A Southern Boy's Adventures in LA: Ben vs. The Bust-Measuring Bimbo

So I've relocated to LA from Birmingham and am looking for a job out here.  While waiting for that golden opportunity to come along, I decided to go ahead and take steps to insure that I could have a back-up plan for making some small money fast - you know, the kind of job you take just to keep gas in the car and groceries in the fridge.  So I sauntered down the street (translation: drove across town on the LA freeways and cheated death with every lane merge) and decided to apply for Central Casting.  Central Casting is one of the bigger casting agencies in town, they provide all the background and extras for TV and film.  Ever watch an episode of anything of TV and seen people walking around in the background and wondered who they were?  Those are Central Casting extras, and they get paid $8 an hour and fed three meals while on set.  After 8 hours on set, you get paid time and a half, and most workdays are 12 hours for the extras, so you end up with somewhere around $100 for one day of standing around and walking through the background of scenes a couple of times.  Not the most glamourous job, but an easy $100 if you don't mind standing around all day.  I personally love the idea of getting to spend a full day or two on a set, observe how the shoot certain shows and watch the directors direct the actors.  

So after two of my roommates, Bryan and Pete, raved about it because they each got to be on "Without a Trace" and had a good experience, I decided to register as well.  I walk into the main office and run into a room full of about 20 people, from every walk of life.  We've got caucasian, asian, african american, and hispanic people in the room of every age, sex, and shape.  I had been told by my Pete to sit in a row of chairs along the wall when I entered the room, and not gather around the conference table where everyone else was sitting.  This is because when 10:30am rolls around, the casting director enters the room and makes a little speech, and then they start processing at that row of chairs.  So essentially if you know this little inside tip early on, you get a free pass to the front of the line.  So there I am, sitting near the window in the row of seats, filling out my application.  They ask for all sorts of personal information regarding your physical appearance, from hair color, weight, and height; all the way to your actual clothing sizes so you can be fitted for a show should they need to put you in some sort of uniform or costume.  For a guy this means giving them your coat, sleeve, neck, waist, inseam, and shoe size; and for a girl you must provide your bust, bra size, waist, hips, dress size, and show size.  Nothing out of the question, the same information you'd give your tailor really.  They also have a section that asks if you're willing to do nude work, and you have to circle yes or no (and right now I'll go ahead and tell you what I put: absolutely not.) 

Anyway, I'm in there for a few minutes and in walks this girl.  She's slender and tall, and at first glances, I'll admit, she's rather lovely and downright attractive.  She comes over and sits next to me because she also knew about the little "sit-by-the-window-to-get-to-the-head-of-the-line" tip.  So seeing as how it's still about 15 minutes before they start official processing and registration, we naturally start up a conversation.  Her name is Emily Egbert, but don't let the name fool you as to her ethnic background.  As nerdy as the name may sound, she's actually half Jordanian, her mom grew up in Amman (capital of Jordan - don't worry, I had to look it up too).  She has that whole raven-black shoulder length hair, olive toned skin, and deep brown eyes thing working for her, and if I had to guess I'd say she could easily be on camera if she really wants to pursue acting full time, which as I continue to talk to her, I discover is her intent all along.  As the time draws nearer, a rather large and friendly african american gentleman in a full suit comes and sits next to me as well, and we both joke about how this whole registration feels a lot like being drafted in the military.  He informs me that if they take us to another room and ask us to drop our shorts for a full physical, he's not interested, and for a second it seems like he actually isn't joking, that maybe he really thinks this is a possibility.  

10:30 rolls around and it's go time.  The room is now full of over 100 people, and sure enough, I'm near the very front of the line.  The casting director comes out and announces that they have measuring tapes available throughout the room and it's strongly encouraged that we measure ourselves accurately for the application, even if we know our sizes already.  It's important that we make sure we're not just a few inches off, or the prop costumes may not fit and then we'll feel like idiots on set wearing clothes that are too large/too tight.  At this announcement, the unexpected happens.  Emily grabs a tape (those fabric measuring tapes they have at every tailor and suit store) and whirls around to face me.  "Will you help measure me?" she politely inquires.  Now I don't know much, but I was raised in the south where as a standing rule we treat our women with dignity and respect.  To say this was a little surprising and even a little inappropriate is an understatement.  I know it's just a measurement, but I'm a guy, she's a girl, and a complete stranger until like 20 minutes ago.  The more I reflect on the incident, in many ways I guess I was less of a stranger to her than anyone else in there, but still... I'm not used to being presented with this kind of scenario.  I'm sure my mouth was wide open and jaw was resting on the floor as I quickly tried to formulate the correct response. Then I heard words come out of my mouth: "Sh-Sh-Sh-Sure".  WHAT? Did I just say that?  What's happening here?  But before I can figure out why my mouth and head are not agreeing, I find myself standing there as she wraps a tape around the fullest part of her chest, turns her back to me, and asks me to help her figure out her bust measurement.  I'll grant her the fact that she turned her back to me, at least this way my hands would be nowhere near the danger zone, but still, this is a rather new and awkward experience.  Where I'm from, girls tend to not ask guys to help them figure out their bust size.  I ended up pinching the tape together in the middle of her back and reporting that she measured 32 inches.  She thanks me and then asks what's next on the sheet.  I glance down and to my horror see the words "Bra Size".  Now here is where I should have read it in my head before reading it out loud, but I think I did both at the same time and accidently said out loud, "Uh, it says bra size"  Once again, I kick myself mentally, wondering if the old nature has gone on autopilot for some reason.  I figured she would probably say, "Oh, well lets skip to the next category" because once again, where I'm from if a guy asked a girl her bra size in public (or private for that matter), he's probably seeking a slap in the face.  Surprisingly though, and causing my recently re-attached jaw to hit the ground once again, she casually tells me over her shoulder, "Oh, my boobies are a B".  Those were her exact words.  I'm speechless, still holding a tape around her back and trying to figure out what just happened, when she starts moving on to waist, hips, etc... before I know it, we've measured every inch of her from top to bottom, and I've recorded the whole thing obediently for her on her sheet. 

 Then my eyes catch sight of what would be the last straw: where it asked if she would do nude work, she had circled "yes".  Man, I'm telling you, I wanted to drop the tape and wash my hands right there.  Welcome to LA.  This ain't no Birmingham, no sir, it sure ain't.  Needless to say, the rest of the registration went on fine, I registered and hope to be on TV soon making some quick money in the background, but seriously... I could go out and buy this girl a dress now with the information I know... and perhaps I should.  A real modest one with a note attached that said she should reconsider her decision to do naked work and instead pursue real classy acting, the kind where you keep your clothes on and wow the audience with your abilities and not your curves.  I could even tell her that the next time she needs to measure herself, she should find a kindly old lady to assist her or something...  But then, I didn't get her address, so I'd have nowhere to send it... hmm, oh well.  Welcome to LA folks.  The Bible belt this ain't.  I was hoping this would be the end of my awkward moments in the city, but as you'll soon learn in a later installment of this blog, this was only the beginning.  Because later that day I would share the screen with a porn star at a hot dog stand.  But that's another story for a later post... Until then my friends, I hope I've put a smile on your face as I recount my humorous and awkward times in sunny Los Angeles California.  Keep in touch and check back later for more stories of hollywood fun.