I had a rather interesting if not unlikely career. Trained in philosophy, employers weren’t exactly beating down my door to hire me when I entered the job market. But, as luck would have it, computers were just starting to become commonplace in business environments when I was looking for my first job (1990), and I had not only studied but excelled at logic and semantics, two interrelated sub-areas of philosophy that deal with meaning and reasoning which also happen to form the basis of all computer languages used in programming. So I fell into coding which is what I spent 3/4ths of my working life doing.
But toward the end of my career I was given a promotion and a project far removed from the world of bits and bytes. I was given the task of managing the building of a new multi-story office and studio facility for my company. It’s not like I had any experience (or interest) in construction, and I initially turned the project down. But the “big boss” said I’d been chosen because I had a reputation for getting things done, keeping things on or under budget, and was known for my meticulous – some called it “obsessive” – attention to detail.
I was openly gay and well known as the office poof. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy had just debuted on Bravo that July (2003) and became a surprise hit; on the program, which essentially was an unscripted “reality TV show,” each episode featured a team of gay professionals in various fields (including interior design/decorating), known as the “Fab Five,” who would perform a makeover of a heterosexual, or, as they called it, a “make-better,” at the request of the heterosexual guy’s girlfriend or wife. This involved redecorating his apartment or house.
So when my boss’ assistant told me, “you really can’t turn this project down,” I said, “I’m really not qualified and I don’t know why he’s asking me… did he see Queer Eye and he thinks I can do that for him and the new building?” Ron, my boss, was nothing if not persistent and I eventually relented, but not before negotiating myself a fancy new title – Vice President of Facilities – and a big bump in salary with profit sharing… I’m not as innocent and uninterested in all that as I look(ed)!
The next three years of my life were about “the building.” It was officially called Project 250 (after the street address in Burbank), but everyone, and I do mean everyone, referred to it as “Matt’s Homosexual Palace,” a moniker given it by Dave West, the head of post-production SFX/DIA editorial for television.
It was a massive project with a multi-million-dollar budget, and the scope was, at times, overwhelming. We started with nothing, literally, not even power, or water – this was not a “make-better” to use Queer Eye’s parlance, it was a “make.”
As we approached our hard open date of July 2006, there were seven different divisions and the executives heading them slated to move in, which totaled approximately 200 people, but I was terrified I’d forgotten something. I stayed up until the wee hours of every morning creating spreadsheets and checklists to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything: everything from the number of reams of paper needed for fifteen photocopiers to the hot and cold beverage selections and snacks for the cafeteria.
The ”opening” was set for a Monday. Employees in those seven divisions who would now work out of 250 were told to pack their belongings into specially marked boxes in their old locations. Over the weekend, movers would move everything into 250, with each box delivered right to where that person’s new workspace was. That bit of choreography was challenging, to put it mildly, but I was aided brilliantly in designing and implementing it by my two assistants, Stephen and Derrick. Post-production is an equipment-heavy enterprise, so we had three engineers onsite to ensure everything was working correctly once transported and put in its new location. We worked non-stop until midnight Monday morning of opening day.
The dignitaries gathered at 9AM on a small dais next to a ribbon that had been strewn across the stairs leading to the main lobby – my boss Ron, the chairman of the board of our parent company in France, the mayor of Burbank, the heads of Disney and Warner Brothers, the other two major studios in town, the IATSE (International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees) union president, the police chief, and me. It was, perhaps, the hardest task I encountered over the previous three years – sourcing those giant, oversized, ceremonial scissors used for ribbon cutting ceremonies – but when the time came I handed them to my boss and the mayor, the ribbon was cut, and everyone entered the building. I was beaming from ear to ear.
I retreated to my office in the northwest corner of the fourth floor, where I was joined by some friends from corporate. My staff had arranged a little celebration there which included champagne and shrimp with cocktail sauce (one of my favorite things in the world – the shrimp that is!). I was experiencing a mixture of great pride in the accomplishment and relief that “the build” was over. Speech! … Speech! … Speech! those who had assembled in my office chanted, and I obliged them by thanking everyone for three years of tireless and dedicated hard work, professionalism, team spirit second to none, and meticulous attention to even the smallest detail that I had come to expect not only of myself but of each one of them.
My phone rang. Mary, my longsuffering secretary, answered it…
“Matt Wilkinson’s office…I see, yes, that is a problem…he’s right here, do you want…oh, okay, I’ll tell him.”
Mary hung up my phone and turned to face me. All the color had drained from her face. The room fell silent. With a nervous forced smile, she spoke…
“Remember how we used to laugh and say we’re going to miss something stupid? Well, that was Ron.”
I snapped, “oh for fuck’s sake Mary, out with it, what did he say?”
“Yah, he told me to tell you he’s sitting in his office with the mayor in a building with 200 people in it and not a single trash can.”