Just a little side note:
I mentioned that I had worked in the past at a bakery counter or two. It’s true, I did. And I was certainly open to providing counter service again. So when I saw a “help wanted” sign in the window of a cheese and wine shop within walking distance to my house, I perceived another opportunity. Because I like wine, but I will lay down my life for cheese.
So I went home, spiffed up my appearance, and printed out my resume on my most expensive hire-me-so-I-can-stop-wasting-money-on-paper paper. I went in and dropped it off with the girl at the counter, who promised to show it to the owner.
Not long after, I got a phone call from the owner. I was thrilled. Oh happy day! I could work at a cheese and wine shop! Walk to work! Claim some pathetic kind of personal value for working in an upscale establishment with high price points!
But the owner did not seem as impressed by my printed-on-cotton resume as I had hoped. She wanted to know why I hadn’t stayed in any one position for very long. I pointed out that I had been at the same company for three years before going to graduate school, which of course disrupted the natural flow of my employment history.
With disdain she asked me why I wanted to work at her shop if. She wanted to know why, if I had put so much time into a graduate degree, I didn’t look for a job in that field. I couldn’t really explain that one does not simply walk onto the Warner Brothers lot, ask for a job application, and inscribe “writer” in the space left for position desired. (You would be surprised how many people have asked me why I don’t just do this). I told her that I still write, but must work somewhere in the meantime. She seemed skeptical, and I couldn't figure out why.
I couldn’t believe this woman. She thinks she can find, in a place called Studio City, part time counter help from anyone who does not have headshots or scripts for sale or both. Seriously?
She told me she would get back to me, and of course she didn’t. Because my resume doesn’t reflect the kind of loyalty necessary to a position in a cheese and wine shop.
My response to this insult has become, these last six months, my constant refrain. And it goes like this: Oh come on, I HAVE TWO DEGREES!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Well, there's always waitressing
I decided early on that I would not seek the agency route, but that left me with no idea of what to do next. As my internships wrapped up and my funds started to dwindle, and as I realized that my contacts at the former weren’t able to remedy the latter, I set about to discover an alternate plan.
I needed a job, that was clear, but I needed not to work, so I could write. I wracked my brain for ideas. What job required few hours but provided many dollars? The obvious answer, of course, is dancing naked for money. But I wasn’t quite sure I had that particular skill set, and decided to try other, less naked options.
The next obvious choice is waitressing. Everyone has waited tables at some point in their career. Everyone except for me. I have hosted at a couple restaurants, and I have worked counter service at a couple bakeries. But I have never actually waited tables. I am not qualified to do a job that everyone else in the world learned to do in high school or college. I try not to let this bother me.
I pondered getting a job at a restaurant that really doesn’t care about experience. Like Shakey’s. Then I could work my way up to the nice restaurants with the real tablecloths and the fat tips. Except that working my way up in the table-waiting world sounded incredibly depressing. As does Shakey's.
I know what you’re thinking. It has crossed my mind, too. It’s probably easier to get hired to dance naked for fat tips than it is to get hired to serve expensive food. I hear you, friend, but I’m still thinking I like my employment a little less bare-chested.
It occurred to me that I could apply for hosting positions in nicer establishments, then work up to waiting tables. I had some experience, which I thought would help.
Nope. There are a few things that help when it comes to finding a hostessing job. Knowing the guy who is doing the hiring is a bit of a leg up. After all, we’re still talking about Hollywood and the surrounding area, and it’s all about networking.
A friend of mine knew that a friend of hers had recently opened a restaurant, and I knew she’d give me a good recommendation if I got an interview. So I decided to check it out. I called the restaurant to inquire about a position. The manager on the phone asked me if I spoke only Seoul or Pyongan as well. After a few moments of perplexed silence, he gathered that I spoke not at all, and asked if I was still on the phone. I managed a “huh?” and he replied that speaking fluent Korean was required of all his staff.
Not to worry. If you don’t know the hiring manager, or even if you have a connection but don’t speak several dialects of a foreign language, you can still land an $8/hour hostess position at a Hollywood restaurant or lounge if you are devastatingly beautiful. Again, merely pretty will not cut the mustard. Your beauty must be so blinding that a haughty smile alone could convince the clientele that they are absurdly fortunate to even gain entrance to the establishment, much less find themselves so blessed as to have their hard-earned plastic accepted in exchange for weak drinks and microwaved hors d’oeuvres.
