Some mornings rolled smoothly, starting with my first cup of coffee on the way to my car to the fifth or sixth cup at my lunch break, when I’d already dealt with all the major complaints and problems of the day. Other mornings took a decidedly more bumpy path. Then there were the, thankfully, rare mornings with catastrophic, or, at the very least, life changing potholes thrown into the mix. But this morning’s wasn’t a detour I’d seen coming, and I could only blame myself for not paying better attention.

I skimmed through the day’s script to the two highlighted lines. Skippy the Dinosaur or Ted, a middle aged man whose grumpy demeanor outside of the big, green felt costume would have scared even the bravest kid, had complained that two of his lines didn’t sound like something Skippy would say. He’d insisted, as producer, I needed to look into it.

A knock pulled me from the script. Jimmy, the head puppeteer, poked his head inside. “Becca, we’ve got a problem.”

“Come in, Jim. I can’t hear you over the clatter in the hallway. Why is there clatter in the hallway?”

He stepped inside. “Everyone is running around looking for Spike.”

“Spike? The puppet, or Vic, the voice of Spike?”

“Spike, the puppet.” Jimmy, who could descend easily into a panic attack, fidgeted with the keys on his belt.

I stood up from the desk. “Take a deep breath, Jimmy. I don’t have time for one of your breathing into a paper bag sessions today. Then, tell me just how a dinosaur puppet managed to walk off set.”

Jimmy’s thin shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to help. He continued to finger the keys, a large collection that were the center of his day because each one belonged to a trunk that housed one of the famous dinosaur puppets, the artfully crafted characters of the Skippy the Dinosaur morning show.

“That’s just it,” Jimmy huffed, “I thought I’d carried him out to the set. He has a part in the first scene, so I made sure to take him out right away.” He took a few short, frantic breaths. I raised my brow at him in a silent warning not to hyperventilate.

“Then I’m sure he’s somewhere on the set. I’ve got to go over the script, Jimmy. I’m sure you’ll find Spike. Or just pull out the replacement puppet for today until the original trots back onto the set.” I sat down and took hold of the script again, satisfied that I’d solved the problem.

Jimmy stood over me, still fidgeting with the keys and now adding a shuffle to his feet. “The replacement is out for repairs. One of his horns ripped off when I was taking him out of the trunk.”

I lifted my eyes to him. “Then, I guess you need to find Spike.”

He swallowed hard. “We’ve been looking for at least an hour. Filming is at a standstill until he shows up.”

“Well, shit, Jimmy,” I started to go off on a rant but stopped when it seemed that was all it was going to take to push him over the edge into a full scale anxiety meltdown.

I skimmed the script for Spike’s part. “There are only a few lines, and they sound like something that Percy could say. I don’t see Percy in this scene at all. Tell Kelly to switch the lines to Percy.”

Jimmy remained frozen to the spot.

“What?” I asked, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice.

He fingered the keys. “It’s just that—well, Percy is sort of mild mannered and Spike, well, he’s kind of badass. I don’t think the two are interchangeable.”

I blinked at him.

Jimmy took a few steps back. “I’ll go get Percy.”

“Good idea. And find Spike. He couldn’t have gotten too far, his feet are made of felt for fucksake.”

Isabel, my assistant, pushed past Jimmy as he scurried out. “One of the advertisers, Gardener’s Insurance, is on line one. He’s not too happy about the fact that his ad got cut off two seconds early.”

I was still perusing the script as I spoke. “Did you explain to him that it’s the network’s fault and not the show’s?”

“Tried to, but he rudely told me that he didn’t need to be lectured by an assistant.”

My face shot up. Isabel had changed her hair color, yet again, and the constant quest for just the right color was slowly turning her hair into a ball of frizz. “What an ass. I’ll talk to him.”

She turned to leave but stopped. “Oh, and the florist is on line two. Something about the bridesmaids’ bouquets. My dress still needs to be altered,” she added. “Makes me look like I have no boobs. Which, of course, I don’t, but your wedding guests don’t need to know that.”

It was moments like these when I wished Nate and I had just run off to Vegas to get married. “Anything else?”

“Nope. Oh, except Nate wants you to call him the second you have a chance.”

“Great.” I waved her out as I took a deep breath and picked up the phone to deal with the angry sponsor.