We were in the process of filming a scene in the basement of 505 East Seneca. It's an old basement with archaic fire sensors and cobwebs everywhere. Trying to light the damn room, therefore, proved to be a safety challenge as well as a technical one.
We were in the process of trying to figure out why the damn camera wasn't letting enough light through the lens -- ND filter, of all the things -- when CRACK! Something above a light broke, which set off an alarm throughout the house.
The tenants started panicking. We started panicking. None of the equipment broke. Thank Bajeezus, because if I died $13,000 in debt someone else was coming to Hell with me. Paige -- a friend not working on our shoot -- ran downstairs with the fire department on the phone. That was the last thing we needed. We were losing time and money. Yes, I know that we aren't getting paid for this, but... well... shut up!
Twenty minutes later, three fire trucks -- THREE FIRE TRUCKS -- showed up in front of the house. Firemen and firewomen thundered down the stairs in full uniform looking for something to spray. I should have taken a picture of the disappointment on their faces when they saw the alarm going off. It was priceless.
About half an hour later, they all left. So here we were: An hour behind schedule, shaky from a fire that never happened, ears bleeding from the alarm, afraid that our location hosts were pissed at us, and still needing to shoot an entire scene.
Short version: There was no fire, and I'm tired. Is the coffee done yet?
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