It was about twelve hours into our trip to New York that I heard the news about the television show I've been working on. The word cancelled didn't come up, nor did the less stifling "permanent hiatus", but it appeared that I wasn't going to come back from our trip to another week of racing drama. Sure, we'd been on "break" from shooting for a number of weeks, but it seemed as though we were caught coping with one of those communication breakdowns.
I had joined the show partially on a whim, as well as due to the good graces of one of the producers. As I slowly shook off the shock of several miserable episodes and a concept that hardly sounds like my stein of beer I really took a shine to the work and to the crew I was working with, only to now feel like it has taken the same turn as several other projects I've devoted myself to.
Granted I was only working for peanuts and two predictable meat and potatoes meals. Maybe all I really have to show for my time is a silly baseball cap I wore for protection from the outdoors and swarms of gnats, a couple of blackened toenails, and a deep farmer's tan, but it still felt like something stable and worth my time. It's too bad certain key people had other intentions in mind, which I would gladly go into had I not signed away my life with all of that obligatory legal paperwork.
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