The Office: An Intern Will Rise

After moving to Los Angeles in 2001, I embarked on my rite of passage and became the, gasp, uncelebrated intern for a seemingly respectable producer. Trust me, it's nothing like what's shown on Entourage or any tv shows for that matter. In fact, it's quite a bit more entertaining.

"Hello, young man!" Said producer always would say to me as he wandered into the office with his two-thousand dollar suits.

Honestly, he looked like a well polished turd. After several months of the "young man" calling, he eventually learned my name. Not too difficult a task, but his executive assistant told me I was the first intern he called by their real name. There was one intern, Jim, which the producer dubbed Dim because of his lacking personality beyond ass kissing. I was never good at that side. I swiped rolls of toilet paper, pens, emptied the candy dish and stocked my backpack full of Arrowhead water bottles. I was poor--

(The fact is that his wife took a liking to me as a personality there and mentioned me at home once...this solidified my name in his memory. But I assure you that I was not the homewrecker in their future split. He had been married 4 other times.)

I remember the first time I was lectured there. He walked in and was upset that I was reading the trades. For some reason, said producer was mad that I was learning things before him and that the trades possessed a secret knowledge that I wasn't privy to. I guess in a David Lynch sort of world, it makes a little bit of sense. But alas, I began purchasing my own to fuck with the little man. He seemed perplexed for a while and asked if we had two subscriptions?

After spending many countless nights there for many many, too fucking many months, I got to know the real side of the producer. He was all high and mighty talking about this Gay Pride Benefit he was going to that night. Rambling on and on about his contributions, I started to really admire the guy. I guess the twinkle in my eye was spied by his executive assistant (which we had gotten really close over the months and found her to be quite the good friend)...

"@#$%^, how long is #$%^&* going to be out of the office due to his surgery?" she asked. (sorry about the no-name policy regarding my uber-personal anecdotes)

"Well heavens, I don't quite know. Those hemorrhoids are tricky buggers. But it's his own fault...if he dated women, he wouldn't get those." he responded.

In the blink of an eye, the small amount of admiration flew out the window. Said producer left the office for his event which he apparently did not fully support. The real reason why said producer was going to it, I found out, was that he was pulled over on the PCH late one evening for speeding. The motorcycle cop approached his vehicle as said producer was SCREAMING at the top of his lungs:

"Do you know who I am? Have any idea of who I am young man? I am a producer--A FILM PRODUCER!"

Eerily reminiscent of the Mel Gibson debacle last summer, huh?

The producer berated the cop for nearly ten minutes before being arrested and sentenced to community service. The producer's wife had to come bail him out then drive him back down to the car stranded on the PCH.