened the last time I visited Tom.
Tom gave me an old watch of his. My watch broke, last year, and I have been doing without for many months, relying instead on the clock on my mobile phone. Suddenly, Tom presented me with this old, digital watch of his. It was a cheap, no-name brand, but it worked and the price was affordable. I was very grateful. Somehow, this led him to start showing me a couple of old Rolex watches he has. They were a bit dated looking, but he likes them. He asked me between the two Rolexes he showed me and the cheap digital, which one did I think he'd give me? Me being me, I suggested one of the Rolexes. He made it clear that wasn't going to happen. I was joking anyway. I don't want a watch so expensive that I would worry about someone stealing it, or about me damaging or losing it. Tom then made some joke about when I get rich and famous, I can give him a £12,000 Rolex watch. I looked at him deadpan and said, "what? Are you kidding? You can have a fruit basket." Tom didn't seem to find my response as funny as I did. I sure hope he was kidding.
Back to my invite. As it was too late at night when I received the invitation, via Myspace, to call, I sent Tom a message, informing him of the situation. I wanted to go Friday night, as I would be half way to London anyway, working at Shepperton Studios on Friday. Also, I'd be dressed well from work, so it would be easy to just continue on to the club. I asked Tom to send me a text before noon, to let me know if he was interested. Of course he didn't, so when noon came and went, I resigned myself to not going. Later Friday afternoon, one of the production staff at the sound stage, where I was working, asked my fellow background artists and I if we would be available to work Saturday. I was pleased about this because if I worked Saturday, it would be just as easy to go to the club Saturday night. This gave me more time to get in touch with Tom.
Before we wrapped on Friday evening, the Third AD informed us we wouldn't actually be needed Saturday, after all. I was disappointed, but the idea of going to a club had put its hook in me. I haven't been clubbing in over a year, so the idea appealed to me. I decided to call Tom anyway and see if he wanted to go. When I called his house, I got no answer. I left a voicemail message and went back to watching TV. It got later and later on Friday night, but still no call back from Tom. After finishing with TV, I went upstairs and signed on the internet. When I don't have to get up early the next day, I often stay up until the wee hours of the morning messing about on the internet. Tom didn't show up as online, either. Eventually, I went to sleep.
On Saturday morning, I slept in late. When I woke up, I checked online, but still no response from Tom. I reviewed alternative people to go with. I even asked Nando, my racist, Italian housemate, but he said he had to work Saturday and Sunday, so he wasn't up for it. Noon came and went, with no RSVP from me. I resigned myself to staying in Saturday night. It was cheaper and money is tight. As much as I wanted to go clubbing, I didn't feel like going by myself. Spike Lee's film, "The Inside Man," was premiering on Sky, so I watched that with Nando, after he got home from work. I thought it was a good film. Nando, of course, didn't like it.
Sunday morning came and I slept in again. It's always so nice being off work. Suddenly, my mobile rings. No, it's not Tom, it's my agent calling. The woman who was handling my recent film work was on the phone. She said I was needed back at Shepperton on Monday and possibly all week. After I got off the phone, I contemplated my predicament. I had no way to get in touch with the new manager, at the restaurant, where I work between acting gigs. Earlier in the week, I had asked him for his mobile number, in case I needed to get in touch with him out of office hours. He refused to give it to me, making some quip about not wanting me to call him at all hours. I guess he doesn't yet realize how cheap I am. There is no way I would pay to call his mobile (calling mobiles is more expensive in the UK than calling regular landlines), unless it was business related. He told me that if I had to let him know anything, to just leave a voicemail on his office phone, if it was out of hours. The previous manager had given me his mobile number, but I ended up never needing it. If I could get in touch with the manager that day, he could call the temp agency and order a temp to cover me. If he didn't find out until Monday morning, when he got to the office, he'd end up without cover for a couple of hours, or even worse, the temp agency might not be able to find anyone at all. Our new Head Chef had said he would give me his mobile number, on Thursday, but he didn't remember to. I puzzled over this conundrum for a bit. This wasn't a pleasant conundrum, like a sudoku puzzle.
I tried calling Chef Anthony, the only Chef I had a number for. When he answered, I explained my dilemma and asked if he had the Head Chef's number. If I could get in touch with the Head Chef, he might be able to contact the manager, or even have the authority to order a temp, himself. Anthony said he was out, but he would text me the Head Chef's number in about an hour. As a back up, I tried calling the old Head Chef, who's mobile number I still had. He didn't answer, so I left him a voicemail. He might have the new Head Chef's number, or even the manager's. Four hours later, neither of them had called me back and Anthony hadn't sent me a text. I called Anthony again, but he explained that it had turned out that he didn't have the new Head's number. With a heavy heart, I did the only thing I could do and phoned the office number for the manager. I left him a voicemail advising him of the situation.
Many people would have just left the message straight off and not worried anymore about it. I'm not like that. I think about other people and I try to make things as easy as possible on my employers. The management at the restaurant have been great to me, letting me have time off to pursue my acting career. I always act in a conscientious manner, where ever I work, never knowing if it's even noted, or appreciated. On Monday, I sat in the studio sound stage, with my feet up, sipping a hot chocolate, wondering if they were getting along without me at the restaurant.
