A Completely True Story
March 25th, 2004
moved to Los Angeles two years ago with one mission in mind. One goal
I have been driving towards my entire life, and all events preceding
it were mere tests of my resolve. I was going to live the American
Dream. I was going to become a male model who awkwardly tried to land
bit parts in TV and movies.
I came dressed in my finest attire, walked up to the barren warehouse building, looking for an entrance. All I could find was a doorbell in the middle of the brick exterior. When I pressed it, a woman with an English accent asked me what I wanted. I held up the piece of paper, and part of the brick wall opened up, startling me. I was really nervous, and also hadn't eaten in a week and a half, which is actually helps someone trying to be a model. I walked into the lobby, which consisted of the English woman behind a desk, and a clipboard. She looked me up and down and I could tell she was taking in the talent before her. "You must be one of those with the ticket." I smiled at her for a few seconds, trying to figure out if she was coming on to me. This would have been the first time it ever happened, so it took me a while to understand it. "Do you have a ticket?" Oh. Forget it. She just wants my ticket. I exchange my ticket for the clipboard, which takes 30 minutes to fill out. It was only a page long, but there was a section that asked what my interests were, and I had to make sure I got everything in. I recounted my tale of how I got here, and the story Kokelbaum and his ruined feet, and how I was desperate to succeed. When I turned it in, the woman said, "Francois will be with you shortly."
'Francois,' I thought. 'Wow. He just sounds intimidating and knowledgeable.' After what seemed like hours (or could have been, since I actually lost consciousness a few times, wishing I had stayed and gotten enough change from those kids at the arcade for a McGriddle), the woman glanced up at me, pointed to red door behind me and said, "Francois will see you now."
This was it. All 1,198 words of my story came down to this! I swung the door open and was immediately greeted by a hulking Frenchman, who I assumed was Francois.
"I...am Francois," he bellowed, answering my assumption.
His swollen banana hands enveloped my arm, and I couldn't help but think he looked a lot like Dom Deluise.
"Please, sit down. Yes." Francois instructed.
I sat in the chair across from his desk, and admired the autographed photos and movie posters he proudly displayed on his wall. Proud films with names like Nocturnal Promises, Final Affection, Fatal Affection, Final Fatal, and Absolute Finality. All starring sexy women who no doubt began their careers modeling for Francois, the genius.
Francois fell back into his chair, nodded his head a few times, then just stared at me. I could tell he was putting his skill for judging talent to use. Without even asking, I knew he was qualified. I mean, he had movie posters and autographed pictures on his wall! That's all the proof I needed. It was out of my hands now. All I could do was wait for him to speak.
"The quality is in your pants."
I hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry, did you say...?"
"Yes. The quality. It is in your pants."
I wasn't quite sure what he meant by this. I had always thought of myself as a full body model and not just a specialty jeans model. But who was I to argue with greatness!
"Oh, okay. Great! My pants!" I shared his enthusiasm, and he seemed to feed off of it.
"Yes. Your pants. The quality. I must see the quality. Show it to me now. Close the door."
Now I was a little confused. "Are we going to do runway tests?"
"No runways. The quality, I cannot see it right now. It is inside your pants. You must show it to me so that I can evaluate the quality. Allow me to evaluate quality, I give you job. And I give you modeling job as well."
Now, I didn't go to high school, so it took a while for me to understand what was happening. But I finally got it. This very large man was clearly not interested in my modeling talents. And he was also clearly not Dom Deluise. It was at this moment that I had a decision to make. Honor the pride and the grit and the sacrifices I've made to achieve my dream, or exploit my 'quality' for work. If you've stuck with me this far, I think you know the answer to that..
Francois is a great judge of quality.
If you've achieved your dreams by allowing a large Frenchman to grope you, share your success story with Guerrs@thedeckingcrew.com