THE CLEOPATRA PARAGON vs. THE YANG CURSE PARADOX

 

Waking up to brutally cold 35 degree weather outside a couple of weeks ago in Los Angeles (WTF?), I bundled up like a toddler unable to move my arms underneath all the layers of clothing, strapped on my gloves, and was just about to pull on my booties and my backpack for work, when, once again like a toddler, I immediately had to go to the bathroom.

Granted, I was rather annoyed, but when ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

With only a few days left on my current show, and no notice as to whether or not we’d gotten a pick-up or cancellation, I vowed to make the most out of my favorite studio lot.  And waiting for the red light to go off outside the sound stage down the midway, I was actually a bit nervous...

I knew with all my heart that I would be embraced with love, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in my tummy.  I only had a half hour lunch break; I was invading someone else’s Stand-In work environment, and by all accounts I could’ve been tossed out on my ass if Security saw me sneak into the far side double doors.

But with the buzzer signifying a tape cut, I sidled onto the stage near Craft Services, only to run directly into my friends Lori and Dev who smothered me with happy hugs!  And two seconds later, I was clasped again by my dear friend Diddy!  Oh, I missed the camaraderie of having so many friends all together on the same show!

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been blessed to have three wonderful friends with me on my current show – but there was something truly magical about six and a half years on a sit-com that really felt like family...

“Is she on-stage now?” I wondered.

“Yes!  Come around this way” Lori and Dev guided me.  “Ooh, I wanna see the reunion!” Lori beamed.

And standing in the darkness, maybe half way into the light of the stage, I stood quietly between the cameras as a certain red-headed Country Music Star contemplated her dialogue (with a writer?), before she randomly caught my eye.

“PENNY!” she squealed, racing off the set to give me a hug.  “How are you?!  I almost didn’t recognize you in that baseball cap!”

“I’m good!  I’m trying to be incognito...  I’m here on the wrong set!” I blathered like an idiot, throwing my hand over my current sit-com’s title on the hat.

“Yes you are!  You should be here with us!” she laughed.  “So good to see you!” she smiled genuinely.  “I’m so glad you came by!” she hugged me again.

>>><<< 

Quite frankly, I couldn’t have been more full of myself.  I was happy!  And dare I say it, I was smug... 

Even at lunch the next day, when our Cable Network had treated our Crew to a special meal by a highly rated Korean Food Truck (???), I poo-pooed the potential poodle menu in lieu of accepting a free flu shot from a once-a-week visiting Health Care facility associated with the Entertainment Industry; topped off with a most delicious fountain Diet Coke from the Commissary, as I shared a splendid hour break with friends.

My world was perfect! 

My Universe was exquisite!

My arm hurt a little from the needle, but my helpful friend James had copped me an ice pack from Props which seemed to reduce the potential swelling: and settling in for a lengthy night of pre-shoots, I took full advantage of moving the ice pack around towards any wayward sore back or neck muscles. 

And just as I was beginning to feel like Cleopatra on a luxurious chaise lounge, a tickle caught my throat.

Oh bother...

Scampering to the opposite end of the stage with four tissues in hand, I blockaded my face as both a torrential sneeze and a ‘productive’ cough expelled themselves from my head at precisely the same moment.  “Well, timing is everything” I consoled myself, grateful to be the only person on stage to witness the unbridled power of my sinus cavities and their Technicolor wonders.

>>><<< 

Arriving early to work once again the next day, and intercepted by our office PA who was eager to guide me towards the Executive Dining Room above the Commissary (all this time, and I never knew such a place existed!), I sat amongst the crew as the Production meeting took place, prior to our Table Read for our final episode the following week.  Our Oscar-winning Actress was unavailable, as she was attending the Inaugural Ball for the President of the United States, and I had been offered the honor of standing-in to read for her!  Ooh, our office PA even printed out a placard for me at the Actor’s table, with my name and the character’s name beneath!  I was Cleopatra once again!  I was receiving the royal treatment!  I was... I was... I was about to hack up a globular green mucous ball, the likes of which my deceased feline sidekick Pretty would have been most proud.

