The Mime

It’s one in the morning on a Friday night and I’m cold and cranky and I’ve been standing in front of a donut stand where we’ve been filming for hours, and all of a sudden, a mime is coming toward me, and I’m honestly not sure I have the patience left to deal with a mime.

Because this donut is stand is not just a donut stand.

Yes, look through the picture windows and you’ll see that every square inch is taken up by racks of trays jammed with every type of donut imaginable, jockeyed out to customers by two sweaty, exhausted clerks.

But go around to the back, and you’ll see two doors. One leads into the donut stand’s kitchen. The other leads to one of the worst kept secrets in the city.

In the basement is a speakeasy-style club with no official name. If that was once an attempt to keep it unknown, a non-stop nightly stream of celebrity clientele certainly did away with any hope of anonymity years ago.

Normally, a very tall, very burly bouncer is stationed at this door, and to get in, you have to either Be Somebody, or Look Like You’re Somebody. Except that there is no bouncer tonight, because the club is closed for our shoot.

Yet patrons keep coming. And so I’ve become the bouncer.

I was afraid of this. Earlier in the day, when the owner opens up so we could begin our prep work, I ask if he has made any announcement that the club will be closed.

“This oughta do it,” he says, and produces a single sheet of 8.5×11 white paper with “CLOSED FOR FILMING” written across in about 24 pt font. He tapes it to the door, then leaves, saying he had to go tend to his pet alligator (I assume he is joking, but later evidence suggests he might actually have a pet alligator in his apartment).

The sign does not do it. In fact, it gets knocked down and blows away in the first hour as the grips load in.

Normally, a film crew would be an obvious enough presence to ward off approaching clubbers. But we’re starting our night at a different location a few blocks away, and won’t move the company here until at least 3 AM. With little activity, the club door looks just as it would on a normal night.

And so it falls on me to turn away customers. For hours, I’m approached aspiring entrants who think I’m the bouncer they need to impress, all trying to prevail in the Look Like You’re Somebody category. Chic, sheer, slutty, trashy, hip, stylish – each new arrival merits a fresh round of adjectives.

But the strangest thing unites each encounter. Despite the individuality and uniqueness and creativity in their dress, the confidence they carry themselves with, the casualness with which they ask if there’s room to get in tonight –

What follows is the eye contact with me to gauge my assessment. And uniformly, in that eye contact is a pleading, a desperation, a vulnerability that undermines the entire aura they’re attempting to project. Like everything they’ve done is worthless until I deem it worthy. Will I deem them worthy?

Unfortunately, I have to deem everyone unworthy tonight. And honestly, I feel terrible. Everyone has clearly worked hard, and it sucks to have to tell them it’s all been for nothing.

The responses run the gamut. Some look like they’re going to cry. Some get angry. Many are too high to care. The funniest are the ones who think this is some elaborate ruse to turn away unwanted guests, and argue with me that there is no filming in the club.

It’s been quiet now for a while, and for a moment, I think that maybe I’m in the clear. Then I see the mime.

To be clear, I see his date first as she comes around the corner. She’s tall, blond, wears an unbelievable black evening dress. Then the mime appears behind her.

The mime is exactly what you picture when you hear the word mime. He wears a red beret. His face is painted white, with black lipstick and the little black triangles under his eyes. He has a red scarf, red suspenders, a black shirt, black vest, and black dress pants.

Before I can say a word, the mime instantly breaks into pantomime. He indicates that he wants me to Open The Door so he can Go Downstairs to Have A Drink and then Dance.

I pause, not sure how to respond. His date smiles as he acts out each beat. She could not be more charmed.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so, so sorry but the club is closed tonight. We’re filming a movie.” I indicate my walkie-talkie.

The mime considers this. Then, he makes a “tut-tut” motion with his index finger, and does the Open The Door pantomime again, this time, with an Unlocking addition.

As he’s doing this, I realize that he thinks this will be his in. That rather than fight the hopeless battle for Most Stylish or Sexiest, perhaps being Most Eccentric will allow him to cut the line.

“I’m telling the truth,” I say. “It’s really closed. You’re going to have to go somewhere else.”

“Wait. You’re serious?” asks the girl, and suddenly she’s very upset.

“I don’t understand,” says the mime angrily, breaking character for the first time. “Why weren’t we notified?”

“Notified? Do you mean like, call you personally?” I ask, confused.

“Well, no. I just mean like, put the word out or something.”

“Well, I think the owner put out a sign,” I say, looking everywhere for the printed sheet. “But I absolutely agree. I think the problem is, the place doesn’t even have a name, let alone a website, so there just isn’t a good way to do that.”

“Well, I just think what you did is terrible,” says the girl, glaring at me. She grabs the mime’s arm. “Come on. We’ll find somewhere else to go.” The mime shakes his head angrily at me, then follows her off.

As I watch them disapear into the night, it occurs to me that up until just a few moments ago, this man had had firmly believed that tonight, he was going to be validated as Somebody.

And now, he is just a guy in a mime costume wandering the city at one in the morning.