Warning: Do Not Feed The Models

I feel like I need to recount my trip to LA in writing. Not the boring administrative businessy part of it, but the logistical details need to be put down on paper in order to forever document what was perhaps the most surreal 24 hours of my life.

Firstly, I must point out that I was booked on a flight to LA on El AL: Israeli Airlines. Now El Al unofficially checks their passengers based on their “risk level” which is assessed in a 10 minute interview with security prior to entering the check in area of the terminal. After much drilling by the head of security (red flag: my outbound and inbound tickets were only 23 hours apart and were booked for me by a third party), I guess I was deemed “low risk” as I was checked in and ushered on to the back of the plane with a group of rabbi’s.

Upon my arrival in LA, I made my way to the Budget car rental, as per the instructions sent to me by the agency office’s travel agent, where I was informed that no car had been held for me. Seeing as I had an hour to get to West Hollywood from LAX, this was very inconvenient news. What was adding to the inconvenience was the fact that my cell phone wasn’t feeling the roaming and Shanikwa at Budget wouldn’t let me use the phone to call the travel agent for help.

Luckily my hotel was within “walking distance” (read: I could see it’s neon beacon hovering above on the other side of airport) from the Budget office and I managed to check in uneventfully (despite the fact that the concierge kept calling me “John” and somehow managed to find, lose, and then find the per diem check that was couriered over the night before all in a span of 10 minutes). I called my contact at the travel agency and after much confusion, was told to call “Jorge” on “his cell phone” in 15 minutes.

Jorge, much to my non-surprise, was a very large Mexican man with the hugest Durango I had ever seen. After meeting Jorge in the lobby, I got into his huge Durango and drove to an impound lot off of the freeway where I was presented with a set of keys to a brand new silver Mercedes. “This is my brudders car,” Jorge beamed, “just fill it up and bring it back here tomorrow.”

Almost ready to brave the 405 into Hollywood, I had to make a quick stop at the bank designated by the agency to cash my per diem check. After waiting in line for 25 minutes, and after giving a 10 minute lesson on the various forms of identification we use in Canada, I was informed that the per diem check had a stop payment issued and that I would be cashless for the duration of my stay in LA. Back to the hotel and back on the phone with the travel agent. I was officially an hour late for my meeting and was approaching 8 hours of not seeing so much as a calorie.

At that point in time I had to cut my losses and hopped on the freeway to get to my meeting. The meeting was uneventful and long and my stomach was rumbling the whole time. Upon it’s conclusion, I stood up and shook hands with the agents there and walked out into the lobby where I fainted. Yes, I fainted in the lobby of a prominent model and talent agency in West Hollywood, California.

I awoke to someone yelling “get the model a sandwich, stat!” (ok, I’m embellishing that part, but that would have been awesome), and to a crowd of people hovering around me with looks of shock, horror, and a few laughs (come on, it’s always funny to see someone fall). Fortunately by then, the travel agent had couriered over some traveler’s checks and I got in Jorge’s “brudder’s” Mercedes and drove like a speed demon to the first Carl’s Jr. location the GPS thingy could find.

In conclusion, LA is warm.