Monthly Archives: June 2007

Ivy Hope

With all the perky faced people graduating this time of year you had to know companies would be out there trying to grab some cash from these people who think they know everything. Which, due to the amount we were paid to write this ad, proves these recent graduates barely know anything.

It’s a product that helps ease these geniuses into the world by telling them that, although they may not be Ivy League material, (hell, my Alma mater, The Jester Ventullo Comedy College, would give most recent grads I’ve met the squirting flower of rejection), if they use this product they’ll have a shot!

Or one of the myriad of side effects. But that’s not our department so we didn’t give that much thought.

So sit back, peruse the script, chill to the audio track, and watch the video (which we’ll shoot when and only when the check clears):

http://www.divshare.com/download/1028557-db8

FADE IN:

Kid in library with papers strewn all over table.

V/O
Are you bogged down with paperwork?

Kid nods yes.

V/O
SAT’s, admission forms, transcripts?

Kid slumps into pile of papers.

V/O
All because you want to get into a good school?

Kid looks up and nods solemnly.

V/O
Then fret no more young scholar.

Adult walks into frame and pushes the papers into the air.

V/O
All you need is Ivy Hope!

Adult holds bottle of Ivy Hope at the camera.

CUT: Kid lathering up face in bathroom.

V/O
Wash your face three times a day with Ivy Hope and watch your misspent junior year wash down the drain.

CUT: Suds draining down sink.

V/O
Ivy Hope will leave you fresh and desirable to even the most hard-hearted admission officer.

CUT: Kid smiling at camera with a clean face holding up the bottle of Ivy Hope.

V/O
As if your parents just donated a new anthropology wing.

CUT: Long shot of Kid walking down a school hallway.

V/O (rapidly)
Ivy Hope may cause anal bleeding, bronchitis, cankers, delirium, engorged prostate, flatulence, gangrene, hemorrhoids, inflamed salivary glands, jaundice, kidney dyspepsia, leaking ears, memory loss, nostril flaring, optical poptitude, prolapsed rectum, quivering liver, rectal bleeding, stench, throat polyps, uvula shivering, varicose veins, water weight gain, xenotransplantation, yodeling, zoophilia, and, in rare occurrences, death.

Kid reaches the camera smiling while holding up a bottle of Ivy Hope.

V/O
So ask your guidance counselor to make sure Ivy Hope it is right for you.

Kid frown and tosses the bottle of Ivy Hope off camera.

Kid
I think I’ll just go to a state school.

Kid walks off camera as the Ivy Hope logo flashes on screen.

V/O
Ivy Hope. It’s not for everyone.

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Why I’m Not A Morning Person

You may remember the pill-popping tenant with all the ‘back surgery’ I wrote of a month or so ago. Well, she moved out 13 days ago and wants to come back. The joy. So she calls, has a story, of course.

This time, she was hospitalized when her boyfriend (or someone or thing else. Following her staccato stories are too much work) beat her. At 8:13 this morning she came in with a bruised up face asking how things like this happened to her. I’m not in the mood to give chapter and verse so just nod (it’s not like she shuts up for answers anyway) and pull out a lease.

And here is when it gets tiring. We spent some time on the phone negotiating. By that I mean, she’d ask me to bend the rules, I’d say no. It’s not a difficult procedure. You need something I have, we have a set price for it, you give me that amount. By the end, she understood that, when she showed up, she’d better bring $64.

“Can I give you $48 and give you the rest on the first?”

“No.”

Once again, I won’t bore you with the length and repetition of this conversation, but I will tell you it was long and repetitive. By the end, when she knows I’m not going to budge, she’s pissed and is making the angry face at me. I wanted to tell her she would have had to get up earlier to be my first pissed off tenant of the day.

Because that guy started yesterday.
At 5:45PM I was running around trying to get lingering tenants out. I get back to the office at 5:53PM and notice the answering machine is blinking. It’s a tenant who tells me I have to stay open because he’s on his way and wants to move out. He says he’s in Boston stuck in traffic so is about half an hour away.

Traffic. Friday. Boston. Yeah, that sounds like wishful thinking.

In my head I thank him for warning me as I cash out and double up on the herding activity. By 6:01 I have everyone out of the building and am gone.

This morning I knew he’d leave another message. I check the caller ID and he called, telling me he just got there and was pissed I didn’t stay open like he told me (yes, told me). The time was 6:37. This message went on for a few minutes and, for effect, he even banged on the door to prove to me he was just outside.

Now that’s commitment. It’s not enough commitment to plan your day when you know a place is open but you’ve got to give it to him for getting out of his car and punching a building.

This morning, still angry almost 14 hours later, he calls and starts giving me shit. I give him standard ‘person giving me shit for not going out of my way for them’ speech as he rants. At one point he tells me I’ve now thrown off his entire schedule.

“And what if I stayed? Wouldn’t that have thrown off my schedule?”

And here’s where he proved, even though he thinks he’s so special I should feel privileged to hang around for him, he’s just like everyone else when he says,

“That doesn’t matter.”

We go back and forth for a little while getting nowhere. I just sit there and listen as I start to create default notices and he does whatever it is he’s doing just louder than me. I guess he realized arguing with someone who’s isn’t joining in isn’t much fun so he begins to wear out. I explain, once again, that we close at five today. That means everyone must vacate the building before five. There’s a little grumbling again so I make an effort to help him keep some semblance of his tattered schedule.

“And make sure to bring cash. During move outs we accept nothing else.”

He sputters for a few more seconds before asking how much he owes.

“$206.00.”

“I don’t have that much on me!”

“Then you’d better get to the bank.” I start moving towards the phone sensing this conversation is about to come to it’s unholy completion. “And you’d better get a move on. The bank closes at noon.”