Tom gave me an old watch of his. My watch broke, last year, and I have been doing without for many months, relying instead on the clock on my mobile phone. Suddenly, Tom presented me with this old, digital watch of his. It was a cheap, no-name brand, but it worked and the price was affordable. I was very grateful. Somehow, this led him to start showing me a couple of old Rolex watches he has. They were a bit dated looking, but he likes them. He asked me between the two Rolexes he showed me and the cheap digital, which one did I think he'd give me? Me being me, I suggested one of the Rolexes. He made it clear that wasn't going to happen. I was joking anyway. I don't want a watch so expensive that I would worry about someone stealing it, or about me damaging or losing it. Tom then made some joke about when I get rich and famous, I can give him a £12,000 Rolex watch. I looked at him deadpan and said, "what? Are you kidding? You can have a fruit basket." Tom didn't seem to find my response as funny as I did. I sure hope he was kidding.
Back to my invite. As it was too late at night when I received the invitation, via Myspace, to call, I sent Tom a message, informing him of the situation. I wanted to go Friday night, as I would be half way to London anyway, working at Shepperton Studios on Friday. Also, I'd be dressed well from work, so it would be easy to just continue on to the club. I asked Tom to send me a text before noon, to let me know if he was interested. Of course he didn't, so when noon came and went, I resigned myself to not going. Later Friday afternoon, one of the production staff at the sound stage, where I was working, asked my fellow background artists and I if we would be available to work Saturday. I was pleased about this because if I worked Saturday, it would be just as easy to go to the club Saturday night. This gave me more time to get in touch with Tom.
Before we wrapped on Friday evening, the Third AD informed us we wouldn't actually be needed Saturday, after all. I was disappointed, but the idea of going to a club had put its hook in me. I haven't been clubbing in over a year, so the idea appealed to me. I decided to call Tom anyway and see if he wanted to go. When I called his house, I got no answer. I left a voicemail message and went back to watching TV. It got later and later on Friday night, but still no call back from Tom. After finishing with TV, I went upstairs and signed on the internet. When I don't have to get up early the next day, I often stay up until the wee hours of the morning messing about on the internet. Tom didn't show up as online, either. Eventually, I went to sleep.
On Saturday morning, I slept in late. When I woke up, I checked online, but still no response from Tom. I reviewed alternative people to go with. I even asked Nando, my racist, Italian housemate, but he said he had to work Saturday and Sunday, so he wasn't up for it. Noon came and went, with no RSVP from me. I resigned myself to staying in Saturday night. It was cheaper and money is tight. As much as I wanted to go clubbing, I didn't feel like going by myself. Spike Lee's film, "The Inside Man," was premiering on Sky, so I watched that with Nando, after he got home from work. I thought it was a good film. Nando, of course, didn't like it.
Sunday morning came and I slept in again. It's always so nice being off work. Suddenly, my mobile rings. No, it's not Tom, it's my agent calling. The woman who was handling my recent film work was on the phone. She said I was needed back at Shepperton on Monday and possibly all week. After I got off the phone, I contemplated my predicament. I had no way to get in touch with the new manager, at the restaurant, where I work between acting gigs. Earlier in the week, I had asked him for his mobile number, in case I needed to get in touch with him out of office hours. He refused to give it to me, making some quip about not wanting me to call him at all hours. I guess he doesn't yet realize how cheap I am. There is no way I would pay to call his mobile (calling mobiles is more expensive in the UK than calling regular landlines), unless it was business related. He told me that if I had to let him know anything, to just leave a voicemail on his office phone, if it was out of hours. The previous manager had given me his mobile number, but I ended up never needing it. If I could get in touch with the manager that day, he could call the temp agency and order a temp to cover me. If he didn't find out until Monday morning, when he got to the office, he'd end up without cover for a couple of hours, or even worse, the temp agency might not be able to find anyone at all. Our new Head Chef had said he would give me his mobile number, on Thursday, but he didn't remember to. I puzzled over this conundrum for a bit. This wasn't a pleasant conundrum, like a sudoku puzzle.
I tried calling Chef Anthony, the only Chef I had a number for. When he answered, I explained my dilemma and asked if he had the Head Chef's number. If I could get in touch with the Head Chef, he might be able to contact the manager, or even have the authority to order a temp, himself. Anthony said he was out, but he would text me the Head Chef's number in about an hour. As a back up, I tried calling the old Head Chef, who's mobile number I still had. He didn't answer, so I left him a voicemail. He might have the new Head Chef's number, or even the manager's. Four hours later, neither of them had called me back and Anthony hadn't sent me a text. I called Anthony again, but he explained that it had turned out that he didn't have the new Head's number. With a heavy heart, I did the only thing I could do and phoned the office number for the manager. I left him a voicemail advising him of the situation.
Many people would have just left the message straight off and not worried anymore about it. I'm not like that. I think about other people and I try to make things as easy as possible on my employers. The management at the restaurant have been great to me, letting me have time off to pursue my acting career. I always act in a conscientious manner, where ever I work, never knowing if it's even noted, or appreciated. On Monday, I sat in the studio sound stage, with my feet up, sipping a hot chocolate, wondering if they were getting along without me at the restaurant.
posted by Joey B at 4:30 AM
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