Having newly arrived in Hollywood, I had found what seemed like the perfect gig as an assistant to an upstart producer/manager who had locked his first client: a well-known sports star who wanted to be the next big action hero. But as the Hollywood hype grew, so did the weirdness.
At first, it seemed like the producer was just quirky and a bit high-strung.
Scott Baio called about some project or another, and the rest of the day the producer walked around the office singing to the rhythm of the traditional Trinidadian Calypso folk song: Bay-O, Baaay-o – day-li-light come and I wan’ go home. Bay-O, Baaay-o…
Quirky.
One minute, he was yelling at us for something we didn’t quite understand. The next, he was expressing his appreciation and saying that he couldn’t do this without us.
High-strung.
But sometimes things went a little too far. Like when the producer was trying to set up a meeting with the head of a major studio and his calls kept getting put through to voicemail by the secretary. Eventually, he got frustrated and left a different kind of message to get the guy’s attention; he barked…like a dog…into the phone for thirty seconds straight. Then when he called back a few minutes later and was questioned by the secretary, he insisted he had left something out of the last message, and this time added a few more animal noises to the repertoire.
I have never felt more Hollywood than when the producer drove me in his convertible, top down, through Beverly Hills. Wind blowing through my hair, I was about to witness a real live meeting at a major agency. But his driving was so erratic that the novelty quickly wore off. I tightened my seatbelt as we weaved in and out of traffic. It was only then that I noticed that both his rear-view mirrors were taped on with duct tape.
Another time, an actor from a major HBO series flew in from New York City with a group of friends to pitch a series idea. The producer called him back a few days later, said he had set up pitch meetings around town, and asked that they all fly back again the next weekend. When they arrived, the producer was MIA. They sat around for four hours before he bothered to come in to the office, and then he had them wait an extra hour while he made phone calls. When they finally sat down together, it quickly became apparent that there were no pitch meetings set anywhere, and they left silently brewing in anger. The next day they called, waited on hold for a half hour, and then announced they no longer wanted to work with him. He screamed into the phone, do you know who I am?, and hung up on them. Then he called them back, yelled some more, and hung up on them again.
After that things got really strange.
When one assistant spent too long on the phone with a high-level exec’s secretary, the producer became convinced that she was sabotaging him; he was certain. He wanted her out, and no one else could talk to her. Ever again.
Another time he went to a pitch meeting at a major studio with two assistants. Just before the meeting began, he passed out, and the assistants were left to fend for themselves.
Every day he insisted that one of the projects was on the brink of being greenlit. He promised that the moment he got some dough, it would be in our pockets. As he yelled and he backtracked and he howled and he screwed things up, it became apparent to me that nothing was going to happen.
Still, the other assistant that had been there since I started insisted I would find nowhere better. At least there was hope here. We could skip rungs in our career. Something amazing could happen. Though I was no longer a believer, I didn’t want to leave him high and dry, so I stuck it out for a few more days…and boy, was I glad that I did.
No power in the ‘verse can stop my next column.
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Juliana Weiss is an aspiring Television writer in Los Angeles. She currently works as the head of the web content department for the star of an Emmy-nominated reality series. In this column, she will share with you her experiences, thoughts, and theories about making it in the business, as well as the stories of other women who are working to make it-or have already made it-in Hollywood.
Juliana Weiss-Roessler is a writer living in Los Angeles. To read more of her writing, visit WeissRoessler.com. You can also follow her on Twitter: @jul_weiss. 
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