This one was in response to 'A historically famous or infamous person suddenly finds themselves in the present to witness the long term results of their impact on history'.
Listen. A job is a job. In this day and age you do what you have to do. There’s no law that says you have to be proud of your profession. I mean, I pay my bills. I put food on my own table. Shit, I even have health insurance- man, I’m telling you I have dental! Paid time off! Which, coincidentally, is a pretty good thing. There’s only so many nights you can stay up, burning the candle at both ends, cutting together porn. Somebody has to edit it. Did you think the camera man was Johnny on the spot, jumping back and forth and thinking to himself, “Money, Jonesy boy!” every time the talent changed positions? Hell no. For every proud independent woman taking fat loads in the face for a few thousand bucks, there’s an army of guys like me making sure they look their best.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself as I stepped outside the squat little warehouse building in Southern California where the central office of ‘Giggity Studios’ was located. Typical night in So Cal; a little muggy, ocean breeze, and a low hanging canopy of smog to make sure we didn’t get delusional while star gazing. The parking lot was dead except for one lonely row of cars next to mine. The one working street light did its best but everything was all ethereal shadows and silhouettes. I lit my cigarette and pulled my phone out of my pocket to find a reddit thread to cruise over my break.
“Ah, yes. Excuse me.”
I just about shit myself on the spot. In the dark, I hadn’t seen anyone coming and it was the kind of night that just felt like it deadened sound. I was in one of the biggest cities in the world and yet I couldn’t hear anything. Not even the distant thrum of passing traffic.
Except this one stern faced dude with a British accent.
“What’s up, buddy?” I asked. “Sorry, kinda scared the shit out of me there. I mean, not literally. But almost. Bout to pull a Code Ten.”
His hair was dark and meticulously coifed save a few strands that I couldn’t help but think were a little wind tossed. Which was odd. That ocean breeze was more like a mellow fart than a howling gale. He was wearing a gray tweed suit I’d picture some dork at a community college teaching a Creative Writing course would wear. Nothing about him seemed to fit. I couldn’t help feeling a little insecure, underdressed, and out of place. Here I was at my job, in shorts and a t shirt and a crisp pair of Chuck Taylors, with two full sleeves of tattoos, not ten miles from where I grew up, but this English cat made me feel like I was the one who didn’t belong.
“I’ve had quite the evening, let me assure you. I don’t mean to trouble you but is there any way I could bother you for a drink of water and the use of your tele?”
I finished my cigarette and closed reddit. Nothing felt good about it but this was LA. I wouldn’t really have been worried even if he’d had a six year beard and shit smeared across his chest like war paint. It seemed unreasonable to assume this British character in a tailored suit was up to no good. “Sure, follow me.”
I swiped my ID card near the reader by the front door and led him back inside and down a long hallway toward the break room. It was kind of a cruel joke that the room specifically designed for people to take breaks in was on the far side of the office from the place where I took most of my breaks; in this case, meaning outside. Halfway down the hall one of the doors popped open and a middle aged woman with comically oversized glasses stuck her head out. “Hey, Greg? Can you look at something real quick for me? Having some trouble getting the sound editing on this one right and I know you had a trick for the ‘radio’ effect on people’s voices.”
“Sure, Alice.” Alice knew damn well what my trick was. She just liked me a little too much. Which was fine, Alice was a nice girl and all, but sometimes I wished she’d be more creative in her approach. “Give me one second, I’m just gonna get this guy some water.”
“Sure thing,” Alice said.
I was almost to the break room before I laughed and looked over my shoulder to say, “Hey, sorry about that. She can be…” I trailed off when I realized my visitor was no longer following me. In fact, he was all the way back at the open doorway I’d just left. Alice was standing next to him gesturing at something, and they both walked into the editing booth. I shrugged and snagged a water before heading back. The British guy was staring, totally dumbfounded, at the row of computer screens that all had half-cut scenes from recent shoots on them. Razor clear images of blowjobs, male on male, DPs, bondage, a dominatrix, one even had that new super HD but sweet looking stuff that had started gaining traction lately. They called it porn for women but I’ve got to admit, it’s a lot better than the old bullshit for men. But maybe that’s just because I watch hundreds of hours of it, all day every day, for a living.
“Sorry, Greg. He said he worked on computers when I asked him what he did. I thought he was an IT guy. He uhh… he hasn’t said anything since we came in, though. Just, staring like. Hey, Alan? Alan are you okay?”
“It’s…. Beautiful,” Alan said.
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