Working ‘behind the scenes’ on a TV show, the opportunity rarely arises to actually appear on the program. When people find out what I do for a living, one of their first questions is, “If I watch the show, will I see you on TV?” My standard answer, usually met with a bit of disappointment is, “If you see me on TV, something went very wrong.”

But in reality, that isn’t always the case. Seems when the show goes overseas, those rare opportunities magically appear. My most memorable ‘role’ was being Mick Foley’s cab driver as he arrived at the Manchester Evening News Arena. I happened to be walking by as the arrival shot was being set up. “Where the fuck is the cab driver? We need to get this shot going here! Can ANYONE drive this fucking cab?”

I instantly volunteered. Why not? It’d be fun, and besides, how hard could it be?

Turned out to be pretty hard alright. First off, the steering wheel was on the passenger’s side, and secondly, turning the key, conveniently left hanging in the ignition, did NOTHING. Wasn’t long before the glares started. “Just start the goddamn thing already! We gottta get GOING here!”

I frantically searched for a button or switch or something to get the goddamn thing running. In my fumbling, I stumbled onto the start sequence; clutch in, key on, secret button under steering wheel pressed, put your right hand in, put your right hand out, put your right hand in and shake it all about. I think swearing at the cab helped too.

The shot itself was simple. Drive the cab up to the camera, stop, get out and open the door for Mick. Backing the cab up to get into position wasn’t so simple.

Mick, when in character a bit of a maniac, but in real life a nice guy, climbed in the back. I am sure he had no idea who I am or that I work on the show. Most talent don’t, because I’m usually hidden far away from them, stuck inside the TV truck. He smiled and nodded as I put the cab in reverse, but that smile faded as I swerved around like a drunk leaving a bar at four AM.

“Woah there! What the hell are you doing? Be careful, man!” This from a wrestler that once fell fifteen feet from a cage onto a table with no padding, knocking out his front teeth in the process.

Driving in reverse from the passenger seat proved harder than I thought. I kept the taxi from crashing, by luck more than skill. After a few tries, a few close calls and a few cab stalls, we managed to get the shot. Though Mick is a nice (and patient) guy, he’s also cheap, because he never did tip the driver!

Last time we were in Sheffield, a bunch of us were hanging out in a pub. One of our camera crews came in to shoot some ‘scenics’ of people drinking beer for the next night’s show. Sensing another opportunity to shine, I bellied up to the bar. The camera crew convinced the bartender that our beers needed to be full, so he happily topped my pint off. The ‘scenic’ was me and two British guys clinking our glasses together, saying ‘Cheers!” then draining the pints.

The first take didn’t work. The least British looking guy in the group (me) messed it up by looking directly at the camera, a cardinal sin. “OK, Take two!” Glasses refilled, we tried again. Nope. Something or other still wasn’t quite right. Camera angles changed, glasses refilled again, and we made a third attempt. “That was good, but let’s do one more for safety’s sake.” One more refill. My new British friends, enjoying the free beer as much as me caught on. If we mess something up, we get another free pint. This time they both looked at the camera. “One final try guys, and this time DON’T look at the camera please!” A fourth fresh pint was poured. Lights adjusted slightly. The producer, three fingers in the air yelled, “Ready? In Three!” signaling one last try. Glasses raised again, this time nobody looked at the camera. CLINK! Everything went right, except at the ‘Cheers!” part of the scene, the French guy slurred something that sounded like “Shheeee-rrssshhh!” Everyone knew that take was as good as it was going to get. Shortly after, I called a cab to take me back to the hotel.

When the piece rolled during the show the next day, the director (who doesn’t work for us anymore) cut off the shot right before I appeared, saying “Sorry Frenchy, but you just don’t look British enough.” I wasn’t sure if he was complimenting or criticizing me, but at least the beer was free.

Yesterday I walked into catering for dinner, and was inadvertently part of another scene. The storyline revolved around a chase between Mr. McMahon’s assistant and – I am not making this up – a leprechaun. Three of us sat at a table eating dinner when the chase burst in, camera in tow. The leprechaun climbed on the serving counter and started throwing food, then jumped on the assistant who fell backwards over a table full of people eating, and ended with the leprechaun scampering away.

When it was over, the guy next to me turned and said, “Hey, mate! Whatever is in this soup, it’s the best! I swear I just saw a little green man running about in here! I’m getting some more!”

I’ll be searching out another cameo role tonight for sure.

Author: frenchy