This is, yet again, something I learned first hand. For example. I applied to one high-end establishment that was still under construction and waited while the manager spoke to someone on the phone. While I waited, a younger, thinner, blonder girl walked right past me and handed her resume and head shot to the manager. Then she sauntered over to someone else working behind the bar and they started chatting about all their mutual friends. I continued to wait calmly, but what was going on in my head was not calm. “HEAD SHOT? You can’t be serious!” and, “I’m screwed anyway, that girl knows him! Crap.” When I handed over my resume, I got, “no head shot?” in return.
Head shots, from what I understand, are absurdly expensive. Even the crappy ones cost an arm, and as I’ve already told you, a number of my limbs are still in hock for my internships. I was asking for a crap job that wasn’t even the crap job that I really wanted, and I was expected to purchase head shots and have the devastatingly beautiful face to put inside the expensive photograph. That, or speak Korean.
I couldn't waitress.
I couldn't hostess.
And I didn't really have the skill set for dancing naked.
What to do? What to do? Luckily for me, awards season was gearing up.
I needed a job, that was clear, but I needed not to work, so I could write. I wracked my brain for ideas. What job required few hours but provided many dollars? The obvious answer, of course, is dancing naked for money. But I wasn’t quite sure I had that particular skill set, and decided to try other, less naked options.
The next obvious choice is waitressing. Everyone has waited tables at some point in their career. Everyone except for me. I have hosted at a couple restaurants, and I have worked counter service at a couple bakeries. But I have never actually waited tables. I am not qualified to do a job that everyone else in the world learned to do in high school or college. I try not to let this bother me.
I pondered getting a job at a restaurant that really doesn’t care about experience. Like Shakey’s. Then I could work my way up to the nice restaurants with the real tablecloths and the fat tips. Except that working my way up in the table-waiting world sounded incredibly depressing. As does Shakey's.
I know what you’re thinking. It has crossed my mind, too. It’s probably easier to get hired to dance naked for fat tips than it is to get hired to serve expensive food. I hear you, friend, but I’m still thinking I like my employment a little less bare-chested.
It occurred to me that I could apply for hosting positions in nicer establishments, then work up to waiting tables. I had some experience, which I thought would help.
Nope. There are a few things that help when it comes to finding a hostessing job. Knowing the guy who is doing the hiring is a bit of a leg up. After all, we’re still talking about Hollywood and the surrounding area, and it’s all about networking.
A friend of mine knew that a friend of hers had recently opened a restaurant, and I knew she’d give me a good recommendation if I got an interview. So I decided to check it out. I called the restaurant to inquire about a position. The manager on the phone asked me if I spoke only Seoul or Pyongan as well. After a few moments of perplexed silence, he gathered that I spoke not at all, and asked if I was still on the phone. I managed a “huh?” and he replied that speaking fluent Korean was required of all his staff.
Not to worry. If you don’t know the hiring manager, or even if you have a connection but don’t speak several dialects of a foreign language, you can still land an $8/hour hostess position at a Hollywood restaurant or lounge if you are devastatingly beautiful. Again, merely pretty will not cut the mustard. Your beauty must be so blinding that a haughty smile alone could convince the clientele that they are absurdly fortunate to even gain entrance to the establishment, much less find themselves so blessed as to have their hard-earned plastic accepted in exchange for weak drinks and microwaved hors d’oeuvres.
This is, yet again, something I learned first hand. For example. I applied to one high-end establishment that was still under construction and waited while the manager spoke to someone on the phone. While I waited, a younger, thinner, blonder girl walked right past me and handed her resume and head shot to the manager. Then she sauntered over to someone else working behind the bar and they started chatting about all their mutual friends. I continued to wait calmly, but what was going on in my head was not calm. “HEAD SHOT? You can’t be serious!” and, “I’m screwed anyway, that girl knows him! Crap.” When I handed over my resume, I got, “no head shot?” in return.
