Monthly Archives: September 2007

Fitting

For the past four months I’ve been working with a production company in an attempt to get a TV pilot I wrote (http://home.comcast.net/~boundandgags/facade.htm) some interest and things were going as well as things like this go. Not being my first time at the dance, I had my moves down and you’d be hard pressed to know I was pretending it was exciting.

In the end, they went with another project. They chose to go with a half hour sitcom set in a bar. Groundbreaking, I know. But so much of this business isn’t about quality (and I’m not insinuating the sitcom they chose is bad. I’ve never read it but these guys do have a good ear for dialog so I have to assume it’s pretty good) it’s about fit and comfort. Like loose fitting jeans or a seizure controlled by thorazine.

Sure, I was disappointed but I’m also disappointed my dick doesn’t touch the ground unless I squat really low. So, as you can see, it’s all a perspective thing. I moved on and took my next call.

This one was from a guy who asked if I’d come over to look over some potential work for his company. Being a whore and needing the work, I said yes. But when I got there it seemed his daughter had a school assignment to interview someone and he didn’t think I’d mind.

I’m sure by the guy’s expression he could see I did. I know it wasn’t the kids fault but 1) I hate being brought into something under false pretenses 2) I like to be prepared for everything I do so if she had to pay a little for her father’s idiocy, so be it.

I know it may not seem like much to talk about myself but when I think I’m going to work I’m in a different mindset then getting interviewed. Things like this have happened in the past and I never react well. I have no idea why people feel they have to try to pull things over on me. It never works out to their advantage. Plus, with the news I got earlier, I’m not in the mood for tom foolery as you’d imagine.

Before we sit down I could see the guy was shitting his pants. He realized, too late, it may get ugly. I was pretty monosyllabic and not giving the kid (around 11-13 – I know, I thought that was very tall too) much. I’m pissed, not in the mood for subterfuge and asked if we could do this over email. Of course, that wasn’t an option. Having tried to be nice I now just want out.

And the kid gives me a slight opening. I didn’t know it was an opening at the time but it shut just as quickly as it opened.

“Are you working on anything new?”

“Yes,” I responded. “I’m working on updating the songs of world war two. For example, I’m changing Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree (With Anyone Else But Me) to Don’t Sit Under The Anus, Steve (With Anyone ‘Cause It’s Gross). I don’t think you’re old enough to hear what I have in mind for Minnie The Moocher.”

The guy gets up and begins shutting us down. I smile, for the first time since I’ve arrived, as I stand I say,

“I’m going for a Shel Silverstein with tourette’s thing.”

“Okay, Chris has to go.”

I shake the kids hand and tell her if she has any other questions to send me an email. I turn to the guy and tell him if he ever pulls a stunt like that again the therapy bills for his family and the next generation will bankrupt him. Heeding my advice and attempting to halt any further ugliness, he gave me $100 and promised to avoid me with impeccable accuracy.

Finally, I got home. It was good to know my disappointments from here would be few. I’d have the chance to see my girlfriend, pet the cats, open a beer and head out to the yard for an hour or so of yard work.

It’s good to keep active and actually accomplish something on a day when things haven’t been going your way. Besides, with a lawn mower roaring and my headphones on, I can’t hear anyone complain. Or sneak up on me as it turns out.

It wasn’t too startling but it did cause me to snap out of my thoughts (I was thinking that hookers could sell sluttery tickets. Buy a ticket, scratch it off, and whatever turns up that what she’ll turn out. Perfect for sex addicted gamblers! See? Many of my thoughts should be snapped out of). My neighbor wandered over to say hi. I like Norm and enjoy catching up with him.

He’s just come from his air conditioned house so is crisp and comfortable. I, having spent the last hour wandering up and down the hillside, was moist and itchy.

“You’re sweating,” Norm informs me.

“Nah,” I respond moving the mower around a flower bed. “My body’s crying. It wants to be inside watching the ball game.”

After a few minutes of pleasantries I go back to and quickly complete my task. I stand there surveying the yard and feel good that I could accomplish something and reap the benefit immediately.

I put the mower away, grab a cold beer, head back to sit in the yard with my feet up and contemplate my day. It’s quiet and can give you time to reflect on your life. Sure, I didn’t sell my scripts but, you know, I got to be in the game. I got to be heard. I got a bunch of people to sit around a table and talk about something I created out of thin air.

I’m sitting there not being disappointed for the first time in a few hours. Even without the sale I’ve accomplished something. To trudge through page after page; tweak and pound phrases until they ring true; then, finally, complete it. Yeah, there’s nothing to feel bad about.

And that’s when I felt it.

Plop. Plop.

Two ripe, moist, disease filled mounds of bird shit covered my chest.

All I could do was laugh. At least it wasn’t the bullshit I was just voiding. It just goes to show, even after you’ve done the best you can, even if it’s mowing the lawn, those in charge will still find a way to shit on you.

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Turn The Other Cheek

I was running around the building when I was approached by a woman who wanted to put a business card on the bulletin board. We have boards for folks to do just that so I pointed her in the correct direction to accomplish her task.

We, of course, reserve the right to pull down things we find objective. It doesn’t happen too often but it does. Just last week I pulled down a handwritten one that said:

Adult Movies
VHS and DVD
Swap or Sale
Call Al 781-322-guesstherest

Most of the time they sneak it up quietly and I pull it down just as silently. But sometimes it spirals out of control. And that’s what happened with this woman.

