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My First (and Nearly Last) Day on Friends
By Lauren Tom

It's the summer of 1994. I am an out of work actress sitting in my home in the Hollywood Hills watching an episode of a new sit-com, Friends, on NBC. I seem to be having a mild crush on one of the characters, Ross. I distinctly remember thinking, "I'd love to work on this show. And I'd love to play my scenes with that guy. I'll wait to see what his name is in the end credits. David Schwimmer. Got it.

The next morning, I'm walking on my treadmill while eating a Krispy Kreme when my agent, Leslie, phones. "Lauren, I have a job offer for you."

"A 'what' offer?" I say, slowing down the treadmill.

"I know, it's been awhile," she says in a dry, flat, tone. Even when Leslie was a fledgling agent, she always sounded like she had seen it all, heard it all, and done it all before. Most people are afraid of her, including myself. "The producers of Friends want to know if you'd like to do a six episode arc on the show starting next week-playing Ross's girlfriend."

I stop the treadmill and nearly trip off of it. "Wait, is that the guy, David Schwimmer?" I say, nearly choking on my last bite of donut.

"Yeah, he's a client of mine too."

"You got me this job?"

"No, one of the producers loved you in The Joy Luck Club. So you want to do it?"

"Well hmm, let-me-think-about-that-for-a second-YES."

"Okay. I'll call you when I have more details. Congratulations," she says as if she works at the DMV and she's calling the next person in line.

"Leslie, this means you're not allowed to call me 'Loser' any more."

"Exaaactly," she says and hangs up.

What the hell? Could this mean what I think it means? This is the break I've been waiting for my entire career. I'm about to become a hip, trendy, great hairdo wearin' Friend. I'm crossing into the mainstream, I'm finally going to be one of the "in" crowd, a popular white girl. Hell, if I play my cards right, who knows? Maybe I'll become a regular on the show and then I'll be a gazillionaire just like them! How could this have happened to me? I better write down everything I did, said, wore, and ate the night I seemed to have manifested this job.

But wait, I've never been on a sit-com before. What if I'm not funny? What if I show up and the producers look at me and say, "Oh, not her. We meant the other Asian girl-geez, they all do look alike." Or "Oh, we didn't realize you were Chinese, we were looking for someone White, and well… younger. What are you 35?" Oh My God, what if they ask me how old I am? I start to panic. Lottery winners often lose every dime they make because their systems can't hold all that abundance. Their brains haven't caught up with their reality. Is it my destiny to manifest incredible events only to screw them up?

By the time I show up for my first day of work, I am convinced I will be fired.

As I sit at a table with the cast of Friends I try to imagine them all in their underwear but this doesn't help one bit. I feel like I want to throw up.

We're in a sound stage at Warner Bros. Studios about to read through the script for the producers and the network executives -- the "suits." They sit in folding chairs directly behind us silently making notes in their scripts. The other contributors to the show -- the costumers, the make-up artists and set designers, sit in the audience bleacher seats. The temperature is about 60 degrees, a strategy to keep the lights cool, and the cast alive and perky. I look around and see the various sets for each scene: the main apartment, Joey's apartment, an airport waiting area, the café. My heart beats a little faster. I cross my legs and squeeze them-- partially because I'm giddy, and partially because I'm freezing.

David Schwimmer sits to my right. He seems relaxed and confident. His large brown eyes slant down at the outer edges even as he smiles. He extends his hand as he introduces himself, "Hey, welcome to the cast."

My palms are soaked with sweat, I give them a quick wipe on my micro-mini blue jean skirt before I place my hand in his. "I'm Lauren," I say, smiling way too hard, my teeth almost chattering from the cold air and my lack of clothing. Why didn't I wear pants? No one can even see my legs underneath this table. Geez, I'm going to have to kiss this person in about an hour when we start rehearsing. What if I faint?

I'm prone to fainting when I get nervous. I just fall down on the ground and leave the planet. I turn away my head to avoid that embarrassment.

To my left is Michael McKean, a guest star for this episode who will play Courteney Cox's boss. He gives me a big toothy grin. His eyes are clear blue.

"Do you remember me?" he asks.

You mean besides the fact that you're famous for Laverne and Shirley, Spinal Tap and about 1,000 other jobs? I crinkle my brow, unsure. I do not have a good memory. I think I may have contracted Alzheimer's at the age of seven. There are whole trips to foreign countries I can't recall, so remembering people's faces and names is pretty much hopeless. Not a good quality to have considering this kind of thing happens all the time in show business. I'm an ant compared to the career of Michael Mckean so I'm going to try extra hard to make him believe that I remember everything about him. I giggle and wait.

"We worked together on the film Man Trouble a few years ago, remember?"

"Of course! It's good to see you again!" I squeal, having absolutely no clue. He seems to be buying it. The 45 minute reading goes well and the room erupts in applause. This is a good sign -- it means I'm probably not fired yet. After a few minutes, Kevin Bright, the producer, says, "Okay gang, good job. We want to tweak the script a bit more, so we'll be breaking for the day. See you all tomorrow." Hmmm, breaking for the day? Maybe it didn't go that well. But at least I didn't get fired today, and I won't have to kiss David Schwimmer until tomorrow. Courteney Cox, her black shiny hair framing porcelain skin and shockingly blue eyes, (is she wearing colored contacts?) is even more beautiful in person than she is on TV. She gives me a small wave and says, "Hey Lauren, we heard it was your birthday today and we all wanted to take you out for lunch."

Did I just become a Make-a-Wish Foundation recipient? Just last week I was standing in the unemployment line wondering if I would ever work again. I'm practically speechless. "Great!" I say.

I follow the cast to the commissary. They chatter on like they are truly best friends. The three girls walk arm in arm down the street. The theme song from The Monkees pops into my head. I used to watch that TV show when I was a kid; I was in love with Davy Jones. A teenage girl rushes up and asks for the gang's autographs. She looks at me as if she's confused, decides I'm not famous, and then runs off. The group starts to walk again and this time, I walk slightly behind them. Why am I acting like I'm some sort of Japanese Geisha girl walking behind my master? I'm a good three to ten years older than most of these guys. I was in The Joy Luck Club and When A Man Loves A Woman. It's not like this is my first job, and yet, I feel like an awkward geeky, loser who's just transferred from a different junior high school.

At the commissary, a private room awaits us, seven chairs ringing a table. Did Courteney Cox call and arrange this ahead of time? How can she be that pretty and that nice? How did she know it was my birthday and why would she care? The table is set with a crisp white tablecloth, fine china and wine glasses. I'm sandwiched between Lisa Kudrow and Matthew Perry. I pick up the oversized menu and clench it so tight I start to get a cramp in my thumb. I have no clue what to say to these people. I concentrate on relaxing my shoulders. They drop about an inch. I put the menu down and shake out my hands.

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