The Problem With Being A Broom

Hello there.

My name is O'Riely and I am a broom. I've been a broom for as long as I can remember, twelve years or so if memory serves. The vast majority of that time I have spent propped up against the wall in a utility cupboard in Sheperton Studios which is a place where films are made just outside somewhere called London. I have it on reliable authority that things haven't always been this way. Long ago I wasn't a broom. I was in fact part of something called a tree, two trees actually, but I have no way of verifying this. I can only ever remember being a broom. If I was ever anything else then it wouldn't have been me so I don't remember. Obviously.

I've had a decent enough life. I can't really complain. I share my cupboard with a few friends. Well acquaintances really. There are a variety of other cleaning implements and products who reside here with me in my cosy little nook. They can't talk like I can. They don't have free will, the capacity for rational thought, or a soul. I pity them sometimes but they can't help it so that's okay I suppose. I often spend many hours talking to them. They can't talk back but fortunately I'm capable of imaging how they might respond in any given circumstance and answer for them. I like talking to a water heater the most. His name is Luther. He hates being a water heater and wishes he was a broom. I can't blame him really.

One of the primary advantages of being a broom is the fact that every so often I get to leave the utility cupboard and embark on a tour of Sheperton Studios. Something Luther is incredibly jealous of. There is a janitor who accompanies me on my travels. His name is O'Riely, although we are not related. I like it when we do the rounds together. He is the only person I talk to who can talk back to me. Well he's someone who doesn't talk back to me using my own voice at any rate, which is a refreshing change. He has free will, the capacity for rational thought, and he has a soul. We discuss a variety of subjects. Often O'Riely will ask me for advice about Mrs. O'Riely. I often dispense invaluable guidance which he is most grateful to receive. One probably wouldn't think that a broom would be much use when it comes to offering advice about affairs of the heart. Well I am.

I'm also great at sweeping. Or I should say being used to sweep. I tried it on my own once but fell over. It was most undignified so I didn't try it again. These days I'm happy to wait for O'Riely to come and collect me. He's an expert sweeper. Who I am to try and go it alone when I have someone who is so proficient at his art on hand to manipulate me so effortlessly? I always think it's important to know your limits. Luther would do well to heed this advice. He's always going on about how he wishes he was a broom. I wish he would stop being so idiotic. He's a water heater. Nothing more. Nothing less. He should know his place in the world.

A while back something remarkable happened. O'Riely was using me to sweep up some sweet wrappers, paper, a biro lid and dust on one of the sound stages when a man appeared and asked if he could borrow me. Initially I was a little perturbed. No-one apart from O'Riely had so much as touched me in the best part of a decade. More over I was a little shocked at how easily O'Riely relinquished me to this stranger. I was carried down a long corridor and taken onto another sound stage. The place was a hive of activity. There were people everywhere busying themselves with a variety of tasks. Now I'm no expert but going on what O'Riely has told me in the past it appeared that these people were making a film. There were cameras everywhere and I know what a camera looks like because there's an old broken one back in the utility cupboard called Jim. The man who had been carrying me handed me to another man who seemed to be dressed just like O'Riely. But this man wasn't O'Riely! What on earth was going on.

For the next three hours the man who was dressed like O'Riely but who wasn't O'Riely
walked back and forth and used me to sweep the same patch of floor over and over again. I initially concluded that this man was surely a buffoon. The floor was clearly clean. There was no need for repeated sweepings. Then it occurred to me. The man who was dressed like O'Riely but who wasn't O'Riely was part of the film. All the cameras were pointing in his direction, photographing him. Immortalising him for all eternity. Immortalising me for all eternity. What a thrill.

After the day's filming had concluded, O'Riely eventually came to retrieve me from the sound stage and returned me to the utility room. On the way back I asked him about the film. He told me that the man using me to sweep was just an extra. There had been some sort of fowl up with the props department and they required my services to complete the scene. I think it was definitely for the best. Of all the brooms they could have potentially used I'm sure I was the only one that had a soul. I'm sure I brought something to the performance that would have been lacking if they had elected to use just a mere prop. I had years of sweeping experience and I think ultimately that came across with my performance.

That night I told Luther all about the days exciting events. He was typically unenthusiastic. I think that he has a huge chip on his shoulder because he is just a water heater. He has no potential to be anything else other than a water heater. Certainly not a broom. I on the other hand had found a new calling. I felt I wasn't fulfilling my potential here in the utility room. The world deserved to see me, and I was determined to find a way to make it happen.

In the subsequent weeks I spoke to O'Riely about it. He disappointed me because he seemed to think that my previous appearance was something of a one off and it was unlikely to be repeated. I told him that it was nonsense to think in such narrow minded terms, and requested that he ask around to see if there were any roles that I could play. He seemed reluctant to oblige me, so I offered him an ultimatum. I told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't help to secure me a role in another film, I would cease giving him advice about how best to deal with Mrs. O'Riely. We both knew that without my trusted counsel his marriage would fall apart. This prospect terrified him, and he enthusiastically set about finding me a part.

Some time later I found myself in front of the camera again. This time however I was just propped up against a wall in the background of a scene. I immediately saw what had happened. O'Riely hadn't actually spoken to anyone about my career. He had simply snuck onto a set and deposited me at the back of the frame. Although I was caught on camera and immortalised, I felt it was in many ways a step back from my previous film where I had played a much more active role. This annoyed me, so in retaliation I started to give O'Riely advice that would be detrimental to his marriage. I told him if he wanted me to tell him how to appease Mrs. O'Riely he would have to work harder.

More weeks passed. I spent a lot of time talking to Luther about my acting career. He refused to come round to my point of view. He said that he was just a water heater and not a broom. He said that I was just a broom and not an actor. He told me that we should all know our place in the world. Hogwash! It's true that he is just a water heater and can never be anything more. But I have a soul, and free will. I can be whatever I want to be. It is wrong for him to try and impose his limitations onto me. When will he understand?

Shortly afterwards O'Riely came to me and said that he had been having words with one of the directors. He had suggested that I could be used in a fight scene, where the hero is fighting four other men and has to improvise and use whatever is lying around to fend them off. He asked if that would suffice. I was most pleased and thanked him for his efforts. On the way to the film the scene, I asked O'Riely if he wanted me to give him some more advice about how best to deal with Mrs. O'Riely. He said that he didn't need any. He said it was time he stood on his own two feet and stopped asking a broom for guidance. He said he didn't think it was necessary to talk to me any more, and that he needed to grow up. He said that he would never forget the time we spent together, but he wanted to talk to someone who had their own voice. He needed to talk to someone with a soul, and with that he deposited me on the set and left. I didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. It didn't matter, I had my big scene to prepare for.

I wish that obtuse water heater could see me now. Stupid contraption, he's just bitter because he's a soulless waste of space who can't even talk. He can rot in that utility room for all I care. Immortality beckons for me, and this time I will be taking centre stage. I've fulfilled my potential. I know my place. I'm an actor, perhaps the finest ever to grace the silver screen. The director yelled action. The big fight scene burst into life. The hero picked me up and started swinging me at his attackers with grace and composure. I looked fabulous. Everything seemed to be going well. Then it happened.

There seemed to be a slight miscalculation on behalf of the actor who was wielding me. He sent me crashing across the back of one of his assailants and suddenly without warning I snapped in two, sending splinters flying across the set. I fell to the ground in pieces. I can't remember what followed. I can only ever remember being a broom. I wasn't a broom any more, I was two pieces of broken wood. I wasn't me so I don't remember anything else. Obviously.