Still Just a Geek, page 31
I drove slowly and carefully, navigating through parking lots and around trailers. Golf carts and people on bikes passed me on their way to their various sets and offices. I got to the end of parking lot I* and made a right onto New York Street. I involuntarily took my foot off the gas and coasted to a stop.
In my rearview mirror, I could see the exterior of the hospital from ER. On either side of me were facades that have been featured in countless TV shows and movies.* In fact, the theater we came running out of during the Raiders of the Lost Ark episode was a few feet ahead of me and to my right.
Wow. I’m driving my car down the middle of New York Street, I thought to myself. This. Is. AWESOME!
I realized I’d come to a stop and looked around, hoping nobody saw me, or—worse—was waiting for me to move. I was alone on the street, and imagined for a moment I was in a postapocalyptic future where the streets are empty, and I’m driving a car for some reason.*
I got to the end of the street and turned right, into a dead end.
Aw, shit. I misread the map and made a wrong turn.* I laughed nervously and turned around, then made my way down another backlot street toward my eventual parking place, which it turns out is right in front of the stage where they film Two Broke Girls. I have a bit of a schoolboy crush on Kat Dennings,* and I was stupidly glad I washed my car, just in case she was around the stage when I was. (I think they’re on hiatus at the moment, making me even more stupid.)
I grabbed my backpack and walked to Stage 25.* I was greeted warmly by everyone I saw, and I felt like I had come home after a long absence.* Like I always do, I wished I worked with these people every week, and was grateful for the opportunity to spend five days with them.
The cast, writers, producers, and crew all arrived and assembled around a giant conference table, temporarily built out of many smaller tables, for the weekly table read of that week’s new episode. Steve Molaro, one of the executive producers who is also the showrunner, praised everyone for their work on the previous night’s taping. It sounded like it was an episode destined to be a classic, and I was excited to see it . . . and a little anxious to be batting right after what was probably a home run.
Hey! A sportsball* metaphor! Go me.
The first assistant director called for quiet, everyone settled in, and we began the table read. It was really funny, and as nervous as I was, thirty-three years of professional acting experience served me well and I didn’t screw anything up.
After we finished, we had a little break before we started rehearsing on the set, so LeVar* and I headed to craft service to grab some breakfast.
While we put food on our plates, I said, “Check us out. Twenty-five years later, we’re hanging out together in the morning at crafty. This is awesome.”
LeVar high fived me and said, “It sure is, WW.”*
While we ate breakfast, we caught up with each other. LeVar’s daughter is starting college, and I was in the very strange position of being able to advise him on being a college parent, having put two kids through school already.*
After breakfast, we went to our dressing rooms, which are right next to each other outside the stage. I pulled my laptop out of my backpack and prepared to spend my break on Reddit (like you do).* A moment later, LeVar appeared in my doorway and asked me to help him troubleshoot his Internet connection.
“Did you run a level five diagnostic?” I asked.
He laughed, I laughed, and then we fixed it.*
LeVar then looked around, and I could tell that he was taking in the view.
“You know, W.W., after all these years, I still love being on a studio lot.”
“So do I,” I said. “I never feel more at home than I do when I’m here.”
“Did you get to drive down New York Street?” he asked me.
“Oh my god I did!” I almost shouted. “Why is that so awesome? It’s way more awesome than it should be.”
“It’s awesome because we’re driving our cars down a make-believe street that’s real,” he said.*
We talked about wandering around the backlot at Warners, which is also known as “Every Episode of The Twilight Zone, Ever” or “Holy Crap, This Building Was in [Pick Just about Any Movie of the Last Fifty Years.]”
“I just love playing make believe,” I said, “and back lots are like . . . make believe brought to life, I guess.”*
Just then, we were called into the stage to rehearse. We walked in and spent the rest of the day getting paid to make believe.
Shatner Time*
Okay, here it is. The WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER story. May it live up to the hype.
I first met William Shatner on the set of Star Trek V back in 1988. I was sixteen and had been working on TNG for two years at that point. We were enjoying some success with our show, and I was very proud of the work I was doing. When I found out that the original series cast would be working next door to us for two months, I was beside myself.
Gene Roddenberry was still heavily involved with the production of TNG back then, and he and I were good friends.* When I’d pass by his door, it was not uncommon for him to throw an executive out of his office and ask me in for a visit. He knew that I was a fan of the original series, and he knew that I was more than a little intimidated by these actors. He offered several times to make introductions, but I always declined. If I was going to meet these legends of science fiction, I was going to do it on my own.
For weeks, I tried to get up the nerve to introduce myself to the OG cast. When I would walk from the stage to my dressing room or school room, I would do it slowly, looking at their stage door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Spock, or Dr. McCoy, or even the legendary Captain Kirk. The few times they did appear, though, I could never find the courage to approach them.
This went on for about six weeks.
Word got around our set that I was too chicken to introduce myself to the original series actors. It became something of a joke, and the crew began to give me some good-natured ribbing about my reluctance. As I noted, Next Generation was immensely popular at the time, and I was still riding high on the success of Stand by Me. They couldn’t understand why I was so intimidated by these actors—my face was splashed across the cover of every teen magazine in print.*
Then why was I so intimidated? Because I was a sixteen-year-old geek with a chance to meet the Big Three from Star Trek.*
You do the math.*
So I held off.
