A director was out on location when, oh dear, he ran out of cocaine. He called the studio
and asked them to send him some right away. The studio said that they were paying him a
million dollars for his services so he could damn well find his own drugs. He went into his
dressing room and refused to come out until somebody brought him some snort.

But this location was far from any major metropolis where a drug dealer could be found on any corner,
so a whole day went by and no work was done. Then two days. Then four days. At $350,000 a day,
the studio was none too pleased. They sent a representative to the location to try to work something out.

Unfortunately the representative was not informed as to the real reason the director was holding out,
so he was stunned when his serious discussion with the director in his trailer was interrupted by a breathless
Mexican who burst in,  dumped an ounce of coke on the table, saying "Hey man, I got the stuff."

The indignant studio rep stood up and said
"What the hell are you doing? You can't bring that stuff in here!"

The Mexican, who had been expecting praise, not a reprimand, said
"Oh? Okay," and casually brushed all of the cocaine off the table onto the floor.

He and the rep thought the director was kidding when he clutched his chest and fell to the floor.
He wasn't.
The sight of all those beautiful crystals floating to the floor was too much for him
and he had a very real heart attack.  He was taken to a local hospital.
Shooting was held up another two weeks while he recovered.