A Bat-Signalesque distress call (wait, wrong superhero universe) beamed from my cell phone at 2:23 AM on a night in August, the screen reading ‘DAD.’
“Are you awake? Change and put some shoes on. We’re leaving soon.”
After receiving the call from DAD, I scrambled out of bed and grabbed everything one would take from a burning house. I thought we were evacuating. My half awake brain convinced itself that the fog in my mind was smoke in my room.
Nearly tripping down the stairs with a duffel bag, I ran outside to our driveway where my whole family sat, relaxed, seats buckled.
“Why the bag?” My dad asked as if a phone call in the middle of the night very totally normal. “We’re just going downtown where I can show you guys The Avengers set. Working late night security behind the set has its perks.” He paused. “Oh, and it’s also going to be chilly, so bundle up." I text Claudia, a good friend and solid team player who lived down the street and asked her to join me in an effort to reaffirm this was, in fact, reality.
By 2:30 we all head downtown on the shortest and most jarring road trip the Gorseks & Co. have taken. After we park, I tip my imaginary cap at the parking garage cop in a fleeting moment of entitlement and walk toward the set of the acclaimed superhero movie, where Public Square was dressed as a beer garden in Stuttgart, Germany accessorized with German street signs. A green German police car on set lay in the street like a turtle stuck on its back. Just in front of the cameras was Tom Hiddleston, the Norse god of mischief himself, near Terminal Tower that disguised itself as the Stuttgart Museum. Then I heard something that I imagined was only in fairy tales; the director yelled “Action!” Silence. We were so within reach of the movie magic makers that I felt I could read the script a crew member was holding:
Fade in:
Ext. STUTTGART GALA - NIGHT
Strutting out of the Stuttgart Museum, Loki wields a sceptre that glows with the Tessaract. He struts slowly as a crowd of people back away holding hesitance and fear in their clutch bags and wine glasses. Police cars speed to the scene, but Loki BLASTS them with his sceptre, flipping one over. Really though, a small silver cylinder of compressed gas lets loose under the car, overturning the helpless piece of metal into its turtle position as it grinds against the street pavement.
LOKI
Kneel before me.
I mean, it might have read something along those lines. The time crunch to put my contacts in during the evacuation scare left me to the mercy of under prescribed glasses (and later a quick Google search to find what Loki actually says).
The scene ended after the compression tank erupted, where demolition crew members hustled quickly to work and makeup artists touched up Hiddleston. While the scene began to steadily come back together for a shot retake, I noticed several high top tables just out of reach from the camera’s eye, all fully set for dinner with silverware and condiments. My eye wandered over a bell jar with yellow text on it that if I squinted hard enough read something in German. It shone with the shimmer of an Oscar (albeit more speckled), an award for Cleveland, Ohio from Hollywood. It burned brighter in the night then the lights framed around the set. It became a prized possession, despite not possessing it. It stood on that table, taunting me, with the only obstacle in my path being a small metal bicycle barricade that separated The Avengers from us commonfolk.
Sixteen years old and snagged by endorphins, I snuck my way over to the round bar table, not without being caught by my dad, who followed suit with my shuffling and got close enough to nudge my shoulder but say nothing. I continued moving. He stood back. He watched the set rebuild itself while sneaking a glance at me every now and then. Makeup artists continued their work on Hiddleston’s face, while a costume designer readjusted Loki’s villain headdress (a golden helmet with elongated horns) that slid forward off his face after shooting his scene. With all of the cameras on set pointed everywhere but myself, opportunity propelled its way between me and what I would find out was mustard.
I snatched the condiment jar and slid it in the pocket of my hoodie. The next time you watch The Avengers you can rest easy knowing the show went on with one less bottle of Kühne German mustard. I’d like to thank the Academy, God and Jesus and et cetera, my family, and of course, my fans! None of this would have been possible without you!
It lay, occasionally rolling around in my pocket with each step I took backwards until I reached my dad and eventually the rest of my family. No one said anything. My mom, wanting a little bit of the silver screen for herself, held her iPhone up in perfect view of the security guards and took a video of the set. My twin sisters stood behind her watching the filmed footage. Immediately aware that three's a crowd and a crowd could cause issues, my dad snatched the phone and tried to yell just barely above a whisper.
“We’re leaving, before I get in trouble for bringing you here.” I hugged my sweatshirt to reassure the mustard still existed, and the six of us left the set, Loki still being touched up, with a mustard-less bar table. The parking garage held only a few cars, as it was reserved for those working security on set, and the cop who I greeted before no longer stood against the garage wall. My phone read 3 A.M.
We piled into the caravan, with not a soul knowing but my own about the mustard. My dad dropped Claudia back at her house.
"I'm hungry," Katherine told the car, "is there any place open?" Her twin sister gave an agreed grunt.
"That 24 hour McDonald's is, the one on 150th, but I'm not super hungry." I joked.
"Oh, you'll eat. A cheeseburger does sound really good." My mom chimed. Soon, we all began talking about our hypothetical orders, including the driver.
Katherine's gaze shifted to my hands near my stomach.
"I want McDonald's!" The ever more vocal of the twin duo, Victoria, proclaimed. My dad said nothing but passed our house. I looked down at my sweatshirt. Soon.
Did you know that two cheeseburgers, a ten piece nugget, a McChicken with no mayonnaise, three Cokes and two lemonades (all larges because life is short), and a hot fudge sundae costs around $10 at McDonald's? Who knew the second steal of the night involved a stellar deal at Mickey D's?
"Check the bag to make SURE everything's in there." Sorry, Mom, but there was no time to waste.
"Oh, they didn't give us any ketchup packets, and Katherine got no sauce for her nuggets." I said, but it was too late. We drove off, heading home.
I'd like to thank the Academy (again), God and Jesus and et cetera (again), and The Avengers' crew workers.
We pulled into the driveway.
I stumbled into my long awaited declaration but still managed to say it. "Uh, I have mustard you could use." It was then I triumphantly pulled the glass jar from my pocket and held it like a game show assistant modeling the contestant's prize.
"Mustard from what?" Victoria asked.
"Tony, you better tell me that isn't from the set. And you yelled at me for filming? How is that fair!?" I gave the jar to my mom, who continued to ramble.
"I'm sure Dad can drop it back off and say I took-"
"What? Don't do that. Then we wouldn't have a real prop from The Avengers. We have to keep this someplace where it doesn’t go bad.” …alright, Mom.
We walked through the door, McDonald’s bag in my sisters’ tow and mustard in my mom’s hand. A second dinner took place at 3:36 A.M. where I recounted the story of the Kühne mustard as my family passed it around the table. Its sleek glass passed around by everyone, who mostly traced the shape of the lid in disbelief. No one in my family eats mustard, but by the time we arrived at our house that didn't matter. The night, now nearly 4 A.M. revolved around us, the McDonald's, the mustard. We talked, laughed, and passed around the unopened mustard until the sun went up. No one in our family but my mom likes mustard.
Right now, my mustard medal sits nestled next to a jar of local jam in my parents' refrigerator, seized and shining.