A Pontiac and a Porsche are poised to race along the cobbled streets of Mykonos, the party mecca of the Greek islands.
Squashed together as if in a Justin Bieber concert mosh pit, excited fans are gathered on each side of the road and are squealing in anticipation. Ribbons of brightly coloured flags against a cloudless blue sky mark the race track.
One of many bronzed Aussie backpackers in the crowd, I admire the views of the blue-green Aegean Sea within spitting distance of the commotion. For a picturesque seaside town with tight, winding laneways, this is an unusual spot for a car rally.
As the cars start to rev their engines, the drivers exchange fierce glances over their aviator sunglasses.
Suddenly a huge arm-like movie camera zooms over our heads and a booming voice shouts "Cut!". Immediately, the cheers stop.
Earlier in the week, meandering along the island's maze-like streets, my travelling buddy and I spotted posters seeking extras to work on the sequel to the iconic Aussie flick The Wog Boy.
The payment is €100 a day - a fortune to backpackers like us!
Luckily, my friend and I had come prepared. Drama lessons as children meant we were more than ready for our big-screen debut. No need for audition nerves.
All we needed to do was make a phone call and the gig was ours.
So there we were, on the day at 7am with suitcases in tow hoping the shoot would be wrapped in time for us to make the afternoon ferry to the nearby island of Paros.
At that time of the morning, we see the peaceful side of this otherwise frenzied holiday resort.
The sun is blistering by 9am and what little make-up the crew slapped on our faces has started to melt down our best white T-shirts.
Hours pass before we are chaperoned into position to film the momentous car-race scene. We recognise The Kings of Mykonos actors Vince Colosimo and Nick Giannopoulos as they strut past the cheering extras, clad in leather.
An Aussie warm-up guy with a megaphone starts the instructions: "Everyone jump around. Louder, more excitement, bigger smiles!"
Yelling and screaming next to us is Pete the Pom, a veteran of three weeks of extra work, which has given him more than enough dosh to fund his island antics of souvlaki eating, cocktail drinking and beach shack living. "Just act natural," he directs us, as if this could be our Oscar-winning performance.
After a day of mostly twiddling our thumbs, we spy our ferry pulling into the harbour.
Sadly, our stint on screen is far from profitable as we make a dash to catch the boat without that yellow envelope of cash we wanted.
So despite spending our last day in Mykonos perspiring far from the beach, we left knowing we had our 15 minutes of fame.
Unfortunately for our film careers, those 15 minutes were cut to a mere one-second blur.