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By Dennis Rookard I have to tell you that for some time in my murky past I used to be a Television and film extra. You know one of those people constantly wandering about in the background. Or one of those folk in a restaurant behind the stars seemingly deep in conversation - but in reality just nodding and opening and closing their mouths silently – very technical that! I tell you this, because early one December a few years ago, I got a call from my agent to say she had booked me into an audition. "What for" I asked. Oh said she, "they are looking for a tubby type like you to be a Santa for a photo shoot." What she forgot to mention was that outside the office where the auditions were to be held was a queue of about a hundred tubby hopefuls. Many of them professional Santa's. All of us were called in one by one to do our ho ho stuff and to my surprise I got picked as one of twenty eight, and told that the job – because it was so close to the holiday period would be cash in hand. This was good news as like all of us, Christmas comes expensive. Early the next Monday, I found myself in a north London photographic studio dressing room along with the others, all being kitted out as traditional red suited Santa's. The job we were told was simple. A German car firm was running a special newspaper Add for one of it's cars, and the set up was that we twenty eight Santa's, had to stand outside a showroom showing surprise at the car inside. No I can't understand German Humour either. So picture the scene. Twenty six Santa's sitting around chatting, until that is the dressing room door burst open to reveal our two missing models. The were angry because the German advertising folk had told them no money would be available after the shoot as arranged, but that cheques would be sent out a month latter. Silence met this news. What to do. Immediately we formed a branch of the Santa union. Went into dispute with the management, and dispatched our newly elected shop stewards to inform said management in the form of the German advertising folk, that we brother Santa's were now on official strike. Minutes passed. Had we made a move to far, would the cunning Germans fire the lot of us and bring in some black leg Santa's. We need not have worried, for soon our shop stewards were back with the news that the enemy had capitulated. Not only would we get the cash but by way of an apology they would lay on a full lunch for us. As for the eventual Add. I told that it appeared to great success in full colour as a full page in a Frankfurt morning newspaper as planned on Christmas Eve. I just hope they managed to sell a few more cars because of it. Ends. 488 words |
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