So, I’m working my tag line that I have received permission from the client to say, “Poo-Pourri – It’s The Best Sh*t Ever!” and moving flyers like hot cakes. Everyone is chucking AND they will get a free sample of Poo-Pourri as they make their way through the gift show. I’ve really made their day.
Suddenly a security guard approaches us and tells us that we can’t hand out flyers in the lobby, we have to go outside.
“But it’s SO hot out there and were told by the client that we are to stand here.”
Gruffly he says, “Well, you were told wrong. Go outside.”
We head outside and flank the exterior doors which are in the shade, thank goodness. A few moments later, same guard saunters by, “Oh no, no, no, no, no. You have to go over there!” as he points to the sidewalk right next to the smokers pit. WTF? Nobody told me THIS. We were supposed to be inside, not on the sidewalk like Poo-Pourri street walkers co-mingling with gift mart nicotine addicts in the most oppressive summer heat. Nope.
Ahh, the details clients leaves out sometimes.
I walk across the street to check on the other models and they too have been instructed to stand next to the smokers pit to finish out the remainder of this job.
I get back to my new smoldering, smoke-filled, flyer-slangin’ post and I’m pissed. I take a picture of our close proximity to the cancer pit and send it to our agent. This is not what we signed up for. I’m over it, but my love for Poo-Pourri keeps me in it.
Moments later, Nikki runs up to us and whisper shouts, “You can’t say sh*t anymore!” then literally runs away. It was a drive-by reprimand. So, I stopped saying my world famous line and am texting back and forth with my agent. She assures me that she will get to the bottom of our new location and let us know what we should do. I don’t mention the reprimand, as I don’t really think much about it.
No word back, so we stay with the smokers.
As we are about twenty minutes away from the end of our first day. Nikki comes out to wrap us up and delivers some news…
“We are going to ask that y’all not come back.”
“Ohhhkay? Is this about the line?” I feel a little hot in the face.
She shakes her head yes.
“I feel bad, but you told me I could say that.”
She shakes her head yes.
I ask, “What happened?”
“People were going to the Poo-Pourri booth upstairs and telling them that one of the models was saying ‘sh*t.’ There were many complaints.”
People just take sh*t too seriously. Lighten up your load people! (Get it?)
She walks away and I go find the other models. They let me know that they too have been let go. They don’t know why, so I tell them what happened. Neither one of them is too upset. One gal says, “I’m kind of glad. I didn’t want to stand by the smokers in the heat for two more days anyway, but I hate to lose the paycheck”
I assure them Poo-pourri has to contractually pay us for the days they booked us, even though they have decided to let us go. Plus, I know a little secret: they have already paid the agency in full for this gig. The gals seem okay with the outcome, so we say our goodbyes and rejoice in receiving two paychecks for doing nothing.
On my way home, my agent calls. I pick up and she immediately says, “What happened!?” She’s obviously heard from the client.
I tell her exactly what went down. I asked, “Did Nikki fail to mention that she gave me permission to say ‘Poo-Pourri – It’s the Best Sh*t Ever!'” Agent confirms this is the case.
She says, “I told her I have known and worked with you for years, that you are very professional and would never say anything like that unless you knew it was okay.” Agent had my back, that made feel good. I assured her I was shooting her straight and that Nikki was throwing me under the bus. Agent agrees that Nikki probably didn’t want to share with her superiors that she had been the one to give that line the A-OK, and that it would be a job-saver to just blame me.
Agent says she is going to call them and straighten it out.
Unbeknownst to me, the model I was working with headed straight to the agency after the gig. She walked in minutes after Agent and I hung up. She corroborated my story to a T. Agent called back and said, “I heard everything again. She said the same things you did, all the details. Don’t worry about a thing.” I felt much better. Poo Models for a United Front!
Oddly, I felt really good about getting shit-canned. Partially because the gig itself sucked and partially because the truth prevailed, but mostly because we got paid anyway. Who doesn’t love mailbox money for doing nothing? Poo joke’s on you, Poo-Pourri.
Just Poo It,
Miss Sarah B.
© 2016 Sarah Blackman