Not long ago, I was visiting Los Angeles. While there we went to an art showing at a relative’s. I really wanted to fit into this Hollywood scene as best I could, so I put on my most expensive jeans, one of my classiest wide collared shirts, and tried to furrow my brow a lot. While I was there I tried to sound artsy and Hollywood-ish by saying things like, ”the values are so subtle, yet penetrating,” and “the artist really speaks to my emotions. He’s really making a statement.” In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to be “feeling” or whatever, but I enjoyed it well enough.
What really amused me however was the water boy outside the gallery. There he stood behind his little table, surveying the scene like some kind of entrenched WWII soldier. Only instead of awesome 40′s battle attire, he was dressed in a tie and a snazzy vest. He seemed intensely eager. All you had to do was look in his general direction and he would instantly offer to get you a drink of your choosing. He was like one of those little yapping dogs that has a toy and is just dying to play with you.
As I stood there drinking my water, I watched as the water boy schmoozed me, and everyone else at the showing within earshot. He laughed, he joked, and he offered you refills. And then on the table, he subtly placed a few of his business cards. Only, the business cards didn’t say “Water Boy/Drink-Refill Guy Extraordinaire.” They simply had his name, and then emblazoned underneath in bold letters; “Actor.”
I smiled to myself. Because after all, no one in LA is really a water boy, or a waitress, or a taxi driver. Oh no. They’re actors. Entertainers. Thespians of the film reel. Future stars and tabloid covers in the making.
I may never know what will become of the Art Gallery water boy. For all I know, he’s already landing the role of a lifetime in some horrid Michael Bay movie. I don’t really care. Just as long as he gets me my water.
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