That day has come my friends, that day has come. The day that the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel
shines right before my eyes. It may just be the dull glow from my computer screen, or maybe a sleep
deprived hallucination. There's just no telling. But there is a light. After three months of hard work and expanding my mind (translation: slave labor and wanting a lobotomy), my time at John's studio has drawn to a close. I celebrated this achievement by stealing a roll of toilet paper from the studio's bathroom. That maybe sounded like a joke but it's not.
My apartment was out of toilet paper.
The past few weeks have been calmer than most, because John has been "on assignment." I am not entirely sure what this means in his case, although I'm pretty sure it involves lap dances in developing nations. My partner in hell, Ben, pointed out the irony of the fact that we are constantly hoping NOT to see John, although the only possible reason for taking an unpaid position like this in the first place is to WORK WITH JOHN. Without John, we are basically just voluntarily emptying our bank accounts to hang out with randoms who can in no way help our careers. Ben used the example of paying good money to see a concert, and then hoping upon hope that the headliner doesn't show up. Then again, Ben mumbles, so who knows if this is actually what he said. There's just no telling.
A little more about Ben. Ben's belt has been undone a lot lately. Like, fully undone and just hanging there, to such an extent that I feel it's impossible that he doesn't know it's undone. Which made me confused as to whether or not I should point out something so patently obvious. There's just no way, no way at all, that he didn't notice the undone state of his belt on multiple occasions. So, assuming Ben had good reason to expose himself in public, I just let it go. Really, what can you do?
My lack of action when dealing with Ben's belt stands in stark contrast to the two strangers who, last week as I was walking down the street, both stopped to pick through my hair when one of them spotted a scrap of paper tangled in it. They just approached me as if it was the most natural thing in the world to pick through my hair, like some sort of primate friendship ritual. Not that I didn't appreciate the grooming support.
Now I have found myself off track. What I wanted to do was to reflect briefly on my days with John. I think James summed it up nicely with this: "We are like volunteer firefighters." And by this he means we spend lots of time sitting around and staring, and then, out of nowhere, a three alarm blaze strikes the studio. John returns from Asia: FIRE!!!! ALL HANDS ON DECK!!! Panic, confusion, chaos, tears. And then, the next morning, we're back to watching You Tube or, alternatively, watching Bill set his shoes on fire in abject boredom. And, of course, we don't get paid. Volunteer Firefighters indeed.
One such emergency hit the studio a few weeks back, when John examined a receipt Sanja mis-filed when she was high. According to Joan, John started yelling and storming around and repeating the words: "I work for National Geographic!!!" (as that, apparently, justified his tantrum). In the calm following the storm, John said "I think I had a little meltdown." Joan confirmed that, yes, he did have a little meltdown. To which John began to laugh maniacally and said "Yeah! A Tuna Melt!!!!" You can't make this stuff up (note: John really likes tuna).
In our last few weeks together John tortured me to new levels, which I won't fully get into because I have PTSD. After one such incident, he called me from the airport before boarding his flight to the land of Cica Cica boom. He never calls me without a list of inane tasks for me to do, so this call was unprecedented in that its aim was not to make me crazy. I take it to be his way of apologizing for berating me senselessly.
John: "Ah, hi Liz."
Me: "Hi John."
(long pause)
John: "Sooo, are you still at work?
(I am not at work. It is 9:30 at night and John left hours ago. Why would I be at work?)
Me: "No, I'm at my friend's house."
John: "Ahhh. (another long, awkward pause). So, things got kind of crazy in there tonight, huh?"
Me: "Yeah" (Um, if by "crazy" you mean that you were a dictatorial maniac who yelled at
me in front of everyone, then yeah, things got crazy.)
John: "I mean, things were pretty intense, huh?"
Me: "Yeah, intense..." (what is the point of this call?? Are you trying to apologize??)
John: "Yeah, intense....."
It sounded like we were both stoned. Maybe John was with Sanja, who knows. The thing is, I do think John was trying to apologize, but couldn't bring himself to say the words. Which made me want to say "John, I can see that you're truly sorry and I accept this heartfelt apology." Instead I settled for "Ok, um, bye?"
As last week marked the end of the road for both Bill and myself, we celebrated by going out for drinks with employees and interns past and present, many of whom had been fired for a variety of minor transgressions. It was really special to share a few (ok, many) drinks with the only other people who have seen John in all his tyrannical glory.