She reaches the boards and looks around before putting up her card. That should be the end of our interaction but, as you’ve no doubt guessed, she felt the need to begin pleasantly conversing with me. As pleasant sounding as I’m making the conversation sound my ‘something’s not right’ alarm went off.

It wasn’t her manner, her unfailing cheerfulness, it was something more incongruous than that. She was gently probing for my opinions on life. Not being someone prone to telling strangers my favored brand of toilet paper I was fairly incompliant about if I was for or against life. I asked if she had any requests more towards the area of my business and this is when I knew I was in for a ride.

She smiled, tsked, and shook her head sadly.

“I’m only asking about your beliefs to see if you are a Christian man.”

“Well, if by Christian you mean I don’t covet my neighbors wives, then, no. But, if by Christian, you mean I don’t kill, again, no.”

Usually in conversations such as this that is considered a closer. I have a very high close rate with people like this. A Mormon once approached and asked if their invisible man in the sky was my dude.

“I don’t believe in you so what chance does something I’ve never seen have?”

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t covet my neighbors wives (that’s my story because they read this) and rarely have the chance to kill. But I can see how things happen.

I also don’t jam my beliefs under anyone’s schnoz and probably wouldn’t answer with mine anyway. I don’t care what yours are so only think worse of you if you care what mine are. Beliefs, be they religious, political, or rooting, are best left like colostomy bags. Hidden and emptied in private.

But this woman wouldn’t accept my belief that she should move on. See? Why bother people with your beliefs? They don’t listen anyway.

At this moment I took the opportunity to wander to the bulletin board. She’d placed a card for a counseling service for girls who are searching for options once they, to use an antediluvian term, are in ‘trouble.’

We’ve had these cards placed on the board before and always remove them. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care which side of the vacuum you’re on, we’ll pull from either side. If I don’t want your opinion personally, what chance is there I’d want it in my business life?

I hold out the card and tell her we prefer not to have religious, political, or sports team based signage in our establishment. I stand there smiling waiting for her to take her card. But, again ignoring my wishes, she pulls flyers out of her bag.

“I bet you wouldn’t say that if you knew what these young women went through.” She holds out your average hell-fire and brimstone, dangling fetus, pained verbiage flyer. “And that’s before they go to hell for what they’ve done.”

I turn the flyer face down on the counter.

“Ma’am,” I say gently proving to the people who think I flip out and rip into people without due process that I do indeed pause before the evisceration. “If I don’t want you to leave a simple business card what chance is there that I’d want that flyer visible to anyone who’d walk through the door?”

I still have a smile on my face. You see, even though I do not care about your opinion, being a person who makes a living saying things, it is only right that I defend the rights of all to say whatever they want. But I don’t have to hang around to listen. Not that this woman agrees.

“I can’t believe a Christian man, such as yourself, would object to helping young women remain on the righteous path.”

Did anyone hear me mention my religious beliefs? I didn’t think so.

“Lady, the only Christian Zell I’ve ever heard of was a nazi from the movie, Marathon Man.”

I give her a second so her blood reaches a full boil before continuing.

“Now, please, if you do not have any question pertaining to this business, vacate the building.”

It’s always good to take the heat down once you’ve reached a boil.

The woman stands there, face down flyer under her hand, staring.

“I bet you’ve been responsible for placing women in jeopardy, haven’t you?”

Have I not established myself as a person who will not answer personal questions? I let this attempt to engage go and remind, again, if she has no further business with us, she is free to leave.

“You’ve paid for abortions, haven’t you?”

“Hell, in my 20’s I was in the abortion of the month club. It was a pretty sweet deal. On my birthday I got to run the Hoover!”

The heat increases proving I often don’t listen to my own good advice.

The woman is now waving the flyer at me calling me all sorts of things that have been said about me before. I’m not listening. I’m actually watching the flyer as she waves it. It’s always good for me to have something to focus on when I’m being verbally assaulted. Gives me something to do. Outright ignoring is often boring.

I must have had enough because I reach out and take the flyer. This has a calming effect on the woman. I only realized she stopped making noise because I could hear the radio. I look at the flyer, back to the woman, to the flyer again.

“Hey,” I say holding the flyer next to my face. “Does this look like me? Seriously, I think there’s a resemblance. This could be one of mine!”

I know I often say things people feel go over the top but, boy, this woman sure thought that one popped the top of Vesuvius. She goes on a tear reminding me of all the horrible things that await me once I reach the bowels of hell. Then she adds a new twist to your average living in the bowels scenario,

“The children you’re responsible for killing will rip your flesh for eternity.”

“The little things with no teeth? Clinched hands? Not a problem. I’ll just bat them off.”

At that, the woman begins wailing. She’s crossing herself. Saying things. A little flyer waving. I’m standing there watching this performance happy that, finally, I found something that would make her pack up and go away.

Of course, it wasn’t a smooth exit. She had to predict my impending and quickly approaching death in a manner even more horrific than the creature featured on the flyer.

Now that doesn’t sound too Christian, does it?

But I smiled and turned the other cheek.

“And may you step on an infected needle on your way to buy condoms.”

Of course, when I turn cheeks they’re usually ass.