After having given up on the unpaid producer’s assistant gig that was supposed to jumpstart my career, I decided that not all was lost. I now had that industry experience that every decent position in town required. The longer I stuck it out, the more I could list on my résumé.
So I came and went as I pleased and simply manned the phones. At this point, the small team of assistants had dwindled down to just me and the other assistant who had been there when I started. Everyone else had given up or been pissed off by the producer. I stepped in whenever I saw that the other assistant, resilient and still convinced this could work, was overwhelmed, but the focus of my day was perusing EntertainmentCareers.net and finding the latest copy of the UTA job list. This would jumpstart my career alright; it would help me find a decent entry-level position somewhere else.
A few days into my new lax approach, I went to check the company email and something caught my eye: a premiere invite for that evening sent to the producer’s sports star client-for Joss Whedon’s Serenity. My heart skipped a beat. I absolutely had to go. Whedon is my mentor, my role model, the reason I decided to come out here in the first place. Certainly, somehow, I could get in.
The other assistant was also a huge Whedon fan, so we banned together and went into our boss’s office armed with the invite. You’re always promising to pay us back? To help us out? Well, here’s a way you can.
The producer, desperate not to lose us too, threw us a huge grin. “Sure, go for it. Call them. Tell them anything you want. You’re his cousins. Whatever. If the movie is that great, get us tickets, too: three of them.”
Immediately, I called. The agent was unsure if she could get more than two tickets. “Really, that’s all they normally give.”
“His cousins are driving in from out of town for this,” I explained. “They are huge fans, and he will be incredibly upset if he disappoints them.”
She sighed, “I’ll see what I can do.”
After a few hours of nail-biting, she rang back. “What are the cousins’ names?”
We were on the list!
Before the premiere, we waited anxiously for the sports star and producer to be ready to leave. They dillydallied and chatted as the other assistant and I glanced at our watches. Would we make it in time?
Eventually, we were cutting it so close that we thought we would take our chances and leave without them, praying that we could get in without the celebrity who had put our names on the list.
The producer laughed at our nerves, “These things never start on time anyway.”
We high-tailed it to Universal CityWalk and literally ran to the movie entrance. Catching our breath, we gave our names to the lady checking guests in, and sure enough, there we were! She gave us our tickets and moved us along. We walked down that red carpet behind Christina Hendricks (aka Saffron/Mrs.Reynolds from Firefly) with excitement bubbling. When we got to the front security check, I handed them my purse, and the man looked at me sadly.
“Sorry, ma’am. No cameras allowed.”
“No problem. I’ll leave it with you and pick it up after the movie.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Maybe the front ticket booth?”
But after a sprint to the front ticket booth, we were met with the same sad look: “No, ma’am. I can’t take your camera.”
We glanced at our watches. Three minutes left! Hardly enough time to get to the car and back…unless we ran. In my high heels and tight black dress, I would only hold him back, so my comrade grabbed my camera and bolted.
I waited back at the red carpet entrance, anxiously eyeing the door. What would I do if it shut? Would I do the noble thing and simply wait to share the bad news with my partner in crime-after all, it was my camera that got us into this mess in the first place-or would my Whedon love overwhelm my good morals, take over my body, and force me through the door?
Luckily, I didn’t have to find out-he got back in time. So we walked down the red carpet again, this time behind Alyson Hannigan!
As we basked in the coolness of being so close to Willow Rosenberg in the flesh, I suddenly found myself blurting out, “And look, it’s Wesley!”
The man on her arm turned and looked at me warily.
“Alexis…” I mumbled to myself. “Alexis Denisof, because clearly he is not his character on Angel.”
Eventually we got to our seats. And guess what? The producer was finally right about something: it didn’t start on time. Both producer and sports star (with date in tow) arrived well before the movie’s start. As my comrade and I giggled and guffawed at the celebrity that surrounded us, the trio was completely baffled as to why we were so star struck. What have these actors even been in? Who is this Josh Whedon?
“Joss,” I corrected. “It’s Joss.”
The whole time, I nervously expressed my desire to just say something, anything, to the man himself.
The producer rolled his eyes, “Just go already.”
The sports star chuckled, as though he was thinking, “Really, you’re nervous to meet this guy?”
And my friend simply said, “That would be SO awesome.”
Finally I gathered my nerves and walked my way down the aisle, but just as I reached his row, the lights dimmed twice. Clearly this was a sign: now was not the time. I scurried back to my seat.
The movie, as I am sure most Pink Raygun readers know, was brilliant-and the entire experience made the movie seem all the more “shiny.” When it was over and the credits rolled, my friend and I just sat back, staring at the screen with jaws dropped, shell-shocked.
Then Nathan Fillion stood up. His silhouette against the credits is an image that will always remain burned in my brain. I just watched a movie with the star of the movie.
Unimpressed, the trio that accompanied us quickly made a beeline for the door, but we stayed in our seats as the auditorium emptied out, simply taking in the experience. As we watched the cast and crew accept praise and chat, I made a promise to myself: I would shake Joss Whedon’s hand.
Of course, Mr. Whedon was bombarded by people giving their praise. I watched him from afar (in a non-creepy way, of course) and when the crowd finally dissipated some, I decided to make my move…
Did I shake The Whedon’s hand? Find out next week.
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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 own 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 make it-in Hollywood. For an inside look at how TV writers apply for jobs, check out Juliana’s TV spec scripts and other writing.
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. 