Now, a few memories - reflections if you will - I would like to share with you:
-John sending me 30 texts in one day, all of which needed to be responded to IMMEDIATELY, even if it was not important in any way (i.e. "Are you holding down the fort?" YES SIR, ROGER THAT!) John DOES NOT like it when Ben takes over 5 minutes to respond to a text, because, as he forcefully stated, "Texts are instantaneous!!! There should be no delay!!" God forbid a text comes in while you're in the bathroom!
-John having me buzz Sanja into the building when he already had the phone with him and I had no phone anywhere near me, and was drowning in receipts. (note: buzzing someone in requires you to push the number "9" on the phone, which unlocks the door). John, celebrity that he is, would not perform this task as it was presumably below him.
-James, while helping John during "the move" coming across an old polariod suspiciously turned upside down in a photo album. What is the picture of? John, lying in a state of undress, sprawled across a couch posed a la George Costanza in the famous shot from Seinfeld. What I wouldn't pay to have hold of that bad boy.
-Joan and Emma (previous intern) being forced to organizing John's khaki pants BY COLOR on a weekend. Did I mention the pants were all khaki?? This was followed up with Joan having to wash the OUTSIDE of the windows of John's personal apartment on a Saturday. Is that even legal?
-Bill receiving a text containing only the bizarre message: "Organic Pitted Dates" first thing on a Saturday morning. Bill thought maybe this was a joke. But no, John wanted Bill to spend his morning searching for organic pitted dates. This task nearly gave Bill a stroke, as the store only had non-organic pitted dates or organic, non-pitted dates. The stress! The dilemma! What to do?!! Should he pit them by hand? Or falsely claim they're organic? (these were actually the courses of action Bill was considering). After contending with this mental anguish, Bill was ultimately told that John wanted nothing at all (only to be told hours later that the non-organic pitted dates would suffice). Somebody had to work late that night!
- In flipping though one of John's most famous books I came across this gem of a quote about his time covering flooding in Asia: "I began to learn the art of patience." Um, having me call his accountant THREE TIMES in the course of 45 seconds because said accountant hadn't emailed him the information he wanted at the speed of light hardly qualifies as patience.
Really, the memories go on and on. But, as I have to wrap this up, I will leave you with two tales from the bathroom, as I sometimes like to do.
Bill and Ben (my co-interns) had to make a trip to Dan and Annie's compound in Maryland. Dan and Annie are the sweet, elderly, and completely incompetent duo that run John's facilities down south. Ben needed to use the toilet during the visit, only to find that Dan keeps absolutely nothing in the bathroom BUT Preparation H. Nothing else. Just Preparation H proudly displayed for guests. Lovely!
And finally, what may be the best thing I've heard about John (source: Margaret, previous office manager who came out with us for drinks). According to legend (a legend that was confirmed by many) John and staff were holding a workshop in our tiny studio for 15 people. Our studio is VERY small even for just staff, so 15 people would have this place to the brink of overflow (note: use of the word "overflow" is foreshadowing)....During this workshop John ran a slideshow that was to last but a few minutes. And during the course of the show, he disappears. After a few minutes the staff is getting anxious - where did John go? Why isn't he back? We have a room full of paying workshop attendees and no John! And then this: Margaret gets a text from John saying only: "Meet me in the bathroom IMMEDIATELY". Well then. If that doesn't scare you, nothing will. So Margaret scurries off to the bathroom, only to find John soaking wet, in a room overflowing with toilet water, with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. John apparently tried to handle this situation himself by DUMPING LAUNDRY DETERGENT all over the room, presumably to absord the liquid. Ha! It reminds me of the Friends episode where Ross tries to get off his tight leather pants by dumping baby powder and lotion all over his legs, only to find that it had congealed into a thick paste. So John is frantic, wet, and insane. Margaret is disgusted. And 15 workshop participants are wondering where their leader is. John in all his glory runs out of the studio to go home to change, leaving Margaret to soothe the troops and to clean up what I can only assume was quite a disgusting soup.
And that, my friends, brings me to the end of my time at "John" studios. It has been a roller coaster of emotion, except that it was lacking in the good part of roller coaster emotion where you are excited and happy. It was actually just a straight- up free fall into hell. Cheers!
p.s.
On my last day at the studio, John called me on my cell phone from Asia to thank me for my "service". A rare nice gesture. But did I hear his call? No. I was sound asleep at my desk, dreaming of freedom.
