BRAIN TWEETS

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    Wednesday, February 28, 2007

    My First Meeting

    It's long winded and not well written, but you'll get the idea.

    So, after two phone calls and three e-mails I finally had enough redundant information to attend my first meeting at a studio. I’ve got a PA gig, as you know, on an unnamed TV pilot. I have no intention of dishing specifics but will occasionally write amusing things such as what is to follow while keeping all names and actual places a complete and utter secret from you, because they really are irrelevant and would distract from the sheer joy of what I think will turn out to be universal truths about how these things get made. The use of the word “universal” in the previous sentence was not a clue. Trust me.

    The meeting was at 3:00 PM and was closer than not to where I live. I decided to leave at 2:00 PM to get there just in case something went wrong and allow me plenty of time to not be late to my first ever meeting at a studio. On what should be about a 5 min drive from my place I encountered a major roadway reduced to one lane by three tow trucks cleaning up a fender bender, a fountain run amok, and just general silly driving from people who have lived here longer than I.

    Driving up to the parking garage I was told to use, I realized that some sort of ID would be required. When it was finally my turn, I drove up to the security shack and handed over my Driver’s license. The guard asked where I was going and I told him the exact address, floor and suite number. He looked at me puzzled. I said that I realized that the parking was more for the Studio lot than for the building where the meeting was being held, but this as where I had been told to park and asked him if there was another associated parking garage on the street. He told me no and asked who I was going to see. I pulled the sheet of paper I had prepared earlier and threw out the name that seemed to have the highest job description. This seemed to get things rolling somewhat. Finally he found my name on the computer after about 4 minutes and the printer began to spit out my parking pass. He looked confused again and said that the pass said my meeting was in a building on the lot and I retorted that it might very well say that but the meeting I was to attend was in the building across the street from the garage. I didn’t tell him I had received two phone calls and three e-mails confirming this though because I’m sure he’d think this was a low number and therefore I’d probably gotten it wrong. Unsure he called over another security guard and brought up the discrepancy in what the pass said and what I said. The other guard told him not to worry about it since the pass was good for the whole thing and I could go where I wished, which at this point was somewhere else entirely.

    Pulling my car into a slot only 4 inches wider than my car on either side, I got out and made my way through the lot and outside, then crossed the street to the building where my meeting was to be held.

    Inside, I approached a woman security guard and told here where I was going and asked whether I needed to sign in. She pointed me in the right direction of the desk and I crossed the lobby to the other side and finally found it. Once again I was asked for ID and turned over my license. The guard asked me where I was going and once again I told him the floor and suite number. When he asked who I was going to see I said it was a general meeting and not with any specific person. I once again pulled out the sheet I’d prepared and handed it over. He picked a name and dialed their number. He left a message stating that a Mr. Alan Bunch was here and if he could get a call back that would be great since he wasn’t letting me through until he did. I corrected him telling him it was Greg and that Alan was my middle name, but this made no difference. When he hung up the phone he tried to keep me from worrying I guess by telling me that person he had called was probably just in the bathroom. I pointed out to him that there was another name on the list, which excited him, and he was soon off dialing the next number. This time the person he was calling was not in the bathroom and OK’d and validated my presence. I was issued a visitor pass and he kept my license, which I could retrieve after the meeting in exchange for the pass I now had in my hands.

    Now, on both sides of the lobby just before one reaches the central elevator banks there are four black oddly shaped platforms each containing two angled surfaces on top each of these containing a small round piece of etched glass that lights up when you wave your pass over it. There are guards watching to make sure all passes are swiped over said “beatified” sensors. I’d noticed this, so when I approached I looked at the guard who looked at me and acknowledged that I too had to swipe. So I did. The circle lit up, a little ding sounded and I walked toward the elevator to the floor I needed to go to.

    Once in the elevator, of which I was the sole occupant I pushed the button for the floor I wanted and waited. Nothing happened. I looked around and stuck my head out and pushed the button again. It lit up and then a second later went back out and the doors remained open. Hmmmmm, some sort of new security layer I had missed. Sure enough, as I scanned the button board all the way down registering each button and its purpose I came across, at the very bottom, only two feet from the floor another of the etched glass circles with the same pattern as those from the black stands. So, I waved my magic pass across and heard a small ding and then noticed a light turn green. So, I pushed the button again and I was off. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise.

    This wasn’t so tough. Upon arriving at my floor I got off and looked for the suite where the meeting was to be held. Only problem is none of the numbers on the doors came close. So, as a guy passed by and asked me what I was looking for I told him the room number and confusion crossed his face. He told me he’d never heard of that number before but I might want to have a look through a set of double doors just ahead of me since it had the same first two numbers of the suite I was looking for followed by two zeroes.

    Peaking my head inside I immediately noticed the number I was looking for. It was someone’s office. Later I would find out who this someone was. As I approached another person walked by. They asked me if I was there for the meeting and I said yes. This turned out to be one of the people from my list. Soon another walked by and introduced himself. I was in the right place.

    Well, the meeting went off and I kept up and learned a few things and just generally kept my mouth shut. Everyone seemed nice so I don’t foresee any personality conflicts. But in the end what I wanted to tell everyone was that if they’d just said that the meeting was going to be held in an office and not a suite, since the room number given was an office within a suite that had a different number, and if they had attached to that office number the name of the high level person that occupied it, it would have been easier for everyone to find it. But of course I didn’t. They do things their own way here and for now I’m simply following their lead.

    Oh yeah, when we went back to our cars after the meeting, we had to once again show our IDs to get access to our cars. Just think what it would be like if you worked here, or in the building. Everyday you'd have to show three people your ID and wave it over a sensor every time you wanted to use the elevator or reenter the building. Personally I'd just pack a lunch.

    3 comments:

    Anonymous said...

    I imagine if there is any industry that the CIA could take lessons from regarding security, it would be the entertainment industry.

    Fabricationist said...

    Yes, I am a "Secret Agent Man". Well, not so much anymore now that I've told you.

    Alan Gratz said...

    This sounds a lot like the publishing houses in New York, only not QUITE as mental as all that. I'll bet that if you worked there they'd issue you a lot ID card that you could use to zoom past the guard booth and use int eh elevators and everything. But at Random House and Penguin, they have security checkpoints all over the building, and good luck getting past the lobby without somebody upstairs okaying you in. I don't know if it's completely a September 11th thing or what. I suspect with the studios it's much more than that, but in today's climate it's like invading a shogun's castle just to meet somebody in their office.