Beware the Release Form : Lindsay’s Tale From the LA Underground

Home / Who: "Only in LA" Stories / Beware the Release Form : Lindsay’s Tale From the LA Underground

 

Name: Lindsay

Occupation: box office beezy, part-time shaper of young minds (tutor)

Location: San Diego

Favorite Spot in LA: The Bungalow, Santa Monica

Most Memorable LA Moment: I always assumed that when I die, my 15 minutes of fame would be the time I Irish danced on stage with a gassy sea lion for a St. Patrick’s Day TV promo on the local news station.  As fate would have it, I got a second chance at TV superstardom one fine Los Angeles Sunday last summer.

I had woken up that morning with the kind of hangover only an incredible/outrageous weekend could induce and knew that my only options were to start drinking or dying.  I was saved by a text message from a close friend asking if I wanted to go to an end of summer barbecue for a major television network so after struggling into some clothes and still wearing last night’s make up, we drove over to Beverly Hills.  On the way, she informed me that cameras might be present so we would need to sign a release form.  No big deal, my college was host to a large body of film students so I was used to the process plus it’s LA, you don’t really question things like that.

Sure enough, outside the front of a massive mansion was a guy with a clip board and headset who had us sign the release forms and take a picture with a number.  For the record, I hate being in front of the camera, public speaking, or anything else that requires me to be in the public eye but the friend who invited us had told us that there was the possibility of getting in the background of what they were filming so the release was just precautionary.  With that in mind, we walked through the gates into the party.  Umm…the large company event we were expecting turned out to be about 15 people awkwardly standing around a pool plus several camera crews.  There was no music, no dancing, no swimming, no real food (it was all bite sized hors d’oeuvres that smelled like they’d been made from blended asshole, seriously if you got too close it would probably give you a chemical peel), and people seemed too interested in being rich and fabulous to have any fun.  It was awkward, you could cut the desperation with a knife.  We found the person we knew who introduced us to a few people and then magically disappeared.  We were soon approached by a couple of girls with a camera crew following closely behind, both girls were wearing six inch heels (probably to hide the fact that they were four feet tall) and mini dresses, which made it clear that we were underdressed.  The shorter one, who I will call Gremlin Bitch, seemed to be the host and abruptly asked, “Uhh who are you?”  After explaining who we knew at the “party”, she turned away and dramatically announced, “UGH R—- always invites random people!”

Now, several thoughts ran through my mind at this point since it was clear that we were not welcome.  Firstly, what the hell kind of Stepford Wives/90210 shit did we just walk into??  And secondly, how the fuck do we get out of here?!?  As my friend and I were trying to process what had just happened while desperately thinking of a way to escape without being seen, Gremlin Bitch returned and smiling us much as the Botox would let her, invited us to take shots. Hallelujah!  I knew we weren’t done suffering through this party but at least we could dull the pain.  As soon as the Patron went down and they’d apparently gotten enough camera footage, the hospitality disappeared.  After a few more snide remarks that we tried to ignore, Gremlin wandered away again and we immediately turned to the bartender who kindly made us some sort of vodka concoction.  The party did not improve and we knew that though it would be rude to leave so soon after drinking their booze, it would also be rude to drain the entire bar to handle the awkwardness.  We were trapped.

Eventually, it became so unbearable that we decided to throw away the social graces and find the guy who had invited us to bid him adieu.  As we made our way back over to the hors d’oeuvres table, we were stopped in our tracks by Gremlin bestie.  Every movement was so overdramatic that I felt like I was standing in front of a real life cartoon character and I knew what she was going to say before she’d even opened her mouth.  “Umm, excuse me.  This is an exclusive party with people I’ve known for at least seven years so you need to leave.”  I’d really like to know what look the camera was capturing on my face at this point because it was somewhere between hysterical laughter and relief.  We mumbled some apologies and beelined for the exit, trying desperately to remain composed but as soon as we reached the street we burst out laughing.  We had been there fifteen minutes.

As it turns out, the huge company party was actually a pilot episode of some terrible reality show and we had obviously been set up.  My first reaction was anger, but the events we had just experienced were so absurd that we could’t help but laugh at ourselves.  Though I may end up on some TV show as the token weirdo who gets kicked out of an intimate gathering, I learned two very important things that day:

1. Don’t ever sign anything without knowing fully what it involves!

2. It’s not fun to be cool.  If you don’t even have a full bar at your party because you’re trying to cut calories then you are a sad, sad person.  I refuse to give up my right to drunkenly sing along to Chumbawamba at 90’s night for that kind of life.  Plus, this kind of makes me a D List celebrity, right?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.