Three guys. One office. Enter female intern.
Hi, all. My name is Rachel Westra and this summer I had the opportunity of interning with FBC. When I first walked in the big red door to the FBC office, I wasn’t completely sure what I had gotten myself into, but I was eager to get started. What I had gathered from my little correspondence and in depth reading of the website was that FBC was a small and youthful production company ready to create unique media.
My first day, I opened the door to what would later become a rather familiar image; Kevin sitting behind his computer, only hair popping up over the massive desktop, AJ leaning back in his chair with his back to the door, and Stephen with his hand fondling his beard contemplating either what he had to do that day or what Lord of the Rings soundtrack they wanted to listen to for the hour. Just everyday things.
As I walked in, Kevin called what would be my first of many office meetings. These entailed moving all four of us from one end of the rather impressive start-up office to the other, where we congregated at a long black table in front of a whiteboard. This particular meeting was tailored to me; signing contracts, waivers, and what I presumed to be the usual first day internship paperwork. However, at this first meeting I found myself distracted by what I can only describe as a massive elephant in the room. One of the men in the room, who for the purposes of this blog we will call AJ because it was AJ, was wearing a rather remarkable shirt. It was white and flowing. It was embroidered with blue stitching along the v-cut neckline. And most importantly, it had drawstrings. It was the kind of shirt that makes you think someone is into poetry but not good poetry. This shirt was his admission into the fraternity of Douche Bagga Bagga.
Now, AJ is in NO way the human incarnation of that shirt. In fact, none of the guys were what I first anticipated. First off, they are fresh out of college, a detail I would have never guessed and was shocked to learn given their professionalism (most of the time). As they got more used to the alien in the office, I saw how these three amateur high school ornithology club members managed building their business, utilizing the strengths unique to each member. While they got the job done, they still had their moments of complete absurdity. Cue Brandon and Jessica, one of Stephen and AJ’s many improvised comedy bits, which from what I could gather is a romantic relationship between two teenagers that somehow always goes straight to insults, yet the two stay together despite their bickering. It’s actually quite sweet.
INT. FBC OFFICE
AJ and STEPHEN sit at a desk clump in the middle of the office. There is no sound except for the typing of the two other people in office. Stephen and AJ look up. Their eyes meet. The time is 3:45pm.
AJ
Hey, Stephen, you should go and, I don’t know, endorse my skills on Linkedin. I mean, if you want to.
STEPHEN
Should I really, AJ? Should I really go and endorse your Linkedin profile?
There is shift in the office’s energy. A tension has arisen. AJ and Stephen, understanding a bit is about to begin, transform into BRANDON and JESSICA, two bickering teen lovers.
JESSICA
Why not? Unless you think it’s stupid, Brandon. You know what Brandon? Say it. Say it’s stupid, Brandon.
BRANDON
It’s not stupid, Jessica. You’re just hungry. You always get like this when you’re hungry.
JESSICA
LIKE WHAT, BRANDON?! HOW DO I GET WHEN I’M HUNGRY?
BRANDON
You can just be a little diff-
Jessica, clearly angry at Brandon’s few but biting words, cuts him off.
JESSICA
WOOOWW, BRANDON. REALLY? CALL ME DIFFICULT, BRANDON. CALL. ME. DIFFICULT.
BRANDON
You’re not being difficult. Why don’t we just-
While they fight, the other two office employees say nothing. A few times the female intern facing the wall chuckles, not understanding, but way too uncomfortable to not react.
This went on for ten minutes. I know because around minute three, I couldn’t imagine they had anymore material, but boy was I wrong. Brandon and Jessica made more than one appearance during my time here, each one more and more confusing, but always entertaining.
As one would imagine, entering an office in which the other three people have known each other since high school can make a person feel like an outsider. My tip for dealing? Just smile and nod. Some inside jokes were at least 5 years old and like a fine wine, they got better with age. Except in this scenario, you are 19 and not legally allowed to drink the wine. Just smile and nod and in your head think, “What the F***.” If you’re lucky, they’ll fill you in.