Head shots, from what I understand, are absurdly expensive. Even the crappy ones cost an arm, and as I’ve already told you, a number of my limbs are still in hock for my internships. I was asking for a crap job that wasn’t even the crap job that I really wanted, and I was expected to purchase head shots and have the devastatingly beautiful face to put inside the expensive photograph. That, or speak Korean.
I couldn't waitress.
I couldn't hostess.
And I didn't really have the skill set for dancing naked.
What to do? What to do? Luckily for me, awards season was gearing up.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Requirements: One Year of Agency Experience Or Well, there’s always the mailroom
In entertainment lore, there is only one way to the top, and that is by starting at the bottom. This is, of course, absurd. Everyone knows that the best way to make it to the top is to be born there already.
You can also sleep your way to the top, but you need to be devastatingly beautiful for this to work. If you are merely pretty, you will get bedded here and there, but be careful. The trick to sleeping your way up is to make the executive or producer feel as though you are bestowing your graces upon him, like a pixie offering a magical token to an unexpected hero. If the man you want something from doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to boink you, he won’t feel like he has to do anything to keep you. As a result, you slept your way to nowhere. Therefore, don’t sleep with anyone unless you are devastatingly beautiful.
But for those of us poor plebs who are neither high-born nor beautiful, the only option left is to start at the bottom. Luckily for us bottom-feeders, the entertainment industry has been structured in just such a way that starting at the bottom is a clear path to incredible success. And the bottom, friends, is the mailroom.
Almost all of the jobs on the UTA list require agency experience. Agency experience can only be obtained one way—by getting a job in the mailroom of an agency. The theory goes that after you prove yourself in the mailroom, you can move up to the desk of an actual agent as his or her assistant. If you can stand this heat, you may go into training as an agent yourself. If you survive that long, you may someday be an agent.
You will meet all the major players at an agency and see every aspect of how the business works. So even if you don’t want to be an agent, there really isn’t anywhere that you can’t go with agency experience. You could become an executive at a production company, maybe even a studio exec, or an indie producer with a huge rolodex. You will, in short, be rich. Therefore, agency experience is a good thing to have.
You might be asking yourself why everyone doesn’t just go out and get some agency experience. You probably would love to know why I don’t just follow my own advice. Let me explain. As the above implies, the mailroom is a proving ground. You will, in fact, be thrust directly into the fire to be tested. If you can still fetch an agent’s vanilla soy nonfat latte with third degree burns over eighty percent of your body, congratulations. You’ve made it to the second round of interviews for a junior-level mailroom position.
Not all agencies are exactly the same, but they typically fall into two categories. Those that are huge, and those that are not. The huge ones are Creative Artists Agency (CAA), William Morris Agency, International Creative Management (ICM), United Talent Agency (UTA), and Endeavor, which is only recently huge. Then there are the boutiques. The boutiques, as you may have guessed, do not always have mailrooms. They often want to hire people who have experience at the huge agencies. But occasionally, when all the right stars are in alignment, they will show an interest in applicants who do not have agency experience. Don’t assume, however, that those are lucky stars.
The second (and last) interview I received from a job on the UTA list was at a boutique agency. They needed an assistant for one of their talent agents and asked me for an interview. This interview was much better than the last, and I liked all the people I spoke with. Nevertheless, things weren’t going to work out. They explained that the hours were 9am to 7pm, Monday through Friday, for $500 per week. Be warned, friends. Any time someone offers a daily or weekly rate, you will be working overtime, but you will not be paid overtime. The maximum hourly rate I would ever be paid for this job was $10 per hour. If I worked overtime, and I would have, the hourly rate would have dipped even lower.
Entry-level agency jobs pay shit and abuse. But, the theory is, you get invaluable experience and contacts. If you are one of the lucky high-borns, you are actually at the top of the business because your family already has contacts; you don’t have to do any networking. And as anyone in the business will tell you, it’s all about networking. It’s all about who you know.
I disagree completely. You can call me naïve if you like. You’ll be correct in saying so. After all, I have been in Los Angeles for less than a year. But I’m also not wrong. Take note that never at any point in the above description of the agency system did I say that agency experience would make me a better writer. That’s because it won’t. The only thing that will make me a better writer is more writing, and that’s the one thing that an agency job will deny me.
