Chapter Text
“You can very clearly see the parallels between the smash cut and-“
God this guy won’t shut the fuck up.
This couldn’t have gotten any worse. You thought that adding another film class to your elective would be an easy, fun way to get enough credits to graduate. This was your last semester until you headed to grad school and was hoping to coast through it. For the most part, you were. But then you realized that you probably should have taken the earlier class.
To be fair, it wasn’t all bad. The film class you were taking had an array of different students from all types of backgrounds - queers, lesbians, punks, art hoes, and of course your obligatory ‘kino’ types. But you were paired up for your big film project with someone who couldn’t be more antithetical to your art style. He was way too obsessed with sci-fi, and thought he knew everything because he made “movies” with his friend growing up. He wore too much cologne and reeked of pretentiousness.
“Mike, just put the gels on the lights please. I don’t have all day”. You interrupted him mid-sentence, for the third time today, to stop talking about Star Trek & finish this scene. It was taking too long and you had to get back to your apartment to finish a paper for your polisci class.
He huffed, craning his head around to look at me. “Be right back.” He said to the other student. God, he had an attitude. Like a toddler being told to put his toys away, Mike walked over and started begrudgingly putting the gels on the soft box with an air of rebellion. Wasn’t he supposed to like the art of filmmaking?
“Is this good enough for you, princess?” He said with a smirk on his face. Appalled at the blatant edgy misogyny, you shot back “I don’t know, is it your first time?”. His cheeks went pink, annoyed that you weren’t. You really couldn’t care less.
You continued shooting for the next hour, and luckily your actors had their shit together. As you took the DV tape out of the camcorder, you handed it to him. He was lounging on the set Laz-Z-Boy, incorrectly of course, and reached out his arm to grab the tape. Before handing it to him, you pulled back. “Can you put this in the editing bay, and not your backpack, this time?” You said snarkily.
“Anything for you, Princess” he said, condescendingly. He walked directly to the editing bay, his lanky tall figure waltzing dramatically, intentionally pissing you off.
You rolled your eyes, and grabbed your stuff. The sound of the door shutting behind Mike as he flopped down into the chair at the computer to start the video transfer. The sound of Bad Religion’s “American Jesus” played from the small boombox next to the computer, slightly muted by the door. At least this is what he was good at. He sang along, of tune
You looked at your watch and you were already 30 minutes past the time you told your roommate you’d be back by. This was going to be a long semester, and you were only a few days into the project.