The Old Coot doesn’t get the ‘credits’

I was watching a TV show the other night; as the final scene faded into the background the credits started to roll. A blur of lines! I could pick out a word here and there: Production Advisor, Assistant Production Advisor, Assistant to the assistant Production Advisor. What’s the point? You can’t read it; it goes by so fast. And, even if you can, so what? Are viewers anxious to know who the Assistant to the Assistant Production Advisor was? I doubt it. Unless it was their son or daughter.

But, the credits roll at the end of every movie and TV production. At a blazing speed! It’s as though the names aren’t there at all. It must be part of the financial structure of the industry. “We can’t pay you much if you’re not a star, but we’ll run your name in the credits. You’ll be famous!” Kind of like the banking industry a few decades back. They gave you a new title instead of a raise. With the exception of politicians, I don’t know of any other profession that “runs the credits.” And, politicians do it shamelessly, taking credit and bragging about funding a local project at news conferences, neglecting to mention it’s with your own money.

When the waitress takes away your empty plate and hands you the check, she doesn’t say, “Your meal was prepared by Chef Brian Lovesky with assistance from the sous chef, Barbara Downey. Bobby Anderson chopped your vegetables, defrosted the steaks and put together your salad. Tommy Conlon will be washing your dishes and Jimmy Wilson will be bussing your table and moping the floor. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if they went in that direction. The waiters (and waitresses) already tell you their name and that they’ll be your server the minute you sit down.

The medical industry also has a foot in the door, in the “credits” game. You meet with your surgeon before you get your gall bladder taken out, so you know he’s on the list of performers. And then, over time, you’re introduced to the rest of the cast. A month later you get a bill from an anesthetist who claims to have knocked you out, then another from a Doctor you never met, who says she read your x-rays. The lab that did your blood work and a few other folks send you a bill and take credit for their role in your surgery. It makes you wonder how they all fit into that little operating room. But, the nurses and the rest of the people involved in the surgery get no credit. I guess they get a title. And the poor orderly who helped you into bed and the aide who made sure you were comfortable through the night, they don’t even get a title.

Anyhow, I think the whole concept of ending something by rolling credits is lame! And, by the way, This article was written with the assistance of copy editor, Marcia; distractions were provided by Roosevelt the cat, who made me forget the point I was trying to make here; wake up service was provided by the garbage truck that comes down Ross street with screeching brakes every Monday morning at five-thirty, getting me up and working on the week’s Old Coot article.  

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