Holly, come here please...

The Smell of San Antonio. By Holly Henley.

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I have a confession to make…

Ted Aces was not the reason that RTAP Talent Agency did not win over the business of one of the most beautiful up and coming actresses in Hollywood. I can’t let him take responsibility. Because Ted was not to blame.

I was.

Me, a mug, and a little blue kitchen sponge.                                                                       

You may know the actress Daniela Chirimqui from her role as the beautiful on-again-off-again girlfriend of side kick character “J” on the popular, and now cancelled HBO show about Hollywood that I will not name. She played Summer. And if you met her, you might slip and call her Summer. Which is exactly what Ted Aces, RTAP Talent Agency president, did the first time he met her.  

The story goes, as told by the two receptionists watching this go down from the front desk, that Ted walked into the RTAP lobby alone that morning to wait for Daniela. Meanwhile, the receptionists eagerly anticipated her arrival, but kept calling her by her character’s name. “Summer will be here any minute!” one receptionist said to the other, all within Ted’s ear shot. So Ted overheard this. Daniela walked in. Ted assumed her name was actually Summer, and stuck out his clumsy dope of a hand for a shake saying “Welcome to our agency, Summer!”

The receptionists said her manager corrected him, and he apologized profusely, but when she didn’t sign with our agency after the meeting, everyone thought this was why. Everyone assumed it was Ted’s fault.

But it wasn’t.

Here is what really happened:

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On this dreary NYC Tumblr Tuesday…

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…may we suggest some light reading to keep you smiling!!

Please check out our sister blog Holly, Come Here Please…, which chronicles the tales of our very own Holly Henley and her adventures at RTAP Talent Agency!

While you’re at it, won’t you please recommend her under the Creative Writing Directory for Tumblr Tuesday? We know we will!!

hollycomehereplease.tumblr.com!!

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Loyal readers!

Please recommend Holly, Come Here Please for the Creative Writing directory this Tumblr Tuesday!!

A Series of Unfortunate Conversations: Regarding Scanning.

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(From the desk of Holly Henley: The following took place on more than 1 occasion between myself and former boss (read as: satanic overlord) Beth Kipling, during my time spent employed at RTAP Talent Agency.)

 

Regarding scanning:

 

Enter Beth- 20 minutes late, sunglasses still on. Weather outside = rain.

 

Beth: Holly, please scan this document.

 

Note: “Document” is AM New York’s write up on whether famous comic strip character Archie will choose to marry Betty or Veronica.

 

External Holly: Beth, I can’t, I’m doing those last minute talent confirmations for the audition this morning at 10am…

 

Beth: That can wait. This is a priority.

 

Inner Monologue Holly: Really? It’s 9:15…but ok. I will stop doing my actual work to scan this article on a comic strip no one under the age of 65 reads, in a newspaper that probably has this article available online. 

 

External Holly: Yes, Beth.

 

Note: The RTAP scanner takes several minutes to scan. It must warm up, preview scan the document, then you must approve the preview, then it will scan to completion.

 

After 30 seconds…

 

Beth: Is the scan finished?

 

External Holly: No. It’s not even loaded yet. The scanner is warming up…

 

Beth: I don’t understand…it’s the middle of august…

 

Inner monologue and External Holly stare speechless and open mouthed at Beth…

 

Beth: GET ON WITH IT! You still haven’t finished those talent confirmations for the audition at 10am…

 

Inner monologue Holly: Grrrr….

 

External Holly: Preview scanning now…

 

The preview includes other articles on the page…I am playing with the scan area, trying to crop out the other articles…

 

Beth: Holly! What are you fooling around with?

 

External Holly: I am trying to crop out the other articles so only the text you want appears in the scan.

 

Beth: That is a waste of time. I don’t care about the other articles. When you send it to me, cut them off so I don’t have to be bothered with them

 

Inner monologue Holly: How do you get through your day?

 

External Holly: Good point. I’ll cut them off now…

 

I continue cropping…I approve the size and it begins to scan…

  

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The Orgasmic Interoffice Coworker Massage

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By Holly Henley.
 
The presentation of a few measly almonds was not the only precious event that would come out of Beth’s migraines. Another favorite occurrence of mine was something I affectionately named the Orgasmic Interoffice Coworker Massage. The first time I witnessed an OICM I was speechless. Although I’d be shocked if you think you wouldn’t have acted the same…let me take you back…(Cue: Wayne’s World Time Travel sound effects and squiggly lines)…
 
Beth Kipling was a big subscriber to the theory of natural healing. She loved herbal supplements, natural remedies, and ironically enough, “the power of positive thinking.”  If she was ever late to get her period, she would walk around the office touching wrists with other female agents who were on the rag because she thought the “period vibes” would transfer, and she could sync her cycle that easily to those of the women around her (science was not something she subscribed to). Strangely, her desk drawers were full of little motivational blurbs cut out from magazines, like a picture of a ballerina, for example, with the words “dance like no one’s watching” printed as the caption. Had Beth been an orthodontist, there definitely would have been a “Hang in there Kitty” poster in her waiting room, with the fluffy white kitten doing a chin-up on a tree branch holding on for dear life (although I would have hated to have her as an orthodontist because I can’t imagine what she would do if you went to an appointment and hadn’t been wearing your retainer regularly).
 
