It’s first thing in the morning at 3636 Beverly Blvd. A Pacific Telephone building called “The Yellow Pages,” building because of the six story, lit, set of giant Yellow pages on the outside granite. All told, about ten floors. Old stained brick. I was given the task of showing a safety film on driving to some new guys. I had six months. A veteran in pay phones. I’m told to take these twelve guys up to an empty room anywhere I want on the empty eighth floor to hold said meeting. No one knows anyone else so no ones talking. Only sips of coffee from styrofoam cups can be heard in the jammed elevator. Old buildings have giant elevators. I roll the 16 mil film cart up to the first door entrance I come upon, twist the handle and shove the cart inside, while hitting the light switch. My third level boss is on short strokes on some chubby gal with his pants around his ankles. I back out with the gang. We found another office.
