My job.

Let's talk about my job this week.
We have a shoot on Saturday. And I have to organize it before that time.
Normally: yeah man, cool. Time enough.
The first time.
Shit, ... how are we gonna do this?

The budget is tight, but this time the clock is ticking as well.
I received the job on Friday, by next saturday, the challenge lies not in organising crew, cast or equipment, but in finding the right location.
A whole appartmentbuilding (ext. and int. -hallway and stairways- that are visually appealing and grand)

I don't stress. I'll find it.
So I go up to suitable appartmentbuildings and ring the bells.

Here an extract of one of the 21 conversations I had:

Me: Hi, excuse me to bother you on thi...
Nr.17: Yes! What do you want?
Me: Yes, I just wandered if you could hel...
Nr.17: I'm not interested!

BANG.

Next approach.
I wait at the frontdoor and ask a woman coming in the door:

Me: Excuse me, do you live in this building?
Nr. 21: Yes.
Me: I work for a company that makes movies, commercials...looking for a location for ...the whole blababla (with at the end; Can I come in for a second to take a picture? of the view from your apartment?)
Nr. 21: Yes Of course.

(indeed, the only thing I need, is my fake smile -because you can't keep it up all the time- and my sincere eyes, which doesn't work thru the buzzers at the door. When you are behind your door safe and sound, you can't see the charm, you immediately think: gangster/ jehova's witness or encyclopist-vendor)

But this time: First foot in the door.
SO, I go up with the woman to her apartment. She opens the door.
An old woman, probably her mother-in-law is looking at a dubbed soap (Ridge was definitaly cheating on Brooke with her mother or something). Looked like hot stuff.

I say Hi and walk to the window, take some picture and continue the casual talk with the lady of the house, about the possibility of filming from this window, if she is home on Saturday... indeed: let's talk practical!
When, suddenly my eyes drifts, in the corner of the livingroom I see a girl in vegetable state on a bed. She is in a coma.

I realize how inapprobriate my question is.
The randomness of my job hits me.

My queeste to find an approbriate location continues:
because it 's just another day at the job.
SO, I ring the next bell.

Me: Excuse me sir...
Nr. 22: WHAT DO YOU WANT?

What do I want?
Well, sir, I definately don't want to give you another reason to feel unsafe and vote Vlaams Belang, so nevermind, I'll try it another way.

but time is ticking... I've got until Saturday.