You learn to keep your head down in the movie business. Doesn't matter what department you're in. As soon as the s--- starts flying you close your door (if you're lucky enough to have one). So there I was, alone at my desk, trying to figure out how in hell, in the midst of a nasty NBA lockout, we were gonna put actual NBA players in uniforms when the uniforms belonged to management.

Suddenly, I heard Whoopi go off. This wasn't one of those slow builds. Oh no, this was an explosion — a monumental, seven-expletive tirade laced with what sounded like a string of extremely imaginative, quasi-sexual improbabilities about to be committed on said producer, Mark Burg.

I closed my door.

The thing about movie stars ... when they yell at you, you can't yell back. You've gotta eat it. You've gotta take it like the hot-shot producer you are.