If you’re one of those lovely people who feel like you know exactly where I should hang out and who I should be speaking to, let me explain something. It is not hard to meet people. Networking (and it’s all about networking) is not hard. Because here’s the catch to the whole thing: these people who have walked through fire and hell to be an agent, those lovely agents with whom I should be networking, have to keep proving themselves by finding sellable properties. And I want my stories to be those coveted properties. Networking is easy, but writing a tight, compelling, commercial, character-driven screenplay to hand over to the agents in my network is fucking hard. If you don’t believe me, send me your script. I’m out of toilet paper, don’t have money to buy more, and need to wipe my ass with something.
I am willing to trade my thumbs to be a successful writer. (Successful, for the sake of clarity, means having an audience, not money.) Really, I mean it. I can press the space bar with my middle finger. Look, I am doing it right now. Unfortunately, the gods, muses, or writing genies in control of these matters do not trade in thumbs. Good writing is bought with time, and effort. Getting the ass into the chair to write is the only way to become a writer. In the end, if I get my success, I will have handed over my life to get it.
Now you can see why I don’t work in a mailroom. Because being an agent or a producer requires your whole life, too. And I only have one to spend.
You can also sleep your way to the top, but you need to be devastatingly beautiful for this to work. If you are merely pretty, you will get bedded here and there, but be careful. The trick to sleeping your way up is to make the executive or producer feel as though you are bestowing your graces upon him, like a pixie offering a magical token to an unexpected hero. If the man you want something from doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to boink you, he won’t feel like he has to do anything to keep you. As a result, you slept your way to nowhere. Therefore, don’t sleep with anyone unless you are devastatingly beautiful.
But for those of us poor plebs who are neither high-born nor beautiful, the only option left is to start at the bottom. Luckily for us bottom-feeders, the entertainment industry has been structured in just such a way that starting at the bottom is a clear path to incredible success. And the bottom, friends, is the mailroom.
Almost all of the jobs on the UTA list require agency experience. Agency experience can only be obtained one way—by getting a job in the mailroom of an agency. The theory goes that after you prove yourself in the mailroom, you can move up to the desk of an actual agent as his or her assistant. If you can stand this heat, you may go into training as an agent yourself. If you survive that long, you may someday be an agent.
You will meet all the major players at an agency and see every aspect of how the business works. So even if you don’t want to be an agent, there really isn’t anywhere that you can’t go with agency experience. You could become an executive at a production company, maybe even a studio exec, or an indie producer with a huge rolodex. You will, in short, be rich. Therefore, agency experience is a good thing to have.
You might be asking yourself why everyone doesn’t just go out and get some agency experience. You probably would love to know why I don’t just follow my own advice. Let me explain. As the above implies, the mailroom is a proving ground. You will, in fact, be thrust directly into the fire to be tested. If you can still fetch an agent’s vanilla soy nonfat latte with third degree burns over eighty percent of your body, congratulations. You’ve made it to the second round of interviews for a junior-level mailroom position.
Not all agencies are exactly the same, but they typically fall into two categories. Those that are huge, and those that are not. The huge ones are Creative Artists Agency (CAA), William Morris Agency, International Creative Management (ICM), United Talent Agency (UTA), and Endeavor, which is only recently huge. Then there are the boutiques. The boutiques, as you may have guessed, do not always have mailrooms. They often want to hire people who have experience at the huge agencies. But occasionally, when all the right stars are in alignment, they will show an interest in applicants who do not have agency experience. Don’t assume, however, that those are lucky stars.
The second (and last) interview I received from a job on the UTA list was at a boutique agency. They needed an assistant for one of their talent agents and asked me for an interview. This interview was much better than the last, and I liked all the people I spoke with. Nevertheless, things weren’t going to work out. They explained that the hours were 9am to 7pm, Monday through Friday, for $500 per week. Be warned, friends. Any time someone offers a daily or weekly rate, you will be working overtime, but you will not be paid overtime. The maximum hourly rate I would ever be paid for this job was $10 per hour. If I worked overtime, and I would have, the hourly rate would have dipped even lower.
