Driving Mr. Sundance
I received a call about a week ago from a rep from a New York production company who was in search of drivers. He had a premiere this week and was looking for reliable folks over twenty-one who could chauffeur talent and other V.I.P.s around town. The talent were Big Stars whose names I can't reveal, and the rep said that the gig would offer "unprecedented access" to people who wanted to "break into the industry." Truth was, while I've made a film of my own, I don't know too many people anymore who want to "break into the industry," My circle of acquaintance these days is not as glamorous.
I am fortunate enough, though, to have some of the most wonderful babysitters in town, mostly University of Utah students who are cheerful, always show up on time, and whom I trust to drive my own kids around through snow and snain and Salt Lake traffic. I sent these names forward with my highest recommendation.
A couple of days ago the rep called me again, completely puzzled. Why would anyone want to take this job if she was not in the "industry"? And why, he asked, did all these girls' parents also volunteer? Were people in Utah "underemployed' or nutty? he asked. What in the world was wrong with these people?
I love and even understand New York---my mother was born in the city and I still have relatives there---but this was one of those moments when I knew that I'd never be able to explain to this guy about the generosity and genuine enthusiasm of Utahns. Nor would I be able to explain the absolute thrill that a local could get from the chance to drive around someone she had seen on t.v. or in People. What was worse, I knew I couldn't really say a word about how so many locals I've talked to feel disenfranchised from Sundance, which swoops into town with its glitter and gloss, always so near and yet so far.
Phone in hand, I told the rep again that everyone I'd recommended was reliable, would show up on time, and would do the work assigned with pleasure. To which he said, "Well, it would have to be for pleasure; it couldn't possibly be for money."
I am fortunate enough, though, to have some of the most wonderful babysitters in town, mostly University of Utah students who are cheerful, always show up on time, and whom I trust to drive my own kids around through snow and snain and Salt Lake traffic. I sent these names forward with my highest recommendation.
A couple of days ago the rep called me again, completely puzzled. Why would anyone want to take this job if she was not in the "industry"? And why, he asked, did all these girls' parents also volunteer? Were people in Utah "underemployed' or nutty? he asked. What in the world was wrong with these people?
I love and even understand New York---my mother was born in the city and I still have relatives there---but this was one of those moments when I knew that I'd never be able to explain to this guy about the generosity and genuine enthusiasm of Utahns. Nor would I be able to explain the absolute thrill that a local could get from the chance to drive around someone she had seen on t.v. or in People. What was worse, I knew I couldn't really say a word about how so many locals I've talked to feel disenfranchised from Sundance, which swoops into town with its glitter and gloss, always so near and yet so far.
Phone in hand, I told the rep again that everyone I'd recommended was reliable, would show up on time, and would do the work assigned with pleasure. To which he said, "Well, it would have to be for pleasure; it couldn't possibly be for money."
The pay, after all, was only sixty bucks a shift. In New York, he said, it wouldof course have been three times as much.
"You're right," I said before I hung up. "You're exactly right. They're not in it for the money." What more was there to say?
"You're right," I said before I hung up. "You're exactly right. They're not in it for the money." What more was there to say?
----Julie Checkoway
posted by Julie Checkoway @ 2:16 PM |
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