I looked across the empty tables and out the glass front door of Cisco’s diner thinking: This sums up the joke that is my life.
The thought burrowed into my cerebral cortex as I sat pretending to order breakfast in the middle of the afternoon in a room devoid of people—Cisco’s had closed 30 minutes before—apart from yours truly, the proprietor and his wife (who acted out taking my order), and the documentary film crew with Los Angeles-based Brave New Films.
On Wednesday they arrived and turned the interior of my home into a jumble of wires and studio lights for an interview about my experiences in Afghanistan for a film being made about drones called War Costs.
Thursday comprised filming B roll—cheesy clips to accompany my dull tones; you know the type of scenes: throwing bread to the pigeons, that sort of thing.
Hence we’d gone to Cisco’s to film my participation in the weekly breakfast club that happens there. But the transmission on the camera man’s car broke that Thursday morning and he didn’t make it in time.
So it was that later on I found myself sitting in an eerily silent diner, acting out my part, feeling a bit of a twat. But that’s show business, I guess.
Just to top it off, a large spot decided to touch down for the duration of their visit on the bridge of my nose, which tends to feature rather heavily in any facial camera shots.
The price of ill-gotten fame. I can hear them chortling from the hills of Waziristan.