I remember a photo shoot back in my acting days. I had saved enough money, and I was lucky enough to book the guy for commercial head shots.
You know head shots – they are close-up photos of your face taken from the shoulders up. Big smile, sad frown, head tilted, hand to chin for a curious expression—you get the idea. It gives all the powers-that-be an idea of your “range”.
“Oh look, she can smile AND be sad, what a range! She’s amaaaazing, bring her to me!”
This guy was only about five years older than I was at the time so, under thirty, and was probably born in Toledo Ohio, but he thought he was Francesco Scavullo (look him up), with the faux accent and orange tan.
“Gorgeous dahling…head up…beautiful…chin down…stunning!”
His approval washed over me like a warm wave of maple syrupy love.
I felt beautiful. Like a high-fashion glamazon at the top of her game, that is until…(screech of a needle across a vinyl record. What? You’re too young to know what that sounds like? Get off my blog!)
“Dahling” he was now eyeballing me up and down, no more camera, with one hand on his hip, another lifted to his chin, eyes squinted. I was still blinded by the flash so I’m sure I looked daft.
“Oh you know what I wish more than anything?” he asked, never waiting for me to answer.
“Oh, how I wish your legs were just four inches longer.”
What? You wish that more than anything? Really? More than world peace or a penis that was four inches longer? Are you sure? Do you want to rethink that statement? I think you misspoke.
And you do remember this is a head shot? At least that’s what I thought silently in my head.
“Um, you know that’s impossible, right?” I stammered, tears welling in my eyes, the blind and daffy smile now wiped completely from my face.
I started to feel like a troll. A two foot tall, horrendously ugly troll. One minute I’m Cindy Crawford,the next I’m looking for a bridge to guard.
I was a pleaser back then, and I wanted nothing more than to make him happy, AND I wanted the warm and gooey love wash to continue into perpetuity.
“Maybe I can stand differently, or put on a higher pair of heels?” I inquired awkwardly. Desperation was seeping in.
He kind of huffed a disappointed sigh, “No dahling” he cooed in his make-believe accent, “you’ll always be too short.”
For what? Too short for what? I’m 5’5”…
Professional basketball?
Picking fruit off the tops of trees?
Thigh-high boot modeling?
I knew right then that the fake little fucker was full of shit—but it still stung.
Not always the most well-intentioned people wanting the impossible from us.
I recently helped some extended family with a home design job.
I thought those days were over for me but they needed some help preparing a rental from scratch, I can do that sort of thing in my sleep, and I welcomed the distraction.
The thing was, the budget took a hit almost immediately. Cut by half. And it was…frugal to begin with.
An entire three bedroom house, from beds and mattresses, to the utensils, toothbrush holders, towels, sheets and all the kitchen stuff for ten thousand dollars.
You can cut corners when it’s your own home, but if you want to ask top dollar for a home in a high-end neighborhood, it requires certain things.
Like a decent coffee maker and a nice bar-b-que, comfortable patio furniture and three high-definition T.V.’s
I practically slept at Ikea, Target, and Homegoods. Sourcing and searching, driving, shopping, and returning.
My people are academics (which is why they needed help), and I could see the toll the stress of a home make-over was taking on them.
They hadn’t put together a house from scratch, well…ever. Just like most of us, when they started out they had a mix and match combination of wedding presents and hand-me-downs.
Here’s what I knew: I knew the task was impossible.
I knew we could get close, but in the end I knew we’d have to ask the purse string holders for more money.
I also knew that at that point we’d be in so deep — they couldn’t refuse. We’d have to finish.
Oh, did I fail to mention we had a deadline. Three weeks.
So everything had to be cash and carry. No special orders, no four-week turn arounds for the size or color we needed. Like I said IMPOSSIBLE task.
But you know what? They didn’t know that. At least not until I told them.
They had been feeling so incompetent, so shitty about their ability to stay in the budget—it was as if they had been asked to become four inches taller.
“Um, you guys know what we’ve been asked to do is an impossible task, right?” I interrupted another extremely tense phone conversation, grabbing the telephone and holding it close so the three of us could talk.
“Guys, you haven’t done this as much as I have.” I was trying to sound reassuring.“They gave us a completely unrealistic budget, which we will exceed…but not by much, and we should all be very proud of ourselves.”
Then I walked away with the phone in order to get through to the rocket scientist of the trio — the one who’s head was ready to explode from having to deal with family money, design by committee dynamics, and too many white paint color choices, (it really is absurd —there are over five hundred different shades of white).
“Listen,” I said in the calmest tone of voice I could muster. “Imagine being given an unsolvable math equation.”
“There are no unsolvable equations, Einstein said…”
I interrupted. “Humor me goddammit.” he went silent.
“The reason we can’t make this work isn’t because we’re stupid, or we suck — it’s because the problem is unsolvable — you absolutely cannot do what is required by the rental agency for that amount of money.
The. End.”
He was still quiet, I kept talking, hoping he hadn’t succumbed to a brain hemorrhage.
“We all have to chill out and keep going. We’re almost at the finish line. Besides, we can’t grow taller than we already are.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. Don’t you like knowing that? That the request is flawed — not you?”
“Sure, I guess… I mean, I figured if they told us ten thousand, it must be doable.”
“They might as well have said ten dollars.” I could hear him get that.
“Ohhhhhh, so you mean…”
“YES!” I screamed excitedly into the phone, “Exactly! So stop stressing!”
Not always the most well-intentioned people wanting the impossible from us = Stress, despair, unhappiness.
Figuring out they’re full of shit = PRICELESS.
Carry on my loves,
xox
