Hairy Dick Payload
Before the days of caller ID and star sixty-nine, the telephone guaranteed anonymity. Those of us born in the seventies or earlier have fond memories of searching the phone book for listings with such unfortunate surnames as Dick, Cumming, or any combination of letters involving the word “butt.” Any citizen given the unfortunate combination Harry Dick by either cruel or clueless parents anticipated at least one prank call a week, their only retaliation to hang up amidst a torrential gale of juvenile laughter screeching through the receiver. The Harry Dicks of 1970s and 1980s Lincoln, Nebraska were tormented mercilessly by my friends and me during many late night slumber parties. As far as we were concerned, a Harry Dick who dared answer the phone after ten o’clock at night was asking for it. A Harry Dick in the phone book was the ultimate payload.
The party’s over. Caller ID removes the anonymity necessary to torment the unfortunate Dicks, Cummings, and Buttmans. Still, instead of improving, phone etiquette has deteriorated. Perhaps this is due to our multi-tasking society, too busy to be bothered with pleasantries.
* * *
1978
“Hello?”
“Hello! This is Jack Schneider. I’m a friend of Lucinda’s from her chemistry class. Is she available?
“I’m sorry. Lucinda’s sitting at the table with her family for dinner. May I have her return your call when she’s finished?”
“Certainly, thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted. Have a good night.”
“No bother at all. I’ll tell Lucinda you called. Good night.”
* * *
2008
“Hello?”
“Mark?”
“No.”
Click.
Considering that one’s name and phone number most likely appear on, and are recorded by the receiving phone, it’s surprising we’re all not a little nicer to each other.
* * *
In my office we’re a happy bunch. We celebrate birthdays. We cover for each other when we need time off. We’re pleasant, courteous, even eager to help the students calling Continuing Education to enroll in such non-credit classes as Cake Decorating, Container Gardening, and Beekeeping. Usually, students enrolling in our classes are functioning with a fairly low stress-level. One should not become hostile at the discovery that Holiday Cookie Icing is full, or that they’ve missed the enrollment date for the E-Bay tutorial. To overreact would be embarrassing. Still, we know who you are. We have caller ID.
You never know when a good day will turn. I stare at the caller ID screen in horror.
“Shit! It’s Carrie Meadows!”
My boss, at the next station, tells me exactly what she thinks.
“Don’t you fucking dare roll that shit to me. I had to deal with her yesterday.”
Elsewhere in the room my co-workers voice their discontent.
“I refuse to ever speak with her again.”
“I’m taking my lunch.”
“Carrie Meadows can fuck right off.”
Knowing there’s no way out, I answer with the intention of killing her with kindness. Surely, when met with my calm, polite, and helpful manner, even Carrie Meadows can be subdued.
“Good morning, Continuing Education. This is David. May I help you?”
Already shouting, Carrie starts in.
“David, you say?”
“Yes, that’s correct. How may I help you?”
“D-A-V-I-D, correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct. May I help you enroll in a class?”
“What’s your last name, David?”
“I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to release our last names. I’m the only David in this office, though. If you need to reach me…”
“Whatever. I want to enroll in the Effective Interpersonal Communication class that began three weeks ago.”
It’s laughable, the courses and seminars Ms. Meadows enrolls in: Effective Sales, Customer Service, Positive Thinking. I imagine her shrieking profanities at her instructors while throwing cups of coffee, pens, and handfuls of change in their faces. Still, I am going to kill her with kindness. I boldly continue.
“I’m sorry, but the instructor will not allow registrations three weeks into the course. Fortunately, there’s another one beginning next week. Would you like to enroll in that section?”
“That doesn’t make any sense, David.”
This is the Carrie Meadows tactic. She either argues the policies, or pretends not to understand. Usually she doles out a combination.
“Doesn’t make sense? Well, at this point you’ve missed six of the twelve classes, literally half of the course. The instructor does not want to slow down the rest of the class because of late enrollments. Rather, she’d like students in your situation to enroll in the next offering. Fortunately, as I mentioned, there’s another one starting next week. I’m more than happy to…”
“That doesn’t make any sense, David.”
“I’m sorry. I think we have a bit of miscommunication. The course you’d like to enroll in began three weeks ago…”
“I know. I want to enroll in it. Enroll me in it. Isn’t that your job? Why don’t you stop talking and just do your job. Isn’t that what you’re paid to do, to help me, David?”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I am here to help you. Fortunately, I’m able to offer you the exact same course beginning next week. That way, you won’t have missed half of the class. Unfortunately, I’m unable to enroll you in the course that’s already half over.”
“I want to enroll in the class that started three weeks ago, David.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t enroll you in that class. The instructor does not allow late enrollments. Instead, she prefers students who want to enroll late to enroll in the next section, like the one starting next week.”
“I don’t understand, David.”
“Well, the policy is…”
“Is there someone else I can talk to, David? It is David, right?”
At this point, every one of my co-workers has found reason to leave the office. I forward Carrie to my supervisor’s voicemail, as I’ve done time and time again. It makes no difference. I’ll talk to Carrie Meadows again within the hour. She’ll remember my name, and she knows my number.
Somewhere in Lincoln, Nebraska, Harry Dick laughs out loud, puts his feet up, and pushes another pin into a voodoo doll. I am certain of this. Harry Dick, my payload indeed.
For Your Love – Part One
Life Science. Seventh Grade. Back left corner.
Jennifer: [singing] You must be my lucky star.
Later, same year. Vicky’s birthday party. Qanzas and ten seventh grade girls. An electronic..chord progression? (not quite) emits from MTV in the adjoining room.
