Job??

November 7th, 2007

Hello people,

After my updates about the Greek citizenship, here are the updates about the job.

But first, due to recent complaints by some readers about the negativity and solemn vows by others that they will NEVER set foot in Greece after reading all this, let me repeat once again that Greeks LOVE tourists - just not their own people. One of the greatest countries in the world to visit - just don't plan on settling here.
The Greeks themselves keep telling me: "You should only come here on vacation." A lot of them think I'm crazy for wanting to live here - yet see? Here I am nonetheless, staying on despite all my grumbling. There's something about this country. Pisses me off, can't leave it.

Second, I am still swimming in that gorgeous sea. Granted, it is quite a bit colder now, but still sunny and the sea is still turquoise and "like oil", like they say here. (No, that doesn't mean there's some disgusting black film on it, it means it's calm and peaceful.) Yes, I am proud to say I have become one of these mad winter swimmers I used to admire so much.

Third and certainly not least, the men are generally hotter - and more forward than in the US. (Sorry guys, but a girl likes to feel desired... ; ))

OK, back to business, my business being whining.

In a country where people tell you to go out for lunch at 4 pm and for coffee at 9 pm, where shops close most days between 2.30 and 5.30 pm for the inescapable siesta, time during which they cut off the water as well during the summer, in order to save water, (how many times I've gotten into the shower and found myself with my hair full of shampoo and suddenly no water to rinse it with…) in this country, I say, where people are allowed to make noise between 7 am and 11 pm, but nevertheless always find a way to make noise outside of those times, [preferably construction work right outside your window, or drum rehearsal in the backyard – I'm not naming any names, but my neighbors are hairless dogs], a country where the TV Guide announces a program starting at 8 pm which never starts before 8.30, sometimes never appearing at all [no explanation given], the same country where people [in the film industry at least] rarely go to work before noon, where lunch breaks can take up to 3 hours and coffee breaks another 2, in this country where plumbers and electricians tell you they'll be over to resolve your most recent disaster sometime next Thursday or maybe Friday, sometime between 8 am and 5 pm, where you call friends to go out tomorrow night and they reply, incredulous: "You want to set this up NOW?! Let's talk tomorrow around 8 pm!" – you quickly realize that in order to adapt, you must accept that nothing is ever set for sure and that time does not exist.

This is the land of maybe, might and possibly.

So I was more or less patiently waiting for my job to begin. Until last week, when I got an even more brutal awakening to Greek reality than I had so far.

Let's recapitulate the facts. My boss told me first in April-May, and then again in August that I would get one episode of his new series to direct. He said I would get to pick a script and then directed me to the head of physical production to get more info, get acquainted with the way things worked, etc.

The head of physical production gave me some already shot scripts to read and told me there were no scripts at present for me to choose from. When would there be scripts? She had no idea. Who was responsible for that? Not her. After almost 1 month of this, I decided to write 2 proposals of my own, thinking that if there were no scripts, I might as well write one myself.

Said proposals were submitted, but after a couple of weeks the head of physical production suddenly revealed that I would never be allowed to write a script in any case, as only the writers from the TV station were allowed to do so. Best-case scenario, they might select one of my proposals and have someone else write it.

Taking that in my stride, I then asked her whether we now had an inkling about when scripts might be coming in, wondering aloud when the series was supposed to air. [Bear in mind that I had been calling regularly over the last 2 months to inquire.] That is when she coldly said to me: "Oh, we have scripts. I've been giving them to our 2 directors." Completely taken aback, I then asked her what about giving me a script to direct. She said of course she couldn't do anything without a direct order from my boss, and I should talk to him directly.

I said I would and hung up, utterly confused. This was a completely new story than what she had been telling me up to now. Had she been willfully telling me there were no scripts while giving them to her director pals [as some of my more suspicious friends asserted], and was now hiding behind the boss? Why else would he send me to her if not to work? She knew quite well I was there with the intent to direct – didn't she? Why was she now acting as though it was the first she had heard of such a preposterous idea?

That's when the Greek ideas of guilt and doom brought on oneself started pouring in, mostly from well-intending friends and family members: maybe I had somehow offended her? Had I been presumptuous somehow in mentioning I came from L.A.? Maybe I should have downplayed it or downright not mentioned it? Had I seemed overly sure of myself? Had I not been humble enough in deferring to her great wisdom??

After 2 months of Greek reality, anything suddenly seemed possible. I tried to think back on what could have happened. Was all this somehow my fault? Was it the time I had asked about the budget per episode? She had looked at me in disbelief and scoffed that she couldn't POSSIBLY tell me THAT! At which point I had looked at her in utter disbelief myself, asking how one could possibly direct a TV episode without knowing what one had to spend? Or maybe it was the time I asked about what type of filming and lighting equipment the company used, when she scoffed that I CERTAINLY didn't need to know about THAT?

Or was it simply that my boss never actually did give the order – or had even simply changed his mind about giving an episode to a rookie? After all, I had been trying to get another appointment with him for the past month, but he had become completely unavailable. Was it possible he had simply left the unpleasant task of dealing with the young director wannabe to his underling?

For a brief moment I even considered the possibility that I was delusional. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing? Maybe the Greek reality had finally gotten to me and I was starting to see and hear things. Wishful dreams of a benevolent boss telling me I would get to direct TV and actually have some control over the production – this had to be a figment of my imagination. Maybe if I concentrated I could simply go on living in that fantasy world, go on to direct my imaginary episode – or even a whole slew of them, and be happy ever after. It was a tempting thought.

But then I remembered my friend, the head of physical production's assistant, telling me that she had actually told him herself that the boss liked my work and wanted me to bring a more modern touch to the show, a less classical way of doing things. Throwing away the shrouds of self-doubt and deprecation, I told myself I would somehow get to the bottom of this.

But this left me in a particularly difficult position., as I didn't want to implicate her, nor did I want to offend anyone. Still, I had been promised a job, had in fact been waiting for it for over 2 months while sponging off my folks and not only did I need some money, I needed to work, as the risk of my mother and I killing each other augmented with each one of my idle days.

So I did it the Greek way, even though every fiber of my being rebelled against it: I finally asked my friend, a.k.a. my boss's nephew, to do me a favor and speak to his uncle for me. All I asked for was an appointment, so I could find out what was going on. He said he would talk to him and get back to me. I'm waiting to hear from him.

Those of you who are believers, please pray for me. Those who aren't, please burn voodoo dolls or something. I could use any help, right now.

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SOME FEEDBACK ABOUT THIS NEWSLETTER:

Cory M:
Laura, I'm pulling for you, one hundred percent all the way. And I'm thinking all the positive thoughts I can and directing them your way. But these people... I want to kill them!!!! They're making me insane -- from five thousand miles away! I hope that if they keep giving you the run around like this that you say screw it and move on to something better. They really don't deserve you.

Mik H:
So, when ya coming back here?

Ramjasha R:
Just let me know what u need. I can leave a bloody top page of a script in his bed or sodomize his man servant.