Entry-level agency jobs pay shit and abuse. But, the theory is, you get invaluable experience and contacts. If you are one of the lucky high-borns, you are actually at the top of the business because your family already has contacts; you don’t have to do any networking. And as anyone in the business will tell you, it’s all about networking. It’s all about who you know.
I disagree completely. You can call me naïve if you like. You’ll be correct in saying so. After all, I have been in Los Angeles for less than a year. But I’m also not wrong. Take note that never at any point in the above description of the agency system did I say that agency experience would make me a better writer. That’s because it won’t. The only thing that will make me a better writer is more writing, and that’s the one thing that an agency job will deny me.
If you’re one of those lovely people who feel like you know exactly where I should hang out and who I should be speaking to, let me explain something. It is not hard to meet people. Networking (and it’s all about networking) is not hard. Because here’s the catch to the whole thing: these people who have walked through fire and hell to be an agent, those lovely agents with whom I should be networking, have to keep proving themselves by finding sellable properties. And I want my stories to be those coveted properties. Networking is easy, but writing a tight, compelling, commercial, character-driven screenplay to hand over to the agents in my network is fucking hard. If you don’t believe me, send me your script. I’m out of toilet paper, don’t have money to buy more, and need to wipe my ass with something.
I am willing to trade my thumbs to be a successful writer. (Successful, for the sake of clarity, means having an audience, not money.) Really, I mean it. I can press the space bar with my middle finger. Look, I am doing it right now. Unfortunately, the gods, muses, or writing genies in control of these matters do not trade in thumbs. Good writing is bought with time, and effort. Getting the ass into the chair to write is the only way to become a writer. In the end, if I get my success, I will have handed over my life to get it.
Now you can see why I don’t work in a mailroom. Because being an agent or a producer requires your whole life, too. And I only have one to spend.
The UTA List
When I moved to Los Angeles, I spent three months working for free at two internships. In fact, I paid to have these jobs, because they were given to me in exchange for school credit, which costs money. A lot of money. Especially since the last semester of my graduate degree, the semester in which I did my internships, was the only time the University gave me neither in-state status nor a fellowship to cover tuition costs. One internship cost me one arm, the other, one leg. Roughly.
But I wasn’t bothered. It was absurdly easy to get my internships, one of them in the office of an Oscar-winning writer/director, and I had no worries about finding a job when the semester came to an end. I would pay off my student debt with the ease and grace of a dancer, I thought. This may prove to be true, if I do someday give in and start dancing for money. I’m not there yet, but don’t assume that it won’t ever happen.
In September, my internships were over and still I had no worries. Several things then occurred. One, some banks failed. They weren’t banks where I had checking accounts, so I incorrectly assumed I wasn’t affected and carried on with my business, which included applying to everything on the UTA list. The UTA List was the second thing to occur…that is to say, a lot of nothing.
The UTA list is a word document that advertises otherwise secret entertainment job postings. It’s sort of like a special industry craigslist, but with a hint of exclusivity. Though it is sent out via email by the United Talent Agency, anyone can put a posting on it if they know the right people. The list is supposed to be extremely hard to get. But it’s not. If you ask me for it, I’ll get it from one of several contacts and send it along, no questions asked. One of the reasons I will do this is that it’s absolutely worthless.
Don’t get me wrong, the UTA list has helped me out in the past. In fact, I got one of my luxury internships, for which I am still in debt, through the UTA list. This happened to be in the office of the Oscar-winning writer, who is a very nice guy. He even emailed me on my birthday, six months after I left his office. And it isn’t as though I didn’t enjoy working there. I read a good number of excellent books, most of them still unpublished and in PDF or galley form, and told the writer/director whether or not I thought he should make them into a movie. I was more than happy to pay a leg, roughly, for the chance to read fiction all day, and I am appreciative to the University for accepting my payment and allowing me to receive credits in exchange.
One day, I was reading a novel in this office when a television director came in for a meeting. He was curious as to how I could get such a coveted position, and I explained that I found it on the UTA list. He was surprised, and said that he had never received a job just by sending in a resume. I was rather proud of myself for having accomplished this feat.
Let me just say that it is not hard to get a job by submitting your resume if you are in fact purchasing your own employment. Trying to get someone to give you money on the basis of only your resume is a whole other enchilada. Even if you have access to the UTA list.
