(no subject)
Yesterday at around 6pm, we finished all of our daytime shooting for the workday. All that was left were scenes that needed to be shot after dark. Accordingly, as we were all at the director's house, he and his wife whipped up some dinner for everyone. During the meal, I overhear that we will mostly be shooting in-car dialogue, i.e, only enough crew to fit in the car with the actors will be needed.
Having just finished 25 hours of work in the last two days, I asked if I would be needed for the evening shooting. Ultimately, even though I was expendable, offered to stay later, not be the only person to leave early, and not dump the prop responsibilities on someone else, however minimal. Besides, I'd probably get home and be put right into sexile anyway. The meal finished, and I ran out to buy a [prop] sandwich. Meanwhile, the director would drive around in search of a streetside payphone for our first scene.
Upon my return to the house, most of the crew has left for the location. I see their dog sitting by the steps to the house, and go to parallel park on the opposite side of the street. This dog has been barking and running around all night. My music is on, and as I slowly back into the space, the dog continues to bark. I ease back another foot or two, and the barking goes from 'Woof' to "YIPE! YIPE! YIPE!" I slam on my breaks, put the car in park, and run out. I'm thinking, "Oh no, I just ran over the director’s dog!"
As soon as I turn around, I see the dog is still sitting where it was before, perfectly OK. That bastard. Scared the hell outta me.
I go into the house, and my boss informs me that they decided to mount a payphone on a telephone pole just down the street. I load up the props and drive down the hill.
When I get to the shooting street (around 9:55pm), I parallel park into a space behind the grip truck, and in front of a parked Nissan playing veeery loud rap music. I get out of the car to realize that the loud music is not coming from the Nissan, but the 5-story apartment complex we are both parked in front of. Fine.
I walk over to the camera equipment and mounted payphone, where the crew is busy lighting the set. This is about 6 carlengths from where I've parked. Just as far in the other direction, on the other side of a small street where some more of our vehicles are parked, there are three more crewmen setting another light.
As we're about ready to shoot, talent in position and camera ready, some of us hear what sounds like a bottle rocket come from the area where my car is parked. It only sounds like one leaving the bottle, we don't hear the explosion part. Its really not that loud, half of the crew claims not to have heard it. Oh well, it was probably nothing, back to work.
About five minutes later, we notice that, across that street by those three crewmen, the back window of our soundman's (Chindha's) Caravan has been shattered. It is still in place on the vehicle, just shattered. How peculiar. Those crewmen open the hatch and knock the shards to the ground. Meanwhile, on my side of that street, an actress, the director, the production manager and myself have gathered around the camera equipment to watch the window clean up. Let's face it, we're no Basils of Baker Street, we're stumped. We huddle and hypothesize for about ten minutes.
Suddenly, very acutely, I hear that same sound as before. Instantly, the right side of my neck is struck with a BB. There was really no time to react after the sound. I was hit. I grabbed my neck and fell to the ground, not in pain but in shock. Cued by my yell, we all do a military-style crawl behind barriers. The crew in the street ducked behind cars, the crewmen cleaning up the window ducked behind that vehicle, and myself and everyone around me behind a brick, garden wall of a neighboring house (the owner of this house had given us permission to film on his property). It should also be noted that before most of these people ducked for cover, they aimed all of the movie lights at the building. Also, the loud music has been turned off, along with many lights inside the suspected building.
I'm pretty sure one person from each of the hiding areas called the police on a cellphone. Here's how all of the conversations went:
Us: "Yeah we're out on the corner of Echo Park and Baxter filming a movie, and someone has started shooting at us from an apartment building!"
Dispatcher: "Is anybody hurt?"
Us: "Yes one of us was hit by a BB!"
Dispatcher: "Oh. BB's."
yeah, i guess its not very exciting, is it?
My neck really just feels like a bruise, the BB bounced right off. It's a little unpleasant, and an icepack would be nice, but I'm fine overall. Now we're just waiting for the police. After being prompted by the dispatcher, I told them an ambulance was not necessary.
