Last week, I was working on a little project for a director friend. The storyline was based on the 1960 Jean Luc Godard film, Breathless, about Michel, a smooth-talking adventurer who shoots a policeman.

Broke and on the run, Michel meets Patricia, an American student and aspiring journalist. Patricia is ambivalent but intrigued; she hides him in her apartment as he seduces her and convinces her to fund their escape to Italy.

Patricia learns of Michel’s past when she is questioned by the police, and in a moment of recognition, decides to tell on him.  Before the police arrive, she tells Michel what she did and ends their relationship. Eventually, the police catch him. The scene rehearsed was when Patricia returns to tell Michel she told on him. For me, it was about standing up in the relationship and being the adult in the situation, being decisive enough to know it had to end. She had to move on despite the conflicted feelings and desire for adventure. We played with some child/adult dynamics as well as the conflict.

The work was intense. We rehearsed a lot. My scene partner and I also had an interesting way of relating to one other. While I usually go out of my way to be amiable with my co-workers, in this case we bickered and clashed A LOT. It all started with a “look” he claims I gave him when he walked into our first rehearsal. He said he felt judged. However, the interaction was natural and forgiving somehow. And I intrigued him.

As we spent more time in each others’ presence, we undoubtedly began to joke and fight about relationships, especially since the scene explored male/female dynamics. Our joking definitely fueled the scene, and our director often sat back with crossed arms, amused to watch this interaction.

Things really heated up when this man called me a “Man Sampler.” When I asked him to define that, he said that I judged men before getting to know them and never actually allowed for a relationship to unfold. How could that be? I was angry. I counter-argued.

“Well that’s because they always disappear! That’s garbage! The men are the ones that don’t allow. Are you saying that men don’t ’sample’ women?” I asked.

“Oh, no, they do it all the time,” he said. “It’s a double standard.”

That’s when I wanted to throw something at him. Isn’t that unacceptable? I began to think about this whole sampling business, which is aggravating but kind of true! Every relationship I’ve had does feel like a sample rather than a full meal. But my question is, who is giving the samples? Is the woman taking the men in samples or is she providing herself as a sample instead of seeing herself as a meal? Is the woman, me in this case, giving herself as a free sample rather than a full drawn out meal for which someone waits to have prepared and pays for in it’s entirety?

Perhaps it all boils down to value. More and more I am convinced that some women know their value from the start and are destined Non-Man-Samplers, natural-born chefs I should say, who wouldn’t give their signature chicken dish unless someone planned to stay and sit in the restaurant and pay.

Others, like Patricia in the film, are like the counter workers who can be so easily convinced to dole out samples. Perhaps they just need to more time to learn what’s healthy and what’s not. And hopefully, like her they will wake up and realize that enough time has been put in before the pain has gotten the worst of them. I’m hoping that being a Man Sampler is a status with quick turnaround and often leads to full chef-hood sooner or later.