One afternoon, though, while I was sitting outside Stage 9 talking with Mandy, my costumer, they opened the huge stage door across the way, and I could see right into the set of Star Trek V. It was a large area, like a cargo bay, filled with extras and equipment. It was quite different from our set, but it was unmistakably the Enterprise. Standing in the middle of it all was William Shatner. He held a script open like it was a holy text. The way he gestured with his hands, I could tell he was setting up a shot and discussing it with the camera crew.
I waited for the familiar rush of nerves, but it didn’t come. For some reason, seeing him as a director and not as Captain Kirk put me at ease.* I knew this was my moment. If I didn’t walk over and introduce myself right then, I would never do it.
I was wearing the gray “acting ensign” spacesuit, unzipped with the sleeves tied around my waist. That costume was quite uncomfortable, so I’d take the top half off whenever I got the chance. Because it was a jumpsuit, I would usually just tie the sleeves around my waist, and wear a lightweight fleece jacket, zipped up to cover the embarrassing muscle suit the producers had me wear.*
I turned to Mandy and took off my fleece. I asked her to zip up my spacesuit and fasten the collar. If I was going to meet William Shatner, I was going to do it looking as “Star-fleet regulation” as I could.
She made sure my costume looked good enough for camera and wished me good luck. I got a high five from one of the teamsters* as I confidently walked across the street and into the cargo bay of the Enterprise 1701-A.
It took about eight steps for my confidence to evaporate.
Surrounded by extras in Starfleet dress, standing next to a shuttlecraft, William Shatner, director, was immediately transformed into Captain Kirk, intergalactic legend. I was transformed from Wil Wheaton, fellow actor and film industry professional, into Wil Wheaton, drooling fanboy and Star Trek geek.
I looked around. I guess I blended in well, because nobody had noticed me. I turned to make my escape and bumped into a still photographer who had worked on TNG the first season.
“Hey, Wil. What are you doing here?” he asked.
I swallowed, and looked at the stage door.
“Oh, uh, I just came over to, um, look around, and, uh, stuff,” I said. I shuffled my feet, and began to move back toward the familiarity of my own spaceship.*
“Well, as long as you’re here, you should meet Mr. Shatner!”
Mr. Shatner? Who was Mr. Shatner? There’s no Mr. Shatner here, just Captain Kirk and several Starfleet officers.
He turned toward Captain Kirk, and called out, “Hey! Bill! Come here a second!”*
My heart began to beat rapidly as he turned toward us. Captain Kirk looked right at me. I froze. He gave his book to someone and began to walk in our direction. I involuntarily straightened my back and sucked in my stomach. My muscle suit felt tight and awkward around my arms and chest.*
Within seconds he was standing next to us. He was about my height, and looked heavier than he did on television.*
Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise said, “What can I do for you?”
“Well, Bill, this is Wil Wheaton. He’s part of the cast of The Next Generation, and he’d like to meet you.”
Captain Kirk looked at me for a long time.
“So, you’re the kid* on that show?” He seemed annoyed.
My throat and mouth were dry, and my palms were sweating. My heart pounded in my ears, as I answered. “Uh, yes, sir. My name’s Wil.”
He continued to look at me. I carefully wiped my hand on the hip of my spacesuit and extended it. “Nice to meet you,” I said.
He didn’t take my hand.*
“What is that, your spacesuit?” he said, and made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough.*
“Oh? This? Yeah. It’s not as cool as yours, but it’s what they tell me to wear.” I put my hand down. I really wanted to leave. I felt a little light-headed. I’m sure I was bright red. Why wouldn’t Captain Kirk shake my hand? And why didn’t he like my spacesuit? Could he see the fake muscles? Maybe he didn’t like the color. I became hyperaware of the span-dex, clinging to my body, and longed for the comfort of my fleece jacket.
“Well?” he asked.
Oh no. He’d asked me a question, and I’d missed it.
“Excuse me?” I replied.
“I said, what do you do over there?” he asked. There was a challenge in his voice.
“Oh, uh, well, I’m an acting ensign, and I sometimes pilot the ship.” Maybe he’d be impressed that I’d already logged several hours at the helm of the Enterprise-D, all before the age of sixteen.*
“Well, I’d never let a kid come onto my bridge,” he said, and walked away.
Captain James Tiberius Kirk, of the starship Enterprise 1701, and Enterprise 1701-A, the only person in Starfleet to ever defeat the Kobayashi Maru, the man behind the Corbomite Maneuver, the man who took the Enterprise to the Genesis planet to return Spock’s katra, the man who I had admired since I was eight years old, was immediately transformed into WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER.*
I bit my lip and turned to say goodbye to the still photographer who had made the introduction, but he had vanished as well.*
I walked* back to my own stage with my head down, avoiding eye contact the entire way. When I got to the entrance, I found Mandy, and asked her to unzip my costume so I could put my fleece back on.
