Today was boring. I was street filler in front of the gym where our intrepid QaF friends work out. I was kind of pissed when I found out that for all the scrambling I did to borrow my Dad’s car for the scene (they pay extra for extras who use their own cars in shots), the casting company had overbooked the background with cars. They didnt need me. Harumph! Before I could raise a stink the Eastern European guy behind me (who was also S.O.L.) exploded “If I have to pay for parking because you arent going to use my car I am gone!”

“Bye,” says the holding director. And as he walks out, she scribbles something beside his name in black ink. She looks up at me.

“I will …um… just go get my car out of security holding,” I mutter.