One of my jobs in the office was assisting Stephen in posting casting calls and selecting actors for different projects. Any day I got to spend working on casting was always a win. There’s just something about scrolling up and down backstage.com and seeing Chicago-area talent, some with marvellous headshots, others with car seat belt selfies that scream, “Hire me! I’m living in my car!” While sometimes painful, especially in the case of listening to at least 100 voice over auditions, none of them what we were looking for, casting can be exceptionally rewarding when you find the right actor. For example, one of the self-produced FBC ads called for a 1950’s housewife. About 35 women applied, but only one stuck out. I swear she was from the past because the day of the shoot, her voice, her face, her dress, everything, was period perfect. She later revealed that she had typecast herself, mainly modelling and acting in vintage productions. So a note to actors, don’t let others typecast you. Typecast yourself. But that can also backfire, so maybe just be really good at acting.
Because this was a production internship there were a couple of days spent shooting. My first official shoot was in a green screen studio. That day I learned two lessons. One: Say yes, and figure it out later. Two: OJ Simpson may have used a hitman.
Lesson one was kind of risky. Early that morning I had woken up to see a message from Kevin asking if I had a driver’s license and was comfortable driving in the city. Before you start thinking I lied about having a driver’s license, I’ll tell you the real lie was my driving ability. I have never driven in any city for any amount of time. My mother refuses to let me drive in busy cities because I am what one would call a “bad driver.” For purposes of not feeling useless, I responded to Kevin, saying, “Yea, that should be no problem.” When I got to the studio, Kevin told me I’d be driving AJ’s car, and I started to wonder if I should have said “Yes.” Nonetheless, I picked up the catering and the 9-volt batteries, returning the car without a scratch. Since I am not an insured driver of this car, this may have been a careless move, but I say, “If you are the only thing holding you back from thinking you can do something, just do it. Nike. Swoosh.” Side note: If the car you are being asked to drive is Kevin’s car, back out immediately. This boxy casket of a car is complete with multiple blind spots, perfect for your next crash. Pack your things, this internship isn’t worth dying over.
The second lesson came later that first shoot. This came to me in the form of a latex glove hand model. This man was handpicked (PUN INTENDED) for his hands, only to cover them with bilayered black nitrile gloves. At the time of our life-changing interaction, I was talking to the prop master, Chrystal. The man, who I will call the handyman, approached us, his $559.00 hands exposed to the elements that could end his career. As he slid on the most durable nitrile glove I have never had the necessity of using, he said that famous line: “If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit.” A polite laugh was given by both me and Chrystal, expecting that to be the end of the interaction. As he struggled to shrug on the sweat-inducing material, he explained his theories of the OJ Simpson trial. This man believed that OJ was not the immediate killer. There was a fight, yes, but OJ was not the guy. You can use all the DNA testing to try and disprove it, but in the eyes of a professional hand model whose expertise lies in the business behind how hands look and act, OJ was innocent. To this man, the crime had been carried out by OJ’s brother. Melvin. Leon. Simpson. Duhn. Duhn. DUHNNNN! All the details made sense. Well, not really. This was more of another smile and nod type of deal. Never upset the talent. Especially not one with such strong opinions on OJ Simpson.
Later that day, as I was walking back into the studio, I ran into the handyman. He asked me if we do this often. To what he was referring to I’m not quite sure, but another thing I’ve learned while working here is: When you don’t have an answer, just say, “I don’t know. I’m just the intern.” Then, continue walking the opposite direction.
While I’ve realized that most of this post has been a retelling of the funny, confusing, and unusual moments of this internship, I’m very happy I jumped at the opportunity to work for FBC. It’s been fun and educational. Seeing how the industry works in the real world is incredible. I’ll be sad to close the red door one last time. I’ve learned a lot from something as odd as how to pitch a tent (it was for a set), to real life production skills. I will miss the three goofballs who will stop whatever they are doing just to sing and record a three-part harmony “Happy Birthday” snapchat. Thanks, guys, and goodbye, 415 N. Sangamon Street. It’s time for this bird to leave the nest.
By Rachel Westra | Intern