Chair Bear

Un. Fucking. Real. More space spats. This whole chair-saving thing, the claiming of your domain with flag unfurled, is every bit as dicey as when practiced by nations. After talking about the danger of the disgruntled extra, it would seem I conjured up the spook. Bitchy Backie Queen seems to think one of her explorers had claimed this chair we are wrangling over in the name of Spain. But, my mason jar full of kool-aid had clearly shown her to be wrong. The kool-aid was placed under the chair, so as not to get spilled, and thus was an easy spot -- this is a pre-owned chair. Yet, she waited until I left and tried to put her clothes on the back of my chair. I even went up to her why she was doing this, and told her "that's my chair." So, when she left for a second, I moved them back to her OTHER chair (that's right, she was taking up two chairs. oh, the humanity of it).

Eventually, she returns. She informs me, "I'm just going to put the clothes back on the chair, where you're sitting,"

and I was like: "Uh, no-the-heck-you're-not!" So angry I lose track of how many double-negatives I have working against myself in the response. We haggle a bit about the kool aid under the chair, me mentioning it was my chair ("I didn't hear you." Of course she didn't). Finally, we stop arguing and sit next to each other, hating each other in silence. Then, she informs me I ned to move the chair-in-question over, her feifdom is growing.

"No-the-fuck-never, honey," I say with my tone, although the words that come outta my mouth are: "I'm at the edge of this rise already, sorry."

The extras are being held in a huge ballroom, but much of the space is off-limits due to being prepped for shooting. Around us, people have set up under a grand piano, like kids improvising forts in their parent's house. Any nook is utilized. I'm not giving up this prime position of both being under the light, on a riser above the ballroom, and close to the P.A. nerve-center for signing out, feeding, etc.

Then the churlish chair cheater makes a phone call. The caller finds out "you let me down when I needed you." She berates the caller for quite a spell.

"Top-water trolling," sez a sympathetic backie sitting next to me, watching, listening, missing none of this free soap opera. I ask him to explain, and he puts his finger to his lips "shhhhhhhhhhh."

Now the chair-bear is on another series of phone calls, pleading her case about reneging on an engagement to several more callers. "Don't you see, I had to cancel. You should be more understanding, you're not giving me any support." Then she informs me I need to move my chair again. Then she claims I'm taking her light.

"You're in my light!"

Finally, I'm compelled to face the harridan and lay out a careful recitation of the facts of chair eminient domain. Apparently, she thinks her possession of the chair dates back to yesterday, therefore she's indigenous to the chair. She has rights to the chair in perpetuity. I go through the bullet-points of my case. She goes silent in the face of my command of the chair facts. Now, I chew ice as loudly as possible at this point. I rumble the ice in my glass. I lean backwards and forward to keep her off balance about when the light will shine into her darkness.

"Can we work together?" she askes after realizing I'm actively trying to bother her. This after thoroughly antoginizing me? I giver her my "Uh, fuck-no-how, no-way" face.

Maybe we could take the case to the People's court and I can win "mental cruelty" money. It's easily my most serious confrontation in Background, made more volatile by the fact that we continue to sit next to each other after each fracas, haven't repaired to different corners of the room. I'm waiting for the next salvo. Stewing in my chair.