Its part of my job to pick up two co-workers from two seperate locations in Toronto. Every shoot day its the Ho, then the Bro.
The Ho has a nice, thin body, but the shark jaw of the scariest predator of the seas. Half Italian, part Jew, all bitch screeching voice. She sits in the tiny Yaris like its a limo. Back seat on the passenger’s side. Today, she was ordering a custom handbag over the phone as I ferried her. On set, she has one job, but creates an atmosphere of cuntery by trying to push the rest of the crew to fit her timeline. More than once she’s been dressed down by her superiors to no avail.
The Bro is our host. Young looking, funny, charismatic, you’re his friend as soon as you two meet. From day one he’s sat in the front seat when I pick him up. He starts a conversation, asks about life and activities. There’s not a single person on set who says ill about him.
The Ho is Toronto’s monied class in a nutshell, despite her small mining town roots, this woman breathes our air and farts distain for the peons she doesn’t control.
The Bro is the everyman. Despite his position as top talent on our show, he has worked from the ground up to get there. Blood and tears. And he’s remembered every moment. And he hasn’t let it change him one bit.