True story, no names, happened a few years ago: A big-name actor is being driven out to a location shoot in a rural area with a producer, a p.a. and someone else. The actor has a styrofoam cup with steaming black coffee in his hand. The producer, sitting next to the actor in the back seat, reminds that they’ll be driving on a dirt road filled with big potholes, and that he needs to put a plastic top on the cup or else.
The actor says nothing, but it would be putting it mildly to describe the look he gives the producer as “hostile.” The producer drops it, turns away…whatever.
Ten minutes later they’re into the potholes and sure enough they hit a big one and almost half of the actor’s coffee spills on his lap. Right on his balls. Big dark stain. You can almost see the steam coming off his pants, but the actor just sits there, looking out the window and sipping what remains of the coffee — not a yelp, not a word. Because admitting he was wrong in ignoring the producer’s advice would be totally unthinkable.