Beth even took a motivational aerobics class with another one of the female agents called IntenSati. “IntenSati is a revolutionary high-energy cardio workout…based on the teachings of mindfulness, positive psychology and the law of attraction. She [it’s creator] has radically combined aerobics, martial arts and endurance principles with positive affirmations. The result is an unprecedented practice which is empowering physically and mentally. - http://www.satilife.com/workouts.html). Now this actually sounds kind of fun to me and what we’re all about here at EAC, but take a look at the website and imagine the absolute meanest person you’ve ever known, who belittles and demeans you publically each day being the classes biggest fan. The positive outlook of the class and Beth’s negative attitude just didn’t match up. But alas, each Wednesday she would come in gushing about the previous night’s workout.
 
Along with her IntenSati, Beth was a big believer in the power of reflexology. If she felt a migraine coming on, she thought she could prevent it by pushing on certain pressure points around the rest of her body. The only problem with this was the pressure points Beth loved the best were ones she could not press on herself. You needed two hands to do it, aka she needed someone to help her. This is how the Orgasmic Interoffice Coworker Massage was born. 
 
One day I was innocently working in the confines of my pen when Beth called me over to her desk.
 
“Holly, come here please…” 
 
Oh god. What had I done? I thought I had flown under the radar all day. Made no mistakes. My heart was racing…
 
To my surprise, I was greeted with a rather warm face. It was probably because she knew she was about to ask me to do something ridiculous.
 
“Holly,” she faked warmth, “I feel as if I’m getting a migraine…”
 
“Ohmygod,” I feigned fret, “do you want me to get the almonds?”
 
“No. Not right now,” she was insanely serious. “I need you to push with both hands on the flesh in-between my thumb and pointer finger.”
 
Excuse me??? My shock must have shown in my expression, because she explained further.
 
“A pressure point in the webbing between my thumb and pointer finger is linked to the part of my brain that gives me migraines,” she explained. (Really? Does Science know about this?) “I need you to press as hard as you can on the webbing to relieve the toxins in my head.” 
 
Webbing. Toxins. Brain. Got it.

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Almonds.

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By Holly Henley.
 
When you have a headache, you take an aspirin. Sometimes you rub your temples, or roll your head around to loosen your neck muscles. If you have a migraine you turn the lights low, or sleep, or sometimes even throw up. Headaches suck, especially migraines. There is no two ways around that. And I understand that. I can’t think of a person out there that likes headaches.
 
And yet, while no one likes headaches, I have found no one in the world less tolerant of headaches than my former boss Beth Kipling. While one would assume Beth would be ok with headaches considering how many she caused those working with her on a daily basis, no one was more dramatic when they got one than her. When Beth got a headache meetings were canceled, business came to a halt, and the world ceased to spin. And if you worked in her immediate presence (say if you were her assistant, for example), you were in for trouble. 
 
The first sign that Beth had a headache was that she would leave her sunglasses on after she sat down at her desk. (Notice I didn’t say when she walked in because Beth ALWAYS left her sunglasses on when she walked in. She would walk around the office from 9am to 9:10, hanging up her coat and getting her coffee with dark glasses shading her eyes ALWAYS. It was terrifying, but also kind of sad. Sometimes I think she felt like that kid in “Big Daddy,” where if she left her sunglasses on she was invisible, like maybe no one could see how unhappy she was. But we saw. We all saw. And we all hid, afraid she was going to lower those glasses and shoot laser beams out of her eyes at any moment and vaporize us right in the miserably decorated RTAP hallway. Pewm pewm pew-pewm (those are my laser noises.))
 
So when Beth had a headache, the glasses didn’t come off after the coffee. Or ever. They stayed on. All. Day. That was your first clue.
 
Next came the ceremonial lowering of the blinds:
 
Beth (in the softest of whispers): Holly…
 
::no response as she was speaking at an inaudible level:: 
 
Beth (no louder than the first time): Holly…
 
::no answer from me::
 
The third time there would be no words, just a gentle rapping on the side of a desk with a pen, which I noticed after several minutes of it happening. Eventually I would turn around…
 
Me: Do you need me Beth?
 
Beth: Yes (as if on her death bed). Please lower all the blinds on our side of the office. I would like to see no sunlight today.
 
