Quiet on the Set – the Great Escape contest entry

"Quiet on the Set . . . Background! Action! Cut! Reset!"

I have always been fascinated with going to the movies, how they are made and the actors behind the scenes, devouring trashy papparatzi rags in the grocery store until politely told to keep moving through the checkout line. I loved visiting MGM and feeling like you were right there in the middle of all the cinematic intricacies. Of all the Disney amusement parks, that one attracted me like a moth to a burning flame. I never really thought it could become reality someday, with everything larger than life and only as real as a cartoon in one's hand on Sunday morning.

No, I was not destined to become Minnie or Princess Cinderella, shaking the hands of sunburnt kids or signing their water ride drenched autograph books. I actually got to be an extra in a movie. For some of you, this might be a normal day or even less than normal if you are really in the entertainment business, but for me it was the chance to escape into the narcissistic unreality that fills our weekends at the movies and escape out of what might have been another day at the insane reality I know as work.

After entering our names into the pot for a movie being filmed locally, I really didn't expect much. I had been in a few high school plays but never as the main star and had done nothing locally ever.

"Hello, would you be available next Wednesday? We could use more extras on the set."
Hell, yeah. "Sure, that would be great." I'll move heaven and earth if I have to.
"Can you go to a fitting tomorrow night?"
"Fine. I'll be there." Okay, hmmm, . . . kids, husband . . . I can squeeze this in. Reality and logistics put a quick punch into my otherwise nerve-wracked stomach.

The next night, I walk past the racks of clothes in awe into a makeshift dressing room. A pert, tall, heinously skinny woman tells me she has nothing for me then proceeds to find an ugly flowered dress and a less ugly suit. And, my kids wondered why I came home in a bad mood, determined to go buy the same girdle my mom wore when she was my age.

So, the day came. Husband was traveling which meant getting one daughter to a neighbor's early, complete with everything for a band concert that evening that we may or may not make it to. The other daughter actually got called to come with me as a little person extra resulting in endless promises to daughter number one to even the score somehow.

So, we checked in. Wow. Hairstylists were busy creating hairdo's for another era. Makeup artists called "Next" to the long line of other people who seemed to think this was just another day on the job.
We get to the front of the line. "You look fine." Noooo. We want the Hollywood treatment. This is our first time. I wanted to scream all of the above but held it in as I shuffled my daughter off to "HOLDING" with a placid, robotic smile.

We proceeded to wait two hours until called to stand, walk, stop, reset until the famous director decided the scene looked just right. Next scene. Stand, walk, stop, reset — twenty more times.

But, we were insiders for the day on the hallowed grounds others stood outside watching and waiting for a single glimpse. 

And you walk. You hope no one can tell on your face you are new. You wonder if the nano-second you might show on the screen, will anyone be able to tell that you were thinking about what the caterers would serving for lunch or making up crazy scenarios in your head to keep you from looking at the camera, the actors, the director and gawking and perhaps getting thrown off the set. Back to holding. You are only the wallpaper.

Another two hours in holding and my daughter is becoming less than appreciative of this incredible opportunity to sit within feet, through a closed door and down the hallway from potentially famous stars whom we would never be allowed to speak with and might see in the distance if at all lucky. Doesn't she understand? At any rate, isn't this a mother-daughter bonding moment?

Then, I thought the moment had come to walk past a truly famous star this time. We were called from the foreboding dungeon of "holding" to standby.

"Minors off the set." Oh, fudge brownies. You see, my daughter was a minor and by law, couldn't work more than eight hours or be in holding without me. My great escape was over. Life's pesky reality ended our unforgettable experience. My conclusion was that the magic truly is in the camera, not behind the scenes but we had fun anyway.

Flying on the wings of a large SUV, yelling at everyone to get out of my way like a crazy diva wannabe, we slide into my first daughter's band concert just in time for her to look over her trumpet and smile as she saw us sneaking in the sidedoor. Supermom rides again!

This is an entry in Scribbit's January Write-Away Contest.