Producer Pockets

Have you ever played the game “What’s in your pocket?” Me neither. Well not until I spent five weeks in Iceland producing Bokeh. It all started at the end of Day 1 when I came back to my apartment and proceeded to empty my five jacket pockets of their contents and took inventory of the day.

From the moment I set foot on the ground in Iceland, I began collecting valuables: car keys, pass codes, a dinky Icelandic cell phone, Icelandic króna, a walkie talkie, apartment keys for five Airbnb apartments… and all this added to the preexisting essentials of my iPhone, extra cell phone battery, chap sticks, a permanent marker, head phones, an emergency granola bar and a USB car cable (because Icelandic radio is a bit of a mixed bag). As the days progressed, hand sanitizer and cough drops were added to the lot as team members fell under the weather from the long hours and ever-shifting climate. 

Not only did I find intriguing content in my own pockets, but as things went missing (car keys were often the victim) my role morphed from producer to detective as I sleuthed out the items that found their way into the pockets of my fellow crew members. Between moving cars in and out of scenes, to filling up empty tires and gas tanks, you never quite knew who was holding each set of keys. Whether I silently slinked around set as the cameras rolled and mimed to crew members to empty their pockets, or stood in the middle of a parking lot and made a PSA that it was time for everyone to play “What’s in your pocket?” I became fairly familiar with what people carried. A critical component of this game is ensuring everyone checks all of their pockets: jean pockets, coat pockets, vest pockets, breast pockets and the classic inside zip pocket. Everyone was flying so fast that things often were tucked away mindlessly. And you’d be surprised what ends up in pockets unknowingly. We were.

On Day 36 I realized something very important was missing from my pockets. That moment came at 12:30am when the sun was setting beautifully over the bay and I heaved the last bag of trash into the dumpster only to have it teeter precariously on the edge, splashing trash au jus directly on my face. Despite driving with windows down all the way home, the decomposing vinegar stench was inescapable. I would have paid hundreds, maybe even thousands, of króna in that moment could I have reached into my pocket and pulled out some sanitizing wipes. 

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