Scene: 7:30a.m. I'm out on the street trying to get a crew member's car moved so that the Electric Truck (a tractor-trailer) can back up 20 feet and stop being visible out of the windows of the apartment we're shooting. The Producer wants to know where breakfast is and where there's a WaMu Bank in the neighborhood.
Walkie Talkie: ::squack:: "Locations, go to channel two".
Me: "On two."
Walkie Talkie: ::squaaaaaaacck:: "Uh, Nathan. There's an irate tenant in the courtyard wants a word with you."
Me: off-radio: "Oh, Joy." On-the-air: "I'm just finishing with something on the street. I'll be there in a moment."
A couple of minutes later, I walk into the inner courtyard of the building. I have no trouble whatsoever picking out the "irate tenant". The near-to-bursting blood vessels in her neck and forehead are a blatant clue. She sees me and some inborn sense of "who to yell at" identifies me to her as quickly as I picked her out. She makes a beeline for me.
Irate Tenant: WAHWAHWAH-EARLY-WAHWAH-NOISY-WAHWAHWAHWAH-INCONSIDERATESONSOFBITCHES-WAHWAHWAH-WOKEMYBABY-WAHWAHWAH-BEEPBEEPNOISE-WAHWAHWAH-ETC.,ETC.ETC. (for almost 10 minutes).
Now, through this whole thing, I'm mostly agreeing and hoping she'll take a breath and promising to get some rubber matting laid down to deaden the noise of the hard wheels running across the tiles of the courtyard, and then I see our Production Manager headed toward me. Perceptive as he is, he notes that I am being yelled at in a very animated fashion by someone he doesn't know. He deduces that I'm dealing with a tenant issue.
Finally, Irate Tenant walks away and Production Manager approaches.
Production Manager: "It must be nice to start your day with someone screaming at you like that".
Me: "I always start my day with someone screaming at me like that. The only thing that changes is the Screamer and the subject matter. It's why I'm such a pleasant fuck by the time you see me every day."
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