Blissfully however, Actors, Producers and Suits consume lengthy amounts of time as they enter a room, hob-knobbing, getting coffee, smearing creepy dead fish on their bagels and what-not, before eventually winding their way into taking their seats.  And ever-so-prepared Capricorn that I am, I had not only managed to ‘produce’ said globule, but I’d also managed to discard it; with additional napkins on my lap should my mucous-brain consider an encore.

“Let me just scoot this chair next to you Pen” our office PA made room  and plopped down a placard next to mine – that being the name of our Co-Creator, Co-EP and Director for the episode.

“Morning!” our Triple Threat Director smiled.

“Morning” I smiled back; “yeah, this isn’t intimidating at all!” I added, uneasily, visions of mucous flinging uncontrollably from my face.

“Relax sweetie, you’re great” he added, as I wearily clutched my napkins.

Now, I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but I felt off my game.  I was supposed to stand-in for a Puerto Rican woman doing a Flushing, NY accent, and although I was close, I knew my performance was lacking.  On the flip side, I was also reading a small part for a British woman – specific to London – which I thought I nailed.  But once we got into camera blocking later in the day, I was all over the map.  Some of my movements were incorrect, and whilst I was gung-ho to defend my notes, I couldn’t contradict our boom operator who was covering only one line in the entire scene.  Yes, my Gorgeous Actress had walked to the door, but only half way.

What the hell was wrong with me?  I was so embarrassed!  I was so humiliated!  Clearly, The Universe was teaching me a lesson about being smug, and well, by golly, humbling flu lesson learned!

Or so I thought...

With a fever of 99.8 degrees, I whimpered at the water leaking out of the bottom of my toilet.  I’d added a pitcher of water to fill up the basin, only to watch it disappear into the piping.  The tank was filling up properly, but by all accounts something was wrong.  And terrified to have my deceased Landlord’s son threaten to evict me for any little reason, I woozily scrubbed the floor around the lavatory in a hot sweat, and eventually made the call.

“Wow, are you sick?” ‘Sherlock Yang the Younger’ wanted to know, as I coughed all over the telephone, barely able to form a complete sentence.  “I’ll come by and take a look” he added with the confidence of a stoned surfer dude.  “Whoa, sorry you got the flu” he kicked off his flip-flops before entering my apartment; his baseball cap strapped on backwards over his long mop of hair.  “Ya know, I’m just gonna say, don’t use it for now” he nodded as he crossed his arms; clearly his first executive decision as ‘heir to the throne’.  “You can just knock on our apartment door if you need to use a bathroom” he concluded obliviously.

“I’m sorry, wait, WHAT?”

“Well, today’s a holiday and all, and I can call the plumber tomorrow.  Just knock on #6 if you need to go, okay?” he added, whisking the door shut behind him.

I probably stood there in a fog for five whole minutes, trying to process the idea of waddling up the stairs at three in the morning to make a surprise deposit in Sherlock’s family’s toilet.  In fact, the way my body was attempting to fend off the illness, I might easily make contributions at any given moment!  (And in “hindsight” (if you will), that’s precisely what I should have done.)

But not willing to risk making any waves regarding my precious rent-controlled bat-cave, I put my fuzzy, mucous-filled Capricorn pea-brain to task to make my life as simple as possible, and lined my commode with a plastic garbage bag. 

And as natural sleep should be ever-so-easy, I plopped my ginormous head on a pillow, clasped a preventative tissue in my paw for any erstwhile productive coughs, and without any warning whatsoever, sneezed a bloody nose geyser all over the bedding.

AW, C’MON!!!

Clamping my nostrils together with a Kleenex, I stared forlornly at my heroic feline sidekick Pretty’s urn...  Oh, I missed her so.  Oh, I missed the unconditional love and comfort she’d provided me for 17 years whenever I got sick...  Oh, holy crap, I suddenly understood why she’d always feigned a sudden interest in her furry toes when I cleaned her litter box; for now I was the one carting my own pee and poo baggies to the trash!

