2008–2011: Writers’ Strike & Depression
I thought I’d get paid more after the writers’ strike because that’s what me and my bedazzled Writers’ PAs are the backbone of the industry! signs were for. But a bunch of writers’ PA jobs were cut, so I had an important decision to make: move back to my parents’ mansion in Bethesda or dumpster dive for Subway sandwiches near the Santa Monica Pier. So, dumpsters it is!
A fellow PA was living in the UCLA library, and he got me the hookup by the film criticism section. If you’re wondering why the André Bazin book is so musty, it’s because I used it as a pillow. Then I got depressed. Because what kind of person is happy living in a library and eating from a dumpster? Unless you’re wildly in tune with yourself and thinking, Well, at least I’m still alive, in which case—you can fuck off. Thank you for your positivity, Reese Witherspoon.
Reason for the gap on my resume: MFA in Directing from UCLA
2012–2013: Dog Sitter for a Breaking Bad Writer
I’m back in the industry, baby! Well, sort of. I was picking up dog shit outside UCLA when a writer (unnamed due to an NDA) said, Hey, if you like doing this for fun, want to come dogsit for me? Also, do you have any friends or family who care about you? It was a fantastic job and absolutely zero red flags in sight! And I got to sleep in an actual house: his pool house!
I got fired after I lost his dog at the beach. I think it drowned. You’re probably thinking, You had one job, but if your final exam was worth 100% of your grade, would you ace it? No way! Too much pressure. Just like not getting his dog killed was too much pressure.
Reason for the gap on my resume: Writer’s Assistant for a Breaking Bad Writer
2014–2020: CAA Mailroom Trainee → Assistant → Agent
The best way to get hired at CAA is through nepotism, so I changed my last name to match the CEO’s. When HR called the CEO, Fichard Bovett, to verify, he said I was his daughter. I was shocked he went along with it, but apparently he’s had enough clubbing nights to lose track of his offspring.
One day, Fichard called the CAA mailroom where I worked as a trainee. His son had just become an agent, so he needed a new assistant and asked if I wanted the job. I was thrilled to be working for my father! Well, fake father. And Fichard said there was room for growth, like his son, as long as I handed over every penny since we’re family. It didn’t sound entirely legal, but I knew I’d find another way to make money.
Several years later—and after dog sitting for an Orange is the New Black writer (this time I didn’t kill the dog)—Fichard promoted me to agent.
On March 13, 2020, as I settled into my new desk, Fichard burst in screaming. He said that a man claiming to be my father called to congratulate me on my promotion. Donald Trump declared a national emergency on TV. Fichard threatened to sue me for everything I was worth for lying to him. I said I was worth nothing since he took my salary, and he screamed some more. I asked if I was fired. He said I was not only fired but would never set foot in Hollywood again.
That seemed more aspirational than a threat.
Reason for the gap on my resume: CAA Agent
2020–2021: COVID-19
I got pandemic unemployment from CAA, but it wasn’t enough for rent, so I started couch surfing on the Warner Bros lot. One day, a casting director found me asleep on the Central Perk couch. She said that she was looking for a heroin chic Greta Gerwig and I fit the role. I said, What a coincidence! I’d just done heroin at the Annie orphanage set on Hennessey Street. She laughed and said I was funnier than Greta. Take that, Greta Gerwig! I asked if I was prettier. She shook her head. She said that Sydney Sweeney would be playing the beautiful role. I’d be playing her ugly, heroin-addicted sister. Fine by me! I would just have to find a boyfriend another way.
I found one the next day at the orphanage.
Reason for the gap on my resume: COVID-19
2022–2023: Sydney Sweeney’s Heroin Addicted Sister
The movie was a hit! And I was nominated for an Oscar but lost to someone younger.
My boyfriend asked me to get him some roles. I said he had to work for it like I did. He said I didn’t even work for mine—I just got lucky. I threw my fake Oscar at him, which I made when I didn’t win, and he bled to death.
On May 2, 2023, I got a call from my old boss and fake dad—Fichard Bovett. He said he heard about my murder trial and wanted to help. Not legally, but with a movie deal. He said Hollywood loves a good rags-to-riches story—not because it ever actually happens, but because it gives people just enough false hope to move to LA and become assistants. He thought my story could really sell and wanted me to write it. I asked if he felt guilty for firing me. He said he didn’t remember ever hiring me—just found my number in my Instagram bio. Said that was stupid and that I should get an agent. I suggested that he be my agent. He said that wasn’t a bad idea. Then he hung up.
I opened Instagram, deleted my number from my bio, and saw a post from a PA I used to work with—still a PA. The writers were on strike again. The movie deal was off.
Reason for the current gap on my resume: Writers’ Strike
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Darcy Cagen is a writer, filmmaker, and ex-Hollywood assistant now based in Chicago. Her short film Francis Bacon has screened at film festivals worldwide, including the Palm Springs International ShortFest, PÖFF Shorts (Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival), and IFFBoston. She has the top Letterboxd review for Class (1983), starring Rob Lowe and John Cussack.