Crazy ladies on lawn chairs in Totowa, New Jersey

I’ve never been very good at making summer plans. It perpetually seems like the end of the school year is weeks away. My mind is focused on the weather getting warmer, and the end of classes usually consumes my life.

This past semester was a tough one for me. I was returning to NYU film school after a semester of working as a production assistant. I shot my first large-scale student film and juggled classes and an internship. My only thoughts of the summer were spent fantasizing about taking time off from movies in general.

“Perhaps I’ll get a job doing something else,” I told myself. “Something with less stress.”

But when my phone rang and the voice on the other end spoke the words, “Are you free tomorrow? Want to work on ‘The Sopranos’?” I didn’t even hesitate before saying “yes.”

“The Sopranos” is perhaps one of the most successful HBO shows in history; everyone involved has won an Emmy. I remember watching the first season with my mom in high school.

“6:00 a.m. Forty-Third and Ninth Avenue. We’re shooting in Totowa, New Jersey. Don’t be late,” the voice said.

Lying in bed that night, I wished I had said “no.” In actuality I wasn’t really free the next day—I had a final to study for and a study session I would be skipping—but can you really turn down “The Sopranos?” My final loomed a few days ahead, and I was so tired I wanted to sleep for days.

Reluctantly, I awoke at 5:00 and hopped a cab. What happened to a stress-free, non-film summer?

I haven’t worked as a production assistant for a couple of months, but after a few hours on set I fell right back into the swing of things. For most of the day, I was standing outside the ugly suburban house in which we were shooting, keeping the crowds of people quiet.

To the people of New Jersey, everyone involved in “The Sopranos” is a rock star. People show up by the dozens, ready for a picnic, and sit and watch the filming, armchairs, coolers, digital cameras and “Sopranos” memorabilia in their overflowing hands.

My eyes rested on two older women. They were short with frizzy, puffy, bright white hair; they wore loud flower print blouses and gaudy earrings. They surveyed the situation over their hugely oversized sunglasses, saw me looking at them and started to frantically wave me over. I smiled back, awkwardly.

“Is Tony here?”

I shook my head, “Sorry, not today.” It was the truth; James Gandolfini, who plays Tony Soprano, was not shooting on that particular day.

They looked at me for a long time, turned to each other and said in loud whispers, “I think he’s lying.”

I smiled weakly and looked for a chance to get away. These people were obviously crazy. They watched the door to set open and close as people ran in and out with equipment. Every time the door clattered open the ladies would lean forward out of their lawn chairs, raise a pointed finger and tense up in anticipation.

“Is that him? There, over there, that’s him!”

I tried to stay far away from them, but they got louder and louder as the day went on, so I was forced to walk back over and tell them to be quiet. And every time they saw me they would say, “You can tell us. When is he going to be here?”

At that moment, I came to the conclusion that Totowa, New Jersey was a parallel universe and I would be stuck with these people forever. The door clattered again, and again no Tony. This went on all day.

And then there was a moment late in the day after their pointed fingers lowered with disappointment, after seven hours of waiting, when the two ladies gave up. They finally believed me; Tony Soprano was not coming out of that door.

They started gathering their things in melancholy slow motion. And I actually started to feel bad.

“Sorry,” I said, and then smiled again, my first genuine smile all day.

They perked up, “It’s okay, we’ve seen him bunches of times.” The other one: “We just can’t wait for the new season.”

I waved and watched them disappear into the distance. Silence finally.

And then I heard it—the clatter of the door.

Strange, how I also hoped to turn around to see Tony Soprano. Maybe he’s walking down the front steps right now, making his way over to say “hello” to the fans.

He just might be. Stranger things have happened. I learned something from those two crazy ladies in lawn chairs and at this moment I won’t trade my summer job for the world.

[Zachary Stuart-Pontier is currently in Chicago working for several weeks on the Mark Forester film, “Stranger than Fiction,” starring Will Farrell, Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson. This column will alternate with “At the Movies,” by Ian Pugh.]