Seeing that many people are concerned for my neck and their own safety, I take the liberty of cracking jokes to lighten the mood:
"You guys still wanna play paintball this weekend?"
"Its alright, I'm from Detroit. 313 gonna roll wit' me!"
"Its my own fault for wearing the bright honking red shirt with CANADA written all over it."
Ten minutes later, still no police. We see an Impala pull into the driveway in front of my car. The driver exits he vehicle and comes toward us, asking if we're shooting a movie. We'll refer to him as Baldy, see if you can guess why. He is about 22 years old, 6-foot-huge, and latino. A familiar conversation ensues:
Baldy: "Are you guys shooting a movie?"
Us: "Actually, we're getting shot at from the apartment building you just pulled up to."
Baldy: (gets down) "Jesus! With a gun?"
Us: "Yeah, a BB gun."
Baldy: "Oh. BB's."
Baldy gets up and starts going on about how few people live in the building that he's just pulled up to, and the respective alibis of those people. He also thinks we don't notice that behind him, five people from the apartment have piled into and driven off in his Impala. It speeds away, and we don't catch the license plate. Damn.
Another five minutes later, a squad car arrives. Director explains how we are all together and where the shots have come from yada yada, and we're instructed to gather alongside the shattered window car, "out of the shooter's range." Hmm, if he can hit that window, we're still in his range, right? Oh well. Baldy has already started storytelling, I'm keeping it low key. I'm the victim here, I'll get my turn to speak.
Two more squad cars arrive, presumably one for each call we made. Officer Ramirez and officer Chavez take Myself and Chindha aside from the group, much to Baldy’s dismay. I should note that 'aside' means closer to the shooter. Before we get a word in, they have already told two cars to turn around, even if their 'driveway is right there!' They then realize that we are too close, and we move back to a protected spot as well.
I explain the course of events, which way I was oriented and how we all scattered thereafter.
Me: "I was behind he camera with three other people, facing this direction-"
Ramirez: "Are you sure you don't need an ambulance?"
Me: "I'm sure, I just need an ice pack. So they were cleaning up the glass and-"
Ramirez: "Cuz I can call an ambulance right now."
Me: "I'm alright. So we were about to-"
Ramirez: "You know man I'm gonna call you an ambulance anyway, I don't want you to get infected or anything..."
There was no talking him out of it. He then dictated, word for word, what his partner Chavez should say over the radio. Chavez is stuttering. That’s right. This is Chavez's first night on the street, and I am his first call. More on that later. Anyway, I was "a white male adult suffering from a laceration on the neck." The RA unit is on their way. By the way, my neck still feels like there's an ordinary bruise, no unbearable pain, no blood, no desire for aspirin/advil/whathaveyou.
As Chavez takes my information, all of the officers on scene (6 total) decide it is time to search the area for a BB gun. Just in time, guys. Chavez will go with them, learn the ropes and whatnot, and I'll wait here to finish giving info upon his return. Now what will occupy my time?
We then hear sirens. More than one. Oy vey. The crew, standing on the sidewalk, begins yelling out to me.
"Yo Aaron, your ride's here!"
"Come on, man! Lie down in the street or something!"
I have a bump on my neck. This is not necessary. The officer has called the ambulance on the off chance that I later die and my family sues the city for not sending an ambulance. Around the corner comes a fire department ambulance and a full firetruck, both with lights blazing and sirens blaring. I go out to greet them.
A back door of the ambulance opens, and the driver also gets out.
Me: "I'm your victim."
Driver: "What happened?"
Me: "BB shot at my neck, bounced off, there's a welt. Nobody else was hit."
(at this point, the EMT who came out the back door goes to the firetruck and tells them to return to the station. good. What a wasted resource. At this point, both men are relaxed)
EMT: "Do you wanna go to the hospital?"
Me: "Not really, no."
Driver: "Yeah, I figured. We're just required to ask."
EMT: "Does it hurt?"
Me: "Little bit. Could you guys clean it out for me?"
Driver: "Not without going to the hospital."
