Welcome to Complicated by Choices. A newsletter that blends my original art, photography, and writing to delve into a diverse range of thought-provoking social and personal topics.
Before you get grossed out and click away, hear me out.
My life has been an adventurous journey, with lots of travel, including living in different countries, and even running around the desert with Storm Troopers and R2-D2. I’ve met and worked with inspiring people, experienced things I never could have imagined, and seen things I didn’t even know existed.
It’s been a wild and exciting ride, but of course, I’ve had many bad experiences too, and today I want to share one of the more infamous ones.
I’d been dreaming of working in the film and TV industry since I was seven years old, and getting a job on my first movie felt like winning the lottery. I was living in Brighton at the time, a couple of hours south of London on the coast of England, and the movie was shooting in Hertfordshire, which was about two hours away.
I was the production runner/assistant on the movie, and one of my responsibilities was to pick up actors on the way to set. This might sound simple, but everything on a film shoot relies on a carefully planned sequence of events, and it’s crucial everyone gets their job done on time.
Got a puncture? Well the wheel’s still on, so what’s the problem?
Your child is sick? Pff - they can look after themselves.
You’re sick? HAH! Don’t be ridiculous.
I’d normally pick up the actors around 5-6am, which meant I’d be up around 4am each morning. After dropping them off at set, I’d spend the next 12-14 hours running and driving around non-stop before we wrapped for the day. Then, I’d drive the actor home before making the slog back south myself. I’d be home by 10pm on a good day.
Yes, it was exhausting, but I was living the dream, right?
Fast forward a few months to the dead of winter, and it’s cold, dark, and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months. The majority of time was go, go, go, and I was running on fumes.
Unsurprisingly, I got sick. Out of both ends sick, and I’m adamant you’ve all been there, so I’ll save you the details this time.
Alas, the sickness started on a Thursday, and by Friday, it was obvious I was in for a ride. But hey, the show must go on! The naive idiot in me didn’t even contemplate asking my boss for a day off.
I often heard the phrase “Unless you’re dead, you show up” during those early years.
So, I pushed through Friday, and fortunately, it wasn’t too bad at that point. I was careful to take breaks when I had the opportunity, and though I was feeling terrible, I got through the day without any mishaps.
That said, the journey home that evening was torturous. I had to stop several times, and England isn’t like America where there’s a gas station every couple of miles. If you’re in desperate need, you’re in trouble. You might not find a source of relief for 30 miles.
Fortunately, I made it home without any major disasters, and my plan was to recover over the weekend and go back strong on Monday.
What’s the saying? Best-laid plans?
Monday morning hit me like a punch to the gut. I still felt awful and exhausted, and I wished I had an extra day to recuperate. However, I had no such luxury, and just 15 minutes later I found myself shivering on the road to London. The frigid weather only worsened my condition, compounding the effects of my exhaustion.
Luckily, the journey was smooth, and despite a few moments of internal panic, I arrived at my 5:30am pick up without incident.
Back then, texting wasn't really a thing, so I got out of the car to let the actor know I'd arrived. As I stepped outside, the cold stopped me dead in my tracks. It rippled through my body, but I shook it off and shuffled the 20ft to the house.
I felt myself relax as I knocked ever so quietly on the front door, and it was in that moment that I let out a little fart, except as you’ve probably guessed at this point, it was more than a fart. I had pooped my pants. It all happened so fast that my hand was still knocking on the door before the damage was done.
Let’s take a moment to pause here and reset the scene. It was 5:30am, I was exhausted and freezing, and I was standing on a guy's doorstep having just pooped my pants, and let me tell you, it smelled. He was about to come to the door and was expecting me to drive him 45 minutes to set.
What would you do? Well, here's the thing: I was inexperienced in life, and I didn't know what to do. I know what I'd do now. I'm confident I'd have known what to do even a day later, but in that moment I was as frozen as the worms the early birds were after. I had absolutely no idea how to manage this shit-uation.
