Models are a scary bunch
Models are scary. It is a simple concept to understand. Women models generally freak me out.
Imagine hundreds of thousands of women in stilettos stampeding down a street in New York City, ready to eat your face. I lied about the face eating, but I did fear for my life when models auditioning for America’s Next Top Model decided to herd together and run like a sheep when someone mistakenly yelled, “bomb!”
New York City is an interesting place. Some sort of interesting event happens to you on a daily basis. Some days it is a drunk man falling in the train tracks just as a light from a train appears in the tunnel, or running into Kevin Bacon at your work. I learned nothing can really surprise you in New York City.
I was surprised by the herd of models. The stampede of thousands of life size dolls running and screaming was like a scene from 28 days later, except the zombies were dressed exceptionally well in most cases.
A friend of mine had asked me to be a production assistant for cycle 13 of America’s Next Top Model. This was during the audition process in Manhattan. I arrived at 3 AM and was slated to work until 3 PM the following day.
The production manager tried to put me on ‘wristband cutting’. This means that when the girls didn’t make it I had to cut the band off of their wrists, and they weren’t allowed to even keep the wrist band.
I might as well just cut their wrists off, severing their hand, and then throw them in a ditch. The model’s worlds were shattered when they didn’t make it past the first or second or even third round. Tears would well and fall to the floor as they descended the escalator, questioning themselves about the meaning of their lives and what’s left for them in the world.
But alas, I was not put on wrist cutting. My job was to give hope, not take it away. I got to put the bands on model’s wrists. They smiled when I clasped the band over their frail lotioned twigs.
Before they arrived at my table, they went through security. I watched as security pulled knives, switch blades, daggers, and once a small meat mallet from the model’s purses.
Either it was someone screaming, “bomb” or “fire” I am not sure, but models bolted like horses hearing a shotgun.
They started to push on the doors, so they had to be locked out. I watched from the second story as they scattered about, end of the world like. Something inside of me shuddered.
Mob mentality or not I was scared for my life. The image will never leave me, hauntingly causing nightmares.
Now that I am living in Bend I do not anticipate running into any large groups of meat mallet wielding models.
However, when I do accidentally see America’s Next Top Model on T.V. there is an involuntary twitch in my neck and a skipping of a heart beat.
I am not saying be scared of models, just be wary. And never yell bomb or fire in their presence.
You may contact Eric Ercanbrack at email@example.com