Some shoots start with a call time.
This one started with a problem.
I was supposed to bring my 1966 red Chevy Impala out to Blauvelt for a shoot with Jollibee. And if you know Jollibee, you already know this wasn’t just some quiet, low-key production.
Jollibee isn’t subtle. It’s bold, colorful, loud in the best way. It’s the kind of brand that built a global following off pure personality—crispy fried chicken, sweet spaghetti, and a giant smiling bee that somehow became one of the most recognizable mascots in fast food. What started over in the Philippines turned into something way bigger, and now when they show up somewhere, it feels like an event.
So yeah… this shoot mattered.
Except for one small detail: it was raining.
And my convertible top? Not exactly built for weather like that.
Driving it wasn’t an option unless I wanted the interior soaked before we even got rolling. So now the mission changed. This wasn’t just a shoot day anymore. This was logistics.
I rented a trailer.
That’s when it really turned into a day.
Hooking up the trailer, loading the car, strapping everything down—it already felt like I was transporting something way more valuable than just a car. Which, honestly, I was. You don’t rush a ’66 Impala. You don’t cut corners with it either.
And because this is New York, towing comes with its own rulebook. No local roads. No shortcuts. Just expressways.
Rain still coming down. Gray skies. Spray kicking up from trucks flying past.
And me, hauling this bright red piece of history wrapped up and covered like it was headed to a reveal.
It actually felt weirdly fitting.
Jollibee’s whole brand is built around this big, almost cinematic energy—bright colors, nostalgia, feel-good chaos. And here I was, moving this classic car through a storm like it was about to step onto a stage.
Like I was delivering something to a production that didn’t do anything halfway.
The drive itself? Slow. Careful. Constantly checking mirrors.
Every bump feels bigger when you’ve got something like that behind you.
But there’s also something kind of surreal about it. You’re in this regular, messy, rainy New York traffic… and behind you is a perfectly preserved slice of the 1960s, just waiting for its moment under lights and cameras.
Eventually, I pulled into the studio out in Blauvelt.
Rain still hanging around. Crew already moving. That quiet kind of controlled chaos that every production has before things really start rolling.
And you could feel it even before anything started, this wasn’t just another shoot. Jollibee doesn’t really do “ordinary.” Everything they touch has that extra layer of energy to it.
We unloaded the Impala, and just like that, it went from cargo… to centerpiece.
My job, at least for that part, was done.
Pickup day was a completely different story.
No rain. No stress. Just one of those nights where everything lines up perfectly.
I got back to the studio, and there it was the same car, but now it felt different. Like it had just finished its role in something bigger. Clean, dialed, ready.
And this time, I didn’t need the trailer.
I dropped the top, fired it up, and drove it home.
No cover. No straps. No expressway restrictions. Just me, the car, and the road at night.
After spending all that time protecting it from the rain, towing it like it was fragile, it felt right to just let it breathe a little on the way back.
There’s a whole other side to this, the behind-the-scenes, the production, the final commercials, but I’m holding that back until I get the green light.
That’ll be a different story.
This one?
This was just about getting there… and getting back.
GEAR
Link To ALL Gear – https://www.amazon.com/shop/jaybelsky