I don’t want to brag, but I can be a fucking hero. It’s like I can’t even help myself sometimes.
Until recently I led an international animal behavior and training organization, one that set standards, forged allegiances, made noise, asked pesky questions, and was solidly agnostic when it came to things that people in that field tend to get worked up about.
This would seat me at the table with a lot of really smart people who cared very much about the same things I cared about but who sometimes came at questions from a direction I thought of as “wrong,” because objectively there was almost never any evidence that they were right.
That rarely stops any of us, I realize, but in an evidence-based field, one that is founded on science, “but I have a degree” is Lucy, the evidence is the football, and “let’s compare apples to apples and show me how that makes you better in practice” is Charlie Brown kicking and missing everytime Lucy snatches the ball away.
Anyway, in the name of world peace, profit, and branding, one of the industry leaders, a charming, well-known veterinarian with a broad smile and a bratty streak the size and shape of the Colorado River hosted a meeting with about twenty prominent individuals and organization leaders to attempt what several other such believers had tried and failed to do before: Define terms and make some sort of overriding set of rules and guidelines that everyone working in the field, regardless of education and standing, would voluntarily choose to follow.
I know.
Anyway, our host had chosen a brilliant man named David, skilled in the ways of negotiation, group dynamics, and cat herding, to lead the sessions.
We all sat around a long banquet table with David at the end, our host seated to his right. The day started with coffee and pleasantries, and then, after introductions all around, the host said, “Why don’t we all start by telling the group something interesting about ourselves!”
“Oh,” said David, “I really don’t think…”
“I’ll go first!”
With enthusiasm, our leader launched into a story about farms and cows and flatulence and a lighter, or maybe a match, but definitely being on the back end of a cow with fire. And how that could go wrong, especially for the cow, causing the kind of discomfort a flamethrower might feel if, say, it laughed and inhaled while doing a flaming shot of rum with a habañero chaser.
The details were lost on me because all I could focus on was David’s face. It remained as impassive as a man’s face can remain given it was 8:00 am at the start of a ten-hour day with a group of people likely to have strong feelings about an animal’s rights and feelings, and the organizer of the meeting had just told a raucous tale of lighting a cow’s ass on fire. Not, he assured us, permanently ablaze. Just briefly.
Our host sat down - his enthusiasm had caused him to stand at one point - and the room was kind of quiet. David took a sip of his coffee, which was honestly the last thing he needed. It took him a minute to swallow.
The next person in line recounted something about themselves but I have no idea what. Maybe knitting. The next person, and then the next had lovely, meaningful and skilled accomplishments that I’d defy anyone there that day to remember. Skiing? The Peace Corps? We were sinking faster than David’s life expectancy. It was my turn.
“Well,” I paused, “There was that time I worked in porn.”
Our host roared with delight. David put his head in his hands.
I explained.
Important to point out first was that my job had been behind the camera.
Filmmaking requires many roles: director, assistant director, cinematographer, lighting people, electrical people, set people and so on. Those roles are guarded by unions that require a certain number of hours working in those positions before one can work in those positions, which makes for a lot of non-union filmmaking for people wanting to work in the field but without an in, or enough hours yet to qualify.
My boyfriend at the time was one of those people, and it was the late 70s, and he’d been hired by a production company for a short term job as something - I can’t remember what - as he waited for his next job with a union company. Money is money.
The working name of the film was Around the World.
I had just left a restaurant job and was waiting to be hired at another place. The producer was looking for an assistant. My boyfriend asked me if I’d be interested. It was $750 a week under the table, a fortune.
One slight issue. Filming would take place almost entirely at Plato’s Retreat, a sex club in Manhattan for the bridge and tunnel crowd coming over from New Jersey. And filming hours would be after closing, so starting at 5:00 am.
My job would be to take care of all the little details that didn’t fit into any one job category.
I’d find places open for meals for the crew at 7:00 am, or 3:30 am. I’d find places where we could get coffee and donuts for the cast and crew delivered by 5:00 am. I’d help coach the girls.
While most of the filming was taking place at Plato’s Retreat, a few of the stars would be flown for a day to Paris, London, and Rome for exterior shots. The producer, Boyce, was worried they’d forget what to say to immigration when entering.
“What is the purpose of your visit?”
I’m here shooting exterior shots for a porn movie!
No.
I’m working on a student film.
Yes.
This might seem pretty easy, but the level of stoned these girls were at all times made it a real challenge, let me tell you. We’d do “pop practices” throughout the day.
They got it right about half the time.
It wasn’t looking good for Boyce.
Porn also has behind-the-scenes roles that other film jobs do not have, key among them being the Fluffer. I understand medical advancements have largely eliminated the position, but at the time it was a key role.
And someone had to bring him coffee. Often.
So I guess I was the Fluffer Caffeinator. I can’t believe I’ve never put that on a resume. Especially given I live in Somerville, Massachusetts, the home of Fluff, this seems like a real oversight.
Anyway, this is getting very long, so I’ll have to finish up the story next week.
But it’s safe to say the people at the meeting forgot about that cow.
Morning Teasitisms
We’re solidly back in Warm n Cozy tea season!
The Genmaicha brown rice green tea with matcha is so good, especially with fresh persimmons picked from a She-Thing’s mother’s tree in California.
The right tea with the right fruit seems to be my happy place right now.
That was a well placed hyperlink. I definitely learned something new today!
This is hysterical! To this day, I'm sure David never looks at a cow in quite the same way.