Me (to myself, under my breath): Shocker…
 
…and as if lowering flags to half staff, I was sent around our corner of the office, including our desk area, the print department’s desk area to our left, and the president of the company’s office to our right, to lower and close all of the blinds, shutting out any indication of day, and with it any signs of happiness. Errant rays of light dare not enter our department for fear the Devil woman might smite out the sun, and this absence of natural light would make the pen where they kept me even more dungeon-like than usual. If Beth ever left early on these days, I would go around and reopen all the blinds and bask in the natural light from the outside. Sometimes I would even open the windows if it was nice out. But without fail when she returned to the office she would not only snap for me to lower them again, but somehow know the windows had been open when she wasn’t there (Beth had a strict “closed window policy,” believing that no matter what season it was, the windows were not to be opened because microscopic gnats would get in and bite us while we worked. Gnats that she was allergic to and would cause her to “swell up like balloon upon contact.” Often you would see her swatting at tiny (read as: imaginary) bugs flying around her head, accompanied by mumbling about “who left the windows open,” followed by a stern squawk of “HOLLY!” where I would then have to go running around making sure all the windows were shut. This scene alone was worth the effort to lift the heavy windows open every time she wasn’t there. If I’d had the resources, I would have melted popsicles and stuck the juice on all the sills to attract as many gnats as possible. Perhaps I should go back and do this now).

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Where does it itch?

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                                            By Holly Henley.

(Prologue: Excuses, excuses.)
 
There I was. Sitting in the Devil’s den needing yet ANOTHER lie to leave work early for an interview which would hopefully be my last, so I could escape the 7th circle of hell otherwise known as my job at RTAP Talent Agency. I had used so many already. It was 4:30 and the interview was the next day. I just found out about it. I had to make a snap decision and let Satan (aka my boss Beth Kipling) know my excuse before the day was over. I went with an old standby, an appointment at: The Gynecologist (dun dun dunnnnnn).
 
At a normal job, with a functioning Human Resources department,  just the word GYNOCOLOGIST would strike TMI fear in the heart of any boss. “Doctor’s appointment” usually would suffice. But when I uttered the dreaded word that particular day I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The conversation went a little something like this (ladies- hope this never happens to you, gentlemen- I’m sorry in advance):
 
With my best lying face on, I approached the sleeping dragon. She was pursuing the 2007 Zagat restaurant guide looking for somewhere to eat that night, as if the internet had not yet been invented. Soon she would dog-ear a page (but not highlight the particular place), casually hurl the book at my desk/back, and ask me to Google the address and how she should get there from our office (we worked in NYC, not LA, Googling directions shouldn’t have been necessary). I would ask her “Beth WHICH restaurant on this page?” and she would answer “Oh stop it, you know the one.” But I didn’t know the one. I never knew the one. Instead of just telling me WHICH ONE, we would go back and forth like this until the end of the work day, when she would start freaking out that she didn’t have a reservation. I never found a way to remedy this. If she had just been able to circle the restaurant, or better yet TELL ME the name, it would have saved hours of both of our lives. But I digress. Back to the gyno convo.

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Excuses, excuses. By Holly Henley.

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Most everyone has faked a sick day. You’ve called out of work to go to the beach, to have sex with your boyfriend, to stay home in the rain and sleep and order Chinese food, to organize and clean out your DVR so you are absolutely positive Dexter will record, etc, etc. Those kind of “call-out-of-work” lies are ones that are easy to commit. You sound a little sick on the phone, leave a raspy voicemail, and no one questions you until the next day, when you can say “gee thanks for asking, I’m feeling so much better, I was just a little run down.”
 
A harder “time-off-work” lie to execute is the mid-day escape. If you have an interview, and you don’t want to use an entire sick day, you must find an excuse to come in late or leave early that doesn’t make your boss and co-workers think you’re interviewing somewhere else. For most, this is pretty easy as well: Doctor’s appointment- dentist, eyes, physical, blood work, whatever.  Usually you mention a specific doctor and that pretty much takes care of any questions. The more personal you get, the less curious your boss is, in fear of an HR issue.
 
As I said, for most, normally this is the case. But being that my life is often anything but normal, I was never so lucky while working at RTAP Talent Agency.  As I mentioned in some previous tales of RTAP, there was no functioning HR department. Human Resources consisted of the office manager, who was maybe the nicest girl ever, but once a problem started brewing, became office guidance counselor and unfortunately office gossip. Since there was no governing body in place, you often found your secret confessions of employment unhappiness floating around other departments, which you overheard being whispered about in the lunchroom when you passed by. 
 
Being that there was no functional HR, there was no filter on the questions your superiors were allowed to ask you. About anything. This meant that Satan’s Mistress, aka my boss Beth Kipling (for full description refer to “Holly, Come Here Please…”) could fire any amount of invasive questions my way to try and debunk my excuses. This required me to be fearless and creative when coming up with interview excuses. And because I was constantly trying to escape the mental and sometimes physical abuse (read as: office supplies flying at my head), I interviewed A LOT. 
 

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