I was Britney’s bitch for a day. And when I say “Britney’s bitch," I mean Britney’s bitch’s bitch (like maybe three levels of bitch down from Britney).

I was a production assistant (glamorous) on a Britney music video (won’t say which one, I signed an NDA).

And I’m going to be honest, it was a revelatory experience. Never did I think going on a run to get frozen yogurt would teach me about my personality, my endurance, as well as my values, but it did.

6:00 a.m.

The day began with Brit’s manager scorning me about a broken generator; hot water wasn’t happening and Brit needed milk washed out of her hair (so relatable).

So boom: day starts out on the wrong foot.

12:00 p.m.

I'm sent on a run to get 12 cake pops, of varying flavors and colors.

While at Starbucks, I get a text from one of B’s people. The text says: “Britney NEEDS frozen yogurt at 6:00 p.m., you need to have it done.”

And I think: "Yay, an opportunity to show Britney I’m worth something!"

4:45 p.m.

Another text, equally cryptic: “Plain tart. PB. Hot fudge. NOTHING ELSE!”

(Note: I am weirdly into how direct these texts are....)

5:00 p.m.

I leave. An hour should be plenty of time for some plain tart and toppings. Right?

Wrong.

5:15 p.m.

I’m at TartBerry, feeling good and on time. I walk in, ask for some plain tart, the dude gets it. Then I ask for some PB and the TartBerry dude is like “WE DON’T HAVE THAT! We've never had that.”

Straight up, f**k TartBerry.

5:20 p.m.

Luckily! There’s a place across the street. I pop on over. Walk in. They have plain tart. They have hot fudge. But they DON'T HAVE PEANUT BUTTER!*

*Note to frozen yogurt joints: Peanut butter is not a niche toppic! Stop playing us!

5:30 p.m.

I Google it and the nearest place with peanut butter is 3 miles away! I call ahead to double check on the PB. They have it. But it's quite a drive at 5:30 p.m. in West Hollywood — Los Angeles drivers, you feel me.

But I go.

5:35 p.m.

I drive like a maniac! Red lights are suggestions, I switch lanes as easily as a river flows and I could just turn of my speedometer because it means nothing to me.

5:45 p.m.

I arrive. I walk into Toppings, and of course, there are children everywhere.

But I wade through and get the yogurt. I walk right back out and run to my car.

^ My level of urgency. In this moment, I feel a connection to Britney. Hooray.

5:50 p.m.

Now it’s a mad dash back to location to get Brit her 6:00 p.m. froyo. I enter the location into my GPS; my arrival time is 6:05 p.m.

5:53 p.m.

I’m receiving ANGRY texts about the froyo. “When will you be here?” “What’s your ETA?” Your career depends on this froyo, Myles!”

So obviously, I perform the most dangerous, riskiest driving known to man. Tanner Foust (famous stunt/race car driver) would've been like, “Damn.”

5:59 p.m.

I knock four minutes off of my arrival time. Swag!

But there’s a line of traffic in front of the street to turn on. I see an opportunity. All I have to do is cut into oncoming traffic (no cars were coming) for like a second, get to my turn faster and boom, I’ll be good. One thing: the turn is on a blind corner.

A definitive moment in my life — do I risk my life for a task or do I receive punishment from Britney’s people?

I learn that I am a do-or-die kinda guy. I go for it. The scariest four seconds of my life (!) and I was once one click from sending a nude to a group chat.

Sorry mom.

6:01 p.m.

I arrive. I scream at the angry parking attendant “I NEED TO PARK HERE THIS FROZEN YOGURT IS FOR BRITNEY F**KING SPEARS! JESUS!!”

I sprint inside, hand it off to Britney’s bitch’s bitch and success!

And what does she say?

“Where’s the spoon?”

I stumble for words, I messed up. But her bitch’s bitch says, “Meh, there are probably spoons downstairs. Thanks.”

“Thanks.” "THANKS." That was all I got.

WHAT DID I LEARN?

I have never felt so much stress in my life, EVER, and I took the SAT (three times).

I risked my life.

There are people in Syria risking their lives fighting for freedom and human rights, and I risked mine TO GET FROZEN YOGURT TO BRITNEY SPEARS.

So lesson: when you’re in the thick of life, take a step back and question what’s important in life, because I almost guarantee you it is not Britney Spears’ frozen yogurt.