A Brush with Fame

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This season, we're bringing you stories about people finding their professional stride by virtue of who they know, whether it's breathing new life into an age old profession, taking the reins in a family business, forging your own path with a new idea, or landing the perfect job doing something you'd never before even considered. Avery Thompson grew up in Long Island. Today he's a writer and radio producer, but his past is fraught with jobs that spanned the globe

and made him into the person he is today. He was a ski lift operator in Colorado, a line cook in Zurich. He's bailed Hey in New Hampshire Today. A story from his early life as he pursued his dream of being a filmmaker. Like most twenty year olds, I had delusions grandeur. My particular delusion was that I was going to be a film director, and not just any film director. I wanted to be the next Orson Welles, but with a little the show. Besides some zany no

budget student films. Believe it or not, no studio had yet handed me a blank check. So if I intended to direct my next film, I would need to fund it with my own money. In other words, I needed a summer job. I quit golf caddying after two days.

FedEx didn't think I was overnight box order material to work at the local movie theater would have been too large a slice of humble pie, and so I called my friend Matt, another film buff, and complained about how the world didn't recognize my genius, how my talents were being squandered looking for a job. Then Matt said, well, we can work for my brother. He owns a landscape

and company in the Hamptons. The Hamptons, I repeated. The following Monday, Matt and I talked about movies for the whole two hour drive out to the Hamptons, and as the roads gave way to leafy lanes and mansions rose above tall hedges, I knew we were exactly where I needed to be. Here were the people that would change my life. These people had taste, they had class connections, but most importantly, they had the money I needed to direct my masterpiece. I could already see myself smoking a

cigar and yelling action. So you can imagine my shock when we pulled up to a barn and we're told by Matt's brother to get in the back of a pickup truck with a bunch of weather worn Latino men. For the first few weeks, Matt and I met no celebrities, We attended no parties. We worked like dogs as rich old ladies eyed us suspiciously from curtained windows. We dug trenches, we built fences. We were told to work faster and talk about Fellini less, and all the while no one

recognized the geniuses toiling in their backyard. No one even brought us lemonade. Despite being the future of filmmaking, Matt and I were being treated like a bunch of day labors, except by our coworkers, day labors who didn't appreciate these two pale giants who talked about wide angle lenses and stopped every now and then to drink water. And worst of all, these co workers wouldn't take us to lunch

with them. Instead, every day, on their way to some secret Latin food layer, Matt and I would get dropped off in the village of East Hampton, quite possibly the richest postious town in America. We're the only thing we could afford was pizza, and not even good pizza, because, let's face it wasps don't know how to make pizza, so every day we ate crappy pizza. And let me tell you, for a New Yorker, few things are worse.

But one thing sustained me that summer. For all the blisters and back aches, I held that hope that it was only a matter of time before I met the right people. One day Jerry Seinfeld would need a new walkway, or Robert de Niro would need his roses cut back, and somehow I figured that would be all it took. But that didn't happen. As the weeks wore on, Matt

and I talked of films less and less. We started crying more and more, and just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, we got the job from hell. Our task was the paint a quarter mile fence wedged between two strands of overgrown holly bushes. Now, for those of you that don't know, holly bushes have little prickly thorns, and as a grown man, I don't have a problem

saying that thorns really hurt. So the only way that Matt and I were able to paint this fence without blooding our backs was the jam a piece of plywood in there, lean against it, and brush just in front of us, which worked some of the time. When it didn't. If we tripped or got a little tired, then the holly bush would shove us against the fence that we had just painted, and that happened a lot. By lunchtime,

Matt and I were covered in green paint. I mean covered head to toe, and when the truck arrived to pick us up for lunch, the Latino guys can't help themselves. They slapped their knees and laughed big gold tooth laughs right in our face. And then they drop us off in the center of East Hampton. We'll get back to the story in a second. First, a word from Express Employment Professionals. A strong work ethic takes pride in a job well done. This is you. But to get an

honest day's work, you need a callback. You need a job. Express Employment Professionals can help. We'll connect you to the right company. We're committed to your success and never charge a fee to find you a job. Express Nose Jobs get to No Express find your location at express pros dot com or on the Express Jobs app. And now back to our story. Before we can even climb out of the truck, people were staring. Not that I blame them.

We were two life sized g I. Joe figures, and as such, our mission was to reach the public restroom to wash this paint off. Except when we get there, the paint doesn't come off. And I want to reiterate, we're covered. Matt, who is six four bor an uncanny resemblance to the Jolly Green Giant. I looked more like Gumby. So Matt called his brother, who informed us the paint thinner would take it right off. But we were on Main Street in East Hampton, whose shops weren't exactly stocked

with paint thinner. So then Matt's brother says, the gasoline would do the trick. Yeah, gasoline. So Gumby and the Jolly Green Giant go walking through a living Jay Crewe catalog in search of a gas station. Let me tell you, being laughed at by a bunch of our day labor co workers was one thing, But to be laughed at by people wearing boat shoes and pastel pants, that's a

pain that sticks with you. After a few blocks, Matt and I find a gas station and then we start rummaging through the garbage because obviously we need something to put the gasoline in. We find an empty gatorade bottle beneath a rotten sandwich and then pumped thirty cents of gas into it, and then we pour the gas all over us. And I know what you're thinking, that's not a good idea. But this story doesn't end with self immolation.

Well not literally, because as Matt and I stand in this parking lot, our bodies covered in a toxic smere of gasoline and paint, one of the most beautiful cars I have ever seen pulls up beside us, and we look up to see a familiar face, gray beard, round glasses. I'd know that face anywhere. That's that's Stephen Stephen. Matt yells at Steven Spielberg, and Matt, who now resembles the creature from the Black Lagoon, starts running towards the car

and screaming at him. Stephen. Now, I don't know if Steven Spielberg saw us or not, but I do know that he didn't stop. He kept right on going. But Stephen didn't go far because down the street we see his break lights. Come on, Come on, Matt shouts, running back to the pump for more gas. Pump, more gas. Steven's getting pizza. We can catch him, but I don't. I may have been only twenty, but that summer I learned that no amount of gasoline would help Steven Spielberg

or anyone else see through to the genius underneath. Instead, I walked over to the little convenience store attached to the gas station. I bought a Snickers bar from my lunch and I decided screw movies. I'm going to be a writer instead. This piece was written by Avery Thompson and produced by me Otis Gray. You can find more of Avery's work at Avery H. Thompson dot com. We'll have a link over on our website, Express Pros dot com slash podcast. Thanks for listening to On the Job,

brought to you by Express Employment Professionals. Find out more at Express pros dot com. This season of On the Job is produced by Audiation and Red Seat Ventures. Our executive producer is Sandy Smallens. Our producer is Otis Gray. The show is mixed by Matt Noble at The Loft in Bronxville, New York. Find us on I Heart Radio and Apple Podcasts. If you liked what you heard, please consider rating or reviewing the show on Apple Podcasts or

wherever you listen. We'll see you next time. For more inspiring stories about discovering your life's work, Ariation