Just What the Devil is Going On in There?

Alice Pearce aka "Gladys Kravitz" on Bewitched, 1964 - 1966

Not particularly adept at hiding my, shall we say idiosyncrasies, I toddled outside late one night, swaddled in my Wonder Woman “Snuggie” (the bottom part of which I had thrown over my shoulder ala a Grecian toga) to respect the planet and deposit two bags full of recyclables into the proper receptacles.

What I hadn’t counted on however the next day was the fact that my Landlords had recently installed a camera over the front gate (I do like the security!), nor the idea that the wife of Deceased Landlord Yang is now filling her days by watching closed camera circuitry as if our humble apartment building were private stories in her own personal soap opera.

*tap, tap tap* my front door echoed as I rolled over in my sleep.

*knock, knock, knock* the affront continued, as I ignored it and most justifiably could be simply out for an occasional walk in the neighborhood.

*BAM, BAM, BAM* a loud assault escalated, as I rushed to the door in a panic.

“Oh, so sorry to bother you:  You move car for gardeners?  I hire them to trim, trim!” Mrs. Deceased Landlord repeatedly bowed humbly as the tiny wisp of a woman mimicked “snip, snip, snip” with her fingers.

(Seriously???  I mean I DO work in Hollywood, and no Casting Agent worth his or her merit would buy that stereotypical performance.)

“Move car now, OK?” she prattled on, feigning a ridiculous inability to comprehend the English Language despite nearly aggressively beating the bejesus out of my front door with her fists.

(Yeesh!)

And standing atop our parking hill ala a Hollywood Director, Mrs. Deceased Landlord proceeded to wave her arms maniacally to where she precisely wished me to temporarily park my beloved Toyota – a most bizarre scenario wherein I calmly followed her frantic movements as she attempted to guide me like a fighter pilot landing on battleship carrier. (Um, yeah; two places to the left.  Got it.  No need to break out the pinafore flags!)

(May I once again insert a “Yeesh”?)

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With the gardeners long gone after an hour or so later, I once again pulled Cecilia into our proper parking spot, only to find a note from one of Mrs. Deceased Landlord’s sons on the windshield, “thoughtfully” reminding me to turn on the water and run my kitchen garbage disposal at least once a week.  (Really?)

And with one more “Yeesh” and an eye-roll to myself, I was beginning to feel a wee bit violated by my nosey neighbors. 

Oh, but of course my pea-brain had to be exaggerating, right?  After all, the life of an unemployed Actor is far from exciting.  Mostly (and I’m speaking broadly of course), from my experience, we simply hibernate until our next gig. 

Yet as a Holiday gift arrived at my security gate, I buzzed in the delivery man, only to find Mrs. Deceased Landlord trooping along in tow, peering pointedly at the package.  And unable to see what might be inside, she actually feigned her hovering presence as a pretense to let me know that I could move my car back to my spot.  

“I already did that a few hours ago” I smiled with a cheery thumbs-up, grabbing my package and bolting the door shut.  (Good grief!  Mind your own business, lady!) 

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In her defense, was it so wrong of me to believe that “Samantha” had mystical powers on Bewitched when I was only six years old camped out in front of the television?  Was I not also a voyeur way back then, peeking through the window into someone else’s “everyday life”?  And had I not fell in love with Sit-Coms at such a formative age, would I’ve never even dared to dream that I might contribute my own eye of newt to the Hollywood magic cauldron?

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With the understanding that I’ve been unemployed for so long, yet there is now a camera hovering over my front gate, my friend RJ recommended that I make the most of the lurking eye for whatever audience may be glued to the monitor.

“I’m just saying, limp in one day, or wear a floppy hat, or play any character that strikes your fancy!  You’ve got a camera, so you might as well play to it!” he giggled wickedly. 

But genius as his brilliant brain may be with delightful mind-fuckery, I continued to hole myself up in the apartment; an ongoing elusive maneuver to avoid any further “Gladys Kravitz” invasions.

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Wonder Woman “Snuggie” wrapped once again around my torso like a toga, I lugged a bag of trash to the bin on Thanksgiving night.

I really didn’t mean to stare, but the back patio across the giant fence over the walkway was lit up most festively with red and white Christmas lights.  A small bonfire was burning; one lone soul hunched over the pyre, and as I kind of peered through the metal fence and hedges out of curiosity, I heard some rustling.

“Hi, how are you?” a sultry (possibly Transvestite?) voice asked from the dark.

“I’m fine.  How are you?” I replied, acutely aware that I was now suddenly “Gladys” and for all I could see, I might be speaking to an enchanted tree. 

“I’m good” the alto/tenor voice responded.

“I like the backyard lights!” I piped up cheerfully, reaching for my keys.

“Thank you” the throaty voice sighed as he (or she?) poked at a few forlorn burning embers with a stick.

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In hindsight, I think The Universe was subtly telling me to butt out of other people’s business. 

But to be honest, I think I was feeling left out of my OWN business.  I missed the joy of reporting to a Hollywood Studio!  I missed the camaraderie of laughter and friendship with co-workers!  (And darnit, I missed the free food!)

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And as I’ve come to understand that The Universe is both compassionate AND “persnickety” (if you will), I swaddled myself once again and curled up for yet another bout of hibernation.

What I hadn’t counted on however - was the “persnickety part” outright, cosmically, metaphorically punching me in the face.

Suffice it to say (in an attempt to compensate for our currently cold and windy dry weather in Los Angeles???) my very own “nosey” nose proceeded to bleed EPICALLY like something out of a Hitchcock horror film.  (Yikes!  Must The Universe make such a graphic point?!)

Sandra Gould aka "Gladys Kravitz" on Bewitched, 1966-1971

But as to the kind-hearted compassionate part of The Universe, I’m blessed to announce that I’ll be starting on a pilot this Saturday!  No details at this point other than (minus production on Sunday) I believe I’ll score four days of employment at Paramount Studios!

Oh, perhaps “Samantha” had twitched her nose; my bewitching hours were coming to a close; and my days of being Gladys Kravitz would be those of yore!

Until... (Cue the irony...)

In yet perhaps their most spectacular twist of tormenting me endlessly and poking around in my business, I’ve once AGAIN been scheduled for a telephone interview on my home phone with the Unemployment Department next week, on a day when I’ll actually be EMPLOYED.

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Wishing you all a magical week,

~Forever your EDD-"Derwood"-challenged P