Alas, this is something one must learn first-hand. Believing that I had access to an exclusive list with which I had been lucky in the past, I sent off a slew of resumes to any and all job postings on the UTA list. The very next day I received a request for an interview. I went, and spent fifteen minutes talking to a woman in a dark and cluttered office about whether or not the executives at my two internships were paid for their work. I was confused. And still am. I have no idea what this woman was trying to find out, not even now. But she did tell me that they were offering $25k per year to the assistant who they would eventually hire. I suppose I should have been pleased that they weren’t asking me to pay for the privilege of working for them. But I was not exactly wowed by the sum.
I sent off dozens more resumes the next week. And the week after that. I scanned each post on the UTA list every time it made its way to my inbox. I even downgraded from assistant positions to receptionist positions, but I heard nothing back. Not for another two months did I have another interview.
Don’t think, though, that I didn’t have any work. Oh heavens, no. There are ways to survive LA. Even when the UTA List fails you. And even when the banks fail, too.
But I wasn’t bothered. It was absurdly easy to get my internships, one of them in the office of an Oscar-winning writer/director, and I had no worries about finding a job when the semester came to an end. I would pay off my student debt with the ease and grace of a dancer, I thought. This may prove to be true, if I do someday give in and start dancing for money. I’m not there yet, but don’t assume that it won’t ever happen.
In September, my internships were over and still I had no worries. Several things then occurred. One, some banks failed. They weren’t banks where I had checking accounts, so I incorrectly assumed I wasn’t affected and carried on with my business, which included applying to everything on the UTA list. The UTA List was the second thing to occur…that is to say, a lot of nothing.
The UTA list is a word document that advertises otherwise secret entertainment job postings. It’s sort of like a special industry craigslist, but with a hint of exclusivity. Though it is sent out via email by the United Talent Agency, anyone can put a posting on it if they know the right people. The list is supposed to be extremely hard to get. But it’s not. If you ask me for it, I’ll get it from one of several contacts and send it along, no questions asked. One of the reasons I will do this is that it’s absolutely worthless.
Don’t get me wrong, the UTA list has helped me out in the past. In fact, I got one of my luxury internships, for which I am still in debt, through the UTA list. This happened to be in the office of the Oscar-winning writer, who is a very nice guy. He even emailed me on my birthday, six months after I left his office. And it isn’t as though I didn’t enjoy working there. I read a good number of excellent books, most of them still unpublished and in PDF or galley form, and told the writer/director whether or not I thought he should make them into a movie. I was more than happy to pay a leg, roughly, for the chance to read fiction all day, and I am appreciative to the University for accepting my payment and allowing me to receive credits in exchange.
One day, I was reading a novel in this office when a television director came in for a meeting. He was curious as to how I could get such a coveted position, and I explained that I found it on the UTA list. He was surprised, and said that he had never received a job just by sending in a resume. I was rather proud of myself for having accomplished this feat.
Let me just say that it is not hard to get a job by submitting your resume if you are in fact purchasing your own employment. Trying to get someone to give you money on the basis of only your resume is a whole other enchilada. Even if you have access to the UTA list.
Alas, this is something one must learn first-hand. Believing that I had access to an exclusive list with which I had been lucky in the past, I sent off a slew of resumes to any and all job postings on the UTA list. The very next day I received a request for an interview. I went, and spent fifteen minutes talking to a woman in a dark and cluttered office about whether or not the executives at my two internships were paid for their work. I was confused. And still am. I have no idea what this woman was trying to find out, not even now. But she did tell me that they were offering $25k per year to the assistant who they would eventually hire. I suppose I should have been pleased that they weren’t asking me to pay for the privilege of working for them. But I was not exactly wowed by the sum.
I sent off dozens more resumes the next week. And the week after that. I scanned each post on the UTA list every time it made its way to my inbox. I even downgraded from assistant positions to receptionist positions, but I heard nothing back. Not for another two months did I have another interview.
Don’t think, though, that I didn’t have any work. Oh heavens, no. There are ways to survive LA. Even when the UTA List fails you. And even when the banks fail, too.
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