Just when I’d resigned myself to a life of tirelessly running errands and dodging the wrath of the grumpy grip men (they were very grumpy), a shiny new email landed in my inbox. I opened it with caution, picturing a Trojan virus disguised as a movie script. But the email was… well, it was a contract.
A contract for me to become the *Associate Producer *.
I nearly dropped my phone in the passenger seat. My heart did a little happy space-jump! Suddenly, the endless to-do list felt like a thrilling challenge. This was it. My moment.
My flight to Florida, for the production of “Suddenly Real,” a space action-adventure flick, felt like a rocket launch into the unknown. I, a lowly (and I mean lowly) Associate Producer, had somehow talked my way onto the set in Clearwater. Little did I know, “Associate Producer” was just a fancy name for “the person who does everything but the actual producing.” My to-do list was longer than a Klingon battle report, stretching from set locations to alien troop transporters, wardrobe malfunctions (more on that later), procuring props (like a genuinely convincing-looking alien blaster that seemed to have a mind of its own), and finding stunt cars that hadn’t been totalled in previous movie stunts. Basically, if it wasn’t nailed down or bolted to the set, I was responsible for it. My shoulders felt like they were carrying the entire weight of the galaxy.
Now, the wardrobe malfunctions… Let’s just say one of the alien costumes involved a lot of shimmering fabric and an alarming tendency to cling to every bit of dust and debris on set. It was like a space-age disco ball gone rogue.
I spent more time wrestling with that jumpsuit than I did negotiating with the studio. And the alien blaster? It kept firing blanks, but not in a good way.
Every time I tried to use it, it would either jam, or make a weird whistling sound that sounded exactly like a dying walrus. I’m pretty sure the aliens would have been impressed with the realism of the prop, but the crew definitely wasn’t.
Executive Decision scrap alien hand gun use real weapons! Yes, you read that right. I’m Canadian—meaning I’ve never seen a real firearm in my life, let alone tasked to find not just one but multiple firearms in Florida. I had no idea where to even start, and I was pretty sure I’d end up on some FBI watchlist just for asking. Thankfully, an ex-military cast member (who was surprisingly generous) offered to let us use his arsenal. No judgement, but why do you have so many frickin’ guns? I mean, seriously, I’ve seen fewer firearms in a full-on war zone.
Note to Sarah:
Please return the crew van to the rental company at Tampa airport and pick up the chase car.
Done and dusted. Wait—nobody took the guns out of the back of the van.
If you want to know how weird America is, walk through an airport with guns slung over your shoulders and have no one bat an eye.
It’s possibly the craziest thing I’ve ever signed up for.
I’m not sure shooting a movie was actually permitted in my rental agreement for the very large opulent home I had rented. I’m pretty sure it specifically said not to do that, but hell, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Please just keep it low key, I am pretty sure I started the sentence with please.
Turning onto the street after picking up the get away car filled with every movie transport vehicle in Florida was an “oh crap! ” moment. Damn I am sure I said Please keep it low key as the crowd of actors and film crew spilled out onto the front lawn slipping into the driveway in a fancy sports car full of guns probably wasn’t the best look for the sleepy upscale neighbourhood that had now become awake with the full onslaught of a movie production.
The neighbours definitely looked a little bewildered as I tried to sneak in without attracting too much attention.
Despite all the chaos, there were moments of pure cinematic magic.
The crew, despite their grumbling and exhaustion, were genuinely passionate about the project. There was an unmistakable energy, a shared dream of bringing this space saga to life.
And somewhere in the middle of the madness, I started to feel like I was actually contributing, not just surviving.
Maybe this whole “Associate Producer” thing wasn’t so bad after all.
Maybe, just maybe, I was finally learning the ropes—one exploding prop and one malfunctioning space suit at a time. And yes, I did manage to get my damage deposit back.
Not bad for a girl who walked around Florida with an arsenal and survived the fall out and chaos of a Home Owners Association, surprisingly they tend to be quiet when you are standing in the driveway with guns slung on your shoulder.
I think I am getting the hang of being an American? Nope!
misssarahluv 
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