As she unzipped the back, she said, “Did you get to meet William Shatner?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t want to let on that I was upset. Apparently I wasn’t a good actor at that moment.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as she handed me my fleece jacket. There was concern in her eyes.
“Well . . .” I hesitated. Saying it out loud would make it real. “He was a dick to me.”
Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “What? Why? What happened?”
I fought back tears and recounted our introduction.
“What an asshole!” she said. “Oh, Wil, I am so sorry!”
I nodded my head to both her assessment and to acknowledge her sympathy, and she gave me a hug. I drew a deep breath, shrugged my shoulders, and walked back to my trailer, where I sat down and finally cried. I had spent weeks getting up the courage to meet this man, and in less than five minutes he had insulted and humiliated me. He had reduced me from peer to peon. I had worn my stupid costume, thinking that it would matter to him, and he’d made fun of it.*
Fifteen minutes later, an assistant director knocked on my door, and told me that they were ready for me on the set. I stood up, wiped my face off, and told him that I’d need to make a quick stop at the makeup trailer on my way. He radioed this information to the first AD and told me to hurry.
I walked to the makeup trailer, taking great pains to look at the ground, the walls, the sky . . . anything that would keep my head turned away from the Star Trek V stage.
I sat in the chair, and my makeup artist, Jana, began to touch me up.*
“I heard about what Shatner did to you,” she said. “Fuck him. He’s a jerk, and has been for years. He’s probably just jealous that you’re younger, better looking, and more famous than he is.”
I sighed. I didn’t want him to be a jerk, and I didn’t think that he was jealous of anything. I was certain that I’d done something wrong.*
“I guess so,” I said, as noncommittally as I could.
She put down her makeup sponge, and turned the chair away from the mirror, so I was facing her. She looked me in the eye, and said, “Don’t let him upset you, Wil. He’s not worth it.”
“Okay,” I lied. I knew I was going to be upset about this for a long time.*
“Okay,” she said, and dusted my nose with translucent powder.
I walked into the stage, and took my seat on the bridge of the Enterprise-D, next to Brent Spiner.
“I heard about Shatner,” Brent said.
Jesus, was this on the news or something?*
“Yeah,” I said. “You know he wears a toupee, right?”*
I giggled. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yep. He’s balder than old baldie up there.” He tossed a gold thumb over his shoulder at Patrick.*
I giggled some more, as the stored up adrenaline coursed through my veins. “Boy, that’s pretty bald.”
“Yep.” Brent put his hands up on his console.
The first AD said, “This will be picture,” and we all focused.
“Picture is up! Very quiet please!” he shouted. “Roll camera!”
“Twenty-five apple, take one,” the sound mixer said. “Sound has speed!”*
The camera assistant clapped the slate.
“Action!” said the director.
Patrick entered from his ready room and walked to the captain’s chair.
“Mr. Crusher,* take us out of orbit, and lay in a course for the Ramatis system,* warp six.”
“Aye sir.” My fingers danced over the conn. “Course laid in, sir.”
“Make it so, Mr. Crusher.”*
The camera creaked back on the dolly track as the Enterprise-D went to warp speed.
“Cut! Great! New deal!” the director said.
“Wrong set! We are moving to the Observation lounge for scene 55!” said the first AD. “The actors can relax for about ten minutes.”*
On my way back to my trailer, the DGA trainee stopped me. “Gene Roddenberry would like you to call his office, Wil.”*
“Okay.”
I changed direction and walked to the stage phone. My heart began to beat hard in my chest. Had Gene heard too? WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER had known Gene for over twenty years . . . if Gene knew that I’d upset him, maybe Gene would be upset at me, too!
I passed the craft service table, set up behind the starfield that hung next to the Ten Forward set. Michael Dorn and Jonathan Frakes were pouring cups of coffee.
“To hell with him, W,” Jonathan said. I love it when he calls me “W.”*
“To hell with who?” Michael asked.
“Shatner shit all over Teen Idol,” Jonathan told him.
Beneath his latex Klingon forehead, Michael rolled his eyes. “You want me to kick his ass, Wil?”*
“No, that’s okay. Thanks, though,” I said.
“I’ve got your back, man,” Michael said.*
With trepidation, I dialed Gene’s office,* and told his secretary I was returning Gene’s call.
“He’s expecting your call. Just a second, Wil.” There were two clicks, and Gene’s soft, gentle, friendly voice was in my ear.
“Hi Wil, how are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”*
“Fine, fine. I understand that you had some words with Bill Shatner today.”
Oh my god. Was he going to be mad at me?
“Uh . . . yeah . . . ,” I said.
“Wil, Bill Shatner is an ass, don’t you worry about him, okay? I am proud to have you on my show. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Did Gene just call WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER an ass? And then he said that he was proud of me?
“Gosh, Gene, thanks,” was the best I could do.*
“Come by my office soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
“See you then.” He hung up.
I began to feel better. Although a childhood hero had kicked me in the nuts, a bunch of people who I cared about and respected had all made efforts to put it in perspective.* I felt loved and protected.*
The next day, when I got to work, there was an envelope on my dressing room table. It was addressed “To Master Wil Wheaton” and was “From the Office of William Shatner.”