The Girls: [high pitch, perfectly unison, running to TV] Maaaaaah!
I follow, curious. It’s a white set. The three dancers are wearing black fishnet. The one in the middle is singing. You must be my lucky star. Jennifer from Life Science is a nasty, shallow, vapid…and deeply mean girl. She (apparently) loves this woman. I hate Jennifer, ergo I hate this woman. My lucky star? I must be? Fuck. You.
Reader Poll
First off, I’m sorry I’ve been absent. I do love you. I’m just trying to keep my head above water in school. December is coming.
Speaking of coming, I want to know which title is funnier.
Hairy Dick Goldmine
or…
Mining For Hairy Dicks
What do you think?
Believe Again
I’m geeking out, big time. Colossal. I’m so excited.
There are mysteries that cannot be solved
Beliefs that cannot be trusted
Events that cannot be explained
And a truth that cannot be ignored
July 25th. Know what I‘m sayin’?
Oh yeah, I survived the week, too. If I can make it through the next one, my plans shall not be curtailed.
As long as Intermediate French I isn’t canceled this summer. Mon dieu, mais non!
See You Soon
I’m afraid I won’t be blogging this week due to the enormous amount of work that landed on my shoulders today. To make it up to you, here’s a Peep on red Fiestaware. Just be careful, they don’t like it if you make direct eye contact.
‘Til Saturday,
Return of the Living Dead Part 5
Easter. Rebirth.
Reminds me of a line from Georgia Rule:
“We can all survive. You just don’t have to be so damn sad doing it.”
Yep. Cheer up. It’s Spring!
I’m Coming Up Man-Size 3
Damn! Spam has reached a new low. According to my in-box, I’m sending myself e-mails about penile enlargement. Seems a little virusey. Time for a system scan. Still, now I’m feeling insecure. I imagine my doppelganger typing e-mails to me from another dimension while muttering, “You could always be bigger.”
And he’s not talking about fame.
And Not a Drop to Drink
I took the week off to chill. It’s Spring Break, see? No classes, not a busy time at work, great week to catch up on sleep, and the reading for the rest of the semester. Today I planned to sleep late, sip a little coffee, then hit the grocery store and the vet’s office while the rest of the world is at work. See that? That’s the view out my front window this morning. The city has been replacing sewer line in my neighborhood. I thought our yard was one of the few to be spared. My false security was dashed this morning. The water is turned off and I cannot shower, brush my teeth, shave, nothing. I sit trapped in my own filth. I’m tempted to grab my watering can and straw hat, work myself into tears and then fly out the front door making a beeline for the guy in the hole.
Qanzas [in full gardening outfit, hysterical]: “My peeeeeeonies! My darling, baby, pretty, pink peeeeeeonies!”
City Worker [in hole]: “Um, I’m sorry, mamn?”
No. Instead I’m going to throw some clothes over my stink, buy a cup of coffee from the espresso bar with a drive-thru, and carry on. I keep hearing of a phenomenon called Portland Casual, guess I can look at today as research.
Killer Chopsticks
Janelle came over yesterday to film a five minute short of her brilliant screenplay. Working title: Killer Chopsticks, though her Master’s adviser insists she come up with something more thoughtful. We’re pretty sure all the thoughtful titles are already taken: Dead Poets’ Society, Atonement, The Legend of Billie Jean…so Killer Chopsticks it is, at least for now. I mean, didn’t people rally for Snakes on a Plane to remain titled as such? Yes. Yes they did.
Janelle’s actor bailed on her at the eleventh hour. “I can’t. My joints hurt.” For real. What a wad. (Note to self: refer to people as wads more often.) Her crew bailed, too. Wads! Thus, as well as filling the role of writer and director, Janelle became the entire crew. I know what you’re all wondering, what you’re chomping at the bit to confirm, on the edge of your seats to see, wiggling, squirming, giggling, tickling yourselves, squealing, could it be? Well slap yerselves with wet pancakes and buy me a shot of Hot Damn because it’s true! Due to the leading man’s joint pain, Yours Truly is the star.
Without giving too much away, a quiet dinner at home takes a devilish turn when a set of chopsticks exact their revenge on their maker. It’s like if Pinocchio turned on his creator in the name of the trees cut down to make him. Hey! How ’bout Child’s Play Chopsticks. That’s thoughtful! Or The Lorax 2? “I speak for the trees!”
It was so much fun. We filmed from 2PM until 11, and it felt like an hour or so. Since it was just the two of us, we could really focus and collaborate, without twenty other opinions to extinguish moments of inspiration. Admittedly, at first it was boring. Filming is incredibly tedious. So much so that I avoid almost any opportunity to work on a film in favor of theatre. Once we had a few scenes down and could view the footage it became a lot more fun. We started to realize we were actually getting it! Janelle’s script calls for a few tricks that neither of us were sure we’d be able to pull off, but I think she captured what she needed, exceeding my expectations tenfold. I can’t wait for the finished product. I think I have her convinced to put it on YouTube. I’ll post the link if she does. That may not be for a few months, though. We’ve got two more scenes to film, and then she’s got a lot of editing to do. Thankfully, she’s a perfectionist.
So, I’m dipping my toes back into the often annoying, sometimes scalding waters of acting. It’s exciting to me because there are bigger projects out there, burbling, churning, and gestating in the ether. Suffice it to say, if you and I have been kicking around the idea of a l’il bit ‘o drama, I’m readying.
The Pictures Are Coming! (Repeat Once)
Finally got a new digital camera, so I can start adding some color to liven up these here white pages. Enjoy this first offering and don’t forget to thank me.