Before my weary brain had a chance to contemplate the events, the door creaked open and half the guy's face appeared through the small gap. He whispered to me, "I'll be two secs!" before promptly closing the door in my face.
I think I was in shock because once he closed the door, all I could do was walk back to the car. Nothing was coming to mind, and all I could think about was that I MUST get this actor to set on time. What if they were late getting in to makeup? Unthinkable! I would be fired, of course. And why wouldn't I be? It was totally my fault.
Okay, it wasn't my fault, but I seemingly had no grounding to know the difference.
So, I'm walking back to the car, trying to work out what to do, but before I get there, I hear the guy jumping into the back seat and shutting the door behind him. I hadn’t even heard him leave the house, so I started to panic. I think it was at this point I believed my one out, my chance to explain to him what had happened and ask to use his toilet, was gone.
I lingered outside the car for a moment, but it was freezing, he was waiting, and I had to get him to set on time, so I begrudgingly got into the driver's seat.
I will never forget the look on his face as I entered the car and he caught the first whiff. Pure horror. I think he would have been less perplexed if the girl from ‘The Ring’ was waiting for him when he got in. It was a shit show. Literally.
But hey, he knew now. Which meant I could explain to him what had happened, except I couldn’t. I was speechless. Our eyes locked in the rearview mirror, and though I was desperately hoping he would say something, he didn’t. In as British fashion as I could imagine, he averted his eyes and pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary. As his eyes began to water I’m sure he was also wondering if he could hold his breath until we got to set. Unfortunately, he couldn’t.
It was a stalemate. He was too embarrassed and shocked to have the conversation, and I was too exhausted, naive, and embarrassed myself to bring it up. I can't say for sure what was going through my mind at that moment, but I think I just accepted that this was now the reality.
I closed my door and took a brief moment to collect myself before opening the front windows wide and turning the heating up full blast. We drove 45 minutes on the freeway with the freezing cold wind howling through the car and the smell of poop along with it.
The car was still in motion when the guy hit the ground running. If it weren't for the fact that I was working on a period movie, you might have seen me dropping him off and thought it was a scene from an action film. He couldn't escape the car faster, and I couldn't blame him. I was just relieved it was over.
I was surprisingly calm at this point, and I parked the car, went to the honey wagon (what they call posh portable toilets in the industry), took my pants off, cleaned myself up, and then went commando for the rest of day.
No, I didn’t ask to go home, and yes, I am certain I was still in shock.
So why am I telling you this insanely embarrassing story? Because I know you've all been through something just as harrowing and unexpected that will have had as big an impact on you as this did on me. If not, then at least I hope it made you laugh, even if you're squirming while doing so.
This experience, while being devastating in the moment, has been a source of entertainment and inspiration to me ever since. It's entertaining for obvious reasons, and it's inspirational because I learned so much from it. About myself, other people, work culture, and overall just being a human.
Would I react in the same way if it happened today? Of course not, because I've had 15 years of life experience since then. But that complete loss of control and ability to problem solve in that moment motivated me to be better prepared for the next unexpected event.
How?
By seeking as many diverse life experiences as I could. New people, places, and things I could do and learn.
It also helped me understand that even when the worst happens, it often isn't nearly as bad as what it feels like in the moment. There’s always tomorrow.
That moment now sits as a benchmark for me. Now, whenever I'm going into a new situation or environment, I do my best to get a sense of it. Understand the parameters, surroundings, and what might happen as a result of being in it.
It also taught me the need to speak up, which is a skill I've spent the time since improving. Granted, that sometimes gets me in trouble, but when I pair it with good intention and integrity, it's one of the attributes I am proudest to harbor.
As a result of that experience and the inevitable reflection on it, I'm adamant that it helped me become more adaptable, better at problem-solving, and also, for better or worse, helped me gain the ability to put a positive spin on even the most harrowing experiences.
So, yes, shit happens, but that’s never the end of the story. Like any compelling movie, challenges can pave the way for something truly extraordinary. So, even when unexpected or difficult moments arise, embrace them as the start of something new.
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