But hearing Billy-Butt-Crack (our local Plumber) snaking drains upstairs the next morning, I knew my world would soon enough make sense once again.   He’d popped by my apartment (Sherlock camped outside in his usual flip-flops) to have a look and confirm that all manner of creepy silt-like crud had gurgled two inches high into my bathtub (WTF?????), and thus his probing had been successful throughout the building (THIS is SUCCESSFUL???).   

And retiring back to bed, amazed that my enormous mucous-filled Charlie Brown head could even fit through the corridor, I sent a desperate text to my friend JB:

“Any chance you could drop off some supplies after work?”

Armed with three mega-boxes of Puffs Plus Lotion, two different flavors of Nyquil, hundreds of various cough drops, a couple of mindless paperbacks, gallons of orange juice and vitamin waters, and a contingency of chicken broth based soups, my friend JB wished me well, shutting the door quickly as I gratefully coughed all over my groceries.

>>><<< 

Like it or not, I learned a few more lessons this month.

You can spend one whole day on top of the world! 

And just as quickly, you can find yourself carrying your own pee bags out to the trash in triplicate confidential carriers to hide your humiliation in the middle of the night...!

But if you are true to your heart, a small sense of dignity is but a moment away.

Now, I’ve gotta say, that out of all the roles I’ve played or stood-in for in the last twenty two years of my life in Tinsel Town, “Sickly” is not my opus.

Despite my complete and utter disgust of all things chicken, I actually ate one can of double noodles in chicken broth; and feeling adventuresome the next day, I opened a second can of “Scooby Doo!” shaped pasta with actual chunks of chicken the size of my knuckles...  EEK!

And that was that!

Call it mind over matter if you will, but I was done with the stupid flu.

Holding a shot of whiskey (desperate times people, desperate times!) in the back of my throat that burned like hell for thirty seconds, I eventually swallowed and took back my dignity.

“Hi, this is Penny” I rang my deceased Landlord’s son.  “Can you give me an estimate as to when I can safely use my toilet again?” I demanded to know.

“Oh, dude, sorry” Sherlock kerfuffled.  “I didn’t want to bother you, ‘cuz I knew you were sick.  The plumber guy finished around 5:30 last night; you oughta be fine now” he offered.  “Go ahead and flush it a couple of times, just to make sure it’s cool” he suggested as I did so.  “Yeah, I’m gonna put up a whatchamacallit, uh, sign, near the whatchamacallit, um, mailboxes, to let people know, not to put whatchamacallit, uh, ya know, stuff into the pipes.  So did your toilet flush twice?” he wanted to know.

“Yes, it did.”

“Awesome!  Then you’re good to go!” he beamed over the phone.  “Call me if you have any more problems, OK?” he metaphorically swung a “hang loose” hand symbol.

“Uh, buh, buh, buh, buh!” I quashed him before he could disconnect.  “There’s still silt in my toilet, and a chunky film of scum layering my bathtub.  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” I queried.

“Oh, just turn on the whatchamacallit, uh, shower, and it’ll all drain down.  Have an awesome night!”

>>><<< 

As I’m now 99.9% better, off of all cold/flu medication and settling back into the happy normalcy of a bit of voddy at happy hour, I’m beginning to make sense of the last couple of weeks: 

1.    Whilst Nyquil was my best friend for achieving a decent night’s sleep, it couldn’t prevent me from strapping on the booties and backpack and heading off to work in my dreams, as I still owed my show four more days of employment.  (Ironically, my friend Tara had to stand-in for me, and according to her email, our Triple Threat Director called her “Penny” all week.  OY!)

2.    Whilst I’ve lived in fear of the Yang Curse hovering over my Sanctuary, I admit I was blessed to discover that Sherlock Son of Yang possesses approximately as much self-awareness as a turnip. 

3.    Last and most importantly, I’ve been reminded of the harsh reality of not taking anything for granted. 

YAY!!!  My toilet still flushes!!!

Curling up for a warm winter’s nap with indoor plumbing,

~Cleopatra P