Really, you thought you were going to big-time me?
A few weeks ago we wandered onto the periphery of a heating oil depot hard on the banks of the Chelsea River. We only backed onto their property by a few feet while looking for an establishing shot of something in the distance. When braced by security I gave them my card and they seemed fine. I subsequently placed two calls to the manager and left detailed voice mails for him with no reply. Today we returned and the guy tried to jack me up in the parking lot with our Director, Producer and a bunch of other bosses watching.
Him: Hey, glad I caught you. You’re the guy in charge? We need to talk.
Me: Yeah. I called a few times, never heard back from you.
Him: Yeah, I’m a busy man. We’re glad you are here and all, and movies are great. But you need to know that we have security protocols around here. I have reported your presence to the FBI, and you will be hearing from them.
Me: No shit? The Director of the regional FBI office is actually showing us around and giving us a briefing tomorrow. Is there anyone in particular that you spoke to that I should try to meet?
