[ WP ] The director of the newest Marvel movie decides not to give Stan Lee a cameo because it would be too much hassle . Stan Lee does n't take too kindly to this - and neither does anyone else .

You ’ d think being an intern at Marvel, house of the heroes, would be great. Spoiler alert: it sucks. I learned that about two weeks ago, barreling through the halls balancing a pyramid of doughnuts and a tray of coffee for a meeting that I couldn ’ t even stay and watch. “ Top secret business ” my ass. The new director they ’ re bringing in is a total prick-OK, he made a movie that made some old white people cry enough to give him an Oscar-but other than that, the dude is exactly what you ’ d expect the combination of Ivy league school, pretentious artist, and tons of money to make. 
 
 Now, carrying a platter of pastries and fruit, I ( yet again ) hustle down the carpeted hallway, careful not to drop a single grape. When I get to the door, it ’ s closed. Fuck. The meeting ’ s already started. I have two choices-go in, overhear something, and risk my job, or wait by the door until they take a break in forty-five minutes. I check my pockets. I have my phone. Outside it is. 
 
 I sink down into the corner of the walls next to the door, swiftly unsheathing my phone from my pocket. As I press my finger over the home button, the wall on my back thuds. Damn, it must be getting heated in there. Three more thuds. Someone ’ s banging on the walls. Then, I hear the faint traces of a shouting match. 
 
 “ He said every movie Marvel makes… ” 
 “ …it ’ ll delay production by at least a month… ” 
 “ CGI is already behind… ” 
 “ …wouldn ’ t be right… ” 
 “ …fans would riot… ” 
 “ …too much work, it ’ s not worth it… ” 
 
 I know I shouldn ’ t be listening in, but I can ’ t help but wonder at what they ’ re talking about. Suddenly, the door swings open, nearly smacking my shoulder. I see the director storm out, tie flying over his shoulder, papers in his wake. Behind, him, a round table of men in suits, gaping at the door, I pick up my platter, hustle in before the door shuts, and nudge it to the center of the table, being careful not to make eye contact with anyone at the table. 
 
 “ Hey! ” 
 
 Shit. They ’ re talking to me. I look up, hesitantly, and make reluctant eye contact with my boss, who asks me, “ We need fan input. The director thinks Stan ’ s cameo isn ’ t worth a pushed-back release. Do you think we should delay production a bit to make sure Stan Lee ’ s cameo is in there and done well? ” 
 
 Holy fuck. They were talking about Stan ’ s cameo. They ’ re considering not doing it? “ Stan ’ s cameo is needed for a Marvel movie to be a Marvel movie, ” I said. “ I ’ m sure if you talked to Stan, he ’ d make the director see the light. ” A silent room. No one says anything, they ’ re just all looking at me, like I am the screen and they are in the theater, eyes fixed on me, shocked. I ’ m not sure what I ’ ve done, I ’ m don ’ t know what to do, so I step out, and run. 
 
 Three weeks later, the whole company is invited to the limited premiere of “ Black Widow ”. I take my seat next to my fellow pastry-carriers, and settle down. I am looking for Stan. Natasha is out of Russia. Still no Stan. She beats up bad guys. No Stan. The movie ends. No Stan. Credits. Then- 
 
 “ In loving memory and honor of Stan Lee-a true superhero ” 