Me: "well then, um, could I get an icepack?"
Driver: "Sure."
The EMT has left for the clipboard of forms.
Stop. Go back and look at what order those questions were asked in, and, more importantly, what the questions actually were. "Does it hurt?" Are you kidding me??? They were called as a liability issue. A firetruck came too, just to be sure that my family wouldn't sue the city if I spontaneously burst into flames and there had been an ambulance on scene but no firemen to put out the fire. Another liability issue. They're required to offer me a trip to the ER as a liability issue. They can't clean out a welt the size of a dime on site because its a liability issue. That’s disgusting. There could have been a more pressing emergency that would have needed those resources, and they could have been late to actually saving lives because they were stuck trying not to get sued.
Anyways, the smash-action icepack produced a mild amount of coldness. I will peroxide the welt myself later, after all, I am still first aid certified. The paperwork is filled out, the ambulance leaves (no charge for the call), just in time for Chavez to return from his crashcourse in building sweeps. The search yielded no weapons, so all they can do is start a paper trail. Hopefully the director told them about our suspicion of Baldy while I was distracted by EMTs. Anywho, more paperwork.
It is now about 10:45, and having been given the all clear on the street, the crew begins to wrap the equipment. The entire night of filming is called off. The production manager (my boss) comes to Chavez and I to aid in the business end of the paperwork. Long story short, any medical or legal stuff will be covered by worker's comp with the production company. This includes the replacement of Chindha's window.
Now only Chavez and Ramirez are left. Most of the crew, along with two of the squad cars, are gone. Chavez nervously completes more forms while Ramirez talks about some recent encounters on the job. The most humorous involved a handcuffed man wearing neither pants nor shirt who asked the officer to scratch his stomach for him. Ramirez opted to graze his firearm instead. Haha.
Back at the house, there are condolences all around upon my return. Thank god it wasn't my neck, my ear, jugular, glasses didn't shatter, yada yada, I've gotten the full LA experience now, shouldn't have any trouble writing seven pages on the internship for school, yada yada... Boone, our lead actor, has transformed into Sherlock Holmes, going on about what probably happened and how they got away and what he would've liked to have done, all that jazz (for those of you who have seen Batman Begins, Boone is the actor who played Gary Oldman's partner). Oh, my neck still feels fine. Now is actually the first time I have seen the welt, in a mirror in the bathroom. It doesn't freak me out. The ice pack hasn’t been cold since the ambulance left. I mean really, it was a low quality pack. And I got it from an ambulance too. What?
Chindha now explains how he only washes his van once a year. It happened to be this morning, and consarnit, now he needs a new window. This is actually the second time that window has been shattered. The first involved a neighbor's children playing baseball. That was also on the one day that year he washed his car. I don't think he'll be washing that car too often anymore.
Also, the production manager now reveals that this morning she "had a bad feeling about today." This is the same feeling she had the morning before the earthquakes in 1994 that moved the valley a few inches, nearly destroying the city.
The director and production manager (they're married) are now pulling a worry move on me. I'm not expected to come to work tomorrow, I can spend the night at the house, all that good stuff. I really just want to go to bed, come to work the next day, and I don't mind the drive home. They then offer to follow me home, just to be safe. It is 11:30pm, I live 20 miles away, and the production call is at 9am the next morning. I am not putting them through that, they need sleep much more than I do. Also, much like the officer calling the ambulance, there is no talking them out of anything. I decide to spend the night on a cot in the family room there so that they can get some sleep.
I drop Cousin/landlord a voicemail and e-mail, but he's in bed by now anyway. When the crew leaves for location in the morning, I will go back home to shower and change clothes, meeting the crew at our second location at 11am.
And that’s what happened today. When I got home, Fred immediately jumped on the first aid bandwagon. Honestly the peroxide and band-aids were in front of me within 30 seconds. I got off work today around 6pm, and tomorrow's call is 7:30pm. Hopefully we'll crank hard, and still be able to be finished shooting tomorrow.
Only six days left in LA.