Day Walker Talker

Alright, so some of you have emailed me asking why I stopped writing and when could they expect their next post? I’ve been so swamped with work and a personal project I didn’t even realize I began neglecting you faithful followers. So for that I apologize. There has been a lull in my blog material because I’m working on directing and producing a short film that I wrote back in the summer. I will post it on the blog once it’s completed in April, but in the mean time since you’re hungry for humor…I’ll blog the script idea for you now:

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Josh sits at a crowded Manhattan bar, he’s well dressed but uncomfortable in his own skin. He pensively looks around the bar at the other patrons, every so often shifting his gaze toward the front door. He’s waiting for someone. After the bartender, who’s a friend of Josh’s, comes over we learn he’s on his first blind date. Pete, our bartender, offers Josh some typical chauvinistic advice on how to handle the pressure cooker of dating. Regardless of how bad this advice is, Josh has little time to act on it because his date walks through the door like a goddess. She’s way out of Josh’s league and now his nerves have shot from a 6 to about an 11 in a matter of seconds. He even contemplates leaving the restaurant all together. But she is way to beautiful to walk out on.  

Laura, a stunning blonde sits at a table by herself sipping chardonnay. After a few minutes elapse, Josh musters up the courage to approach her. He’s like conversational quicksand though and fumbles over most of his words making for a very awkward first impression. Laura senses this, and begins having fun with him by dropping sexual innuendos and taking control of the conversation. Josh’s innocence somehow is attractive to Laura and, once they’ve gotten past the pleasantries of the introductions, the date is going quite well. Almost to well. Josh senses he may have a shot at a second date, and is nervous that he’ll blow it. His stomach begins emitting inhuman sounds. He tries to subdue them by drinking faster. Eventually it’s gotten to unbearable that he has to excuse himself and head to the mens room.

When he’s standing at the urinal, and is confident there is nobody in ear shot, he decides it’s fair game to release some of the gas he’s been fighting most of the night. He lets out a thunderous fart that ends with a rather disconcerting sound. He has accidentally shit himself. Upon inspection of his suit pants it has leaked through his boxers and a brown stain compliments the charcoal gray material. In a panic he locks that bathroom door and begins scrubbing his pants feverishly, afterward holding them under the hand drier to quickly get back to Laura who’s probably thinking of leaving at this point. The wash and dry didn’t do much, and Josh is about to cry. Suddenly a light-bulb goes off in his head…There is a J.Crew on the corner. If he can somehow sneak out of the restaurant, he can dart down the street and buy new pants making Laura none the wiser. So he sets his plan in motion, creeping out into the dining room, cautiously watching his table. Once Laura is distracted he darts out of the restaurant and sprints to the J. Crew on the corner.

Bells chime as he barrels through the door. The salesman behind the counter can’t even greet him before Josh grabs the nearest charcoal suit and throws it on the counter. “Would you like to try that on first sir?” asks the smarmy salesman. “No, I’m in a hurry just ring it up please,” Josh says. The salesman rings up the suit and starts bagging it. He tells Josh the total, and Josh realizes he hasn’t got the cash to pay for this whole suit and dinner. He tells the salesman that he’s a little short on cash right now but why doesn’t he pay for the pants now, and he’ll return tomorrow for the jacket. “Very well,” the salesman says. He beings rebagging while Josh hands the man his money. “Do you have a bathroom? or a fitting room?” The salesman informs Josh that the bathroom is strictly for employees only but the fitting room is in the back and is occupied. Josh grabs the bag and hurries out the door back toward the restaurant.

Once he’s snuck past Laura for a second time he locks the bathroom door behind him and channels his inner Clark Kent. He tears away at his pants, quickly removing both his slacks and his boxer shorts. He stares at the soiled clothing in disgust. He survey’s the bathroom, plotting his next move. A window! He opens it wide and tosses the pants and boxers out onto the streets below. He’s almost out of this…He’s calmed down and knows he’s gonna make it now. He smiles for the first time all night.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Josh, are you okay?” Laura asks from beyond the door. “Yeah, be out in a sec!” he yells. He tears away at the J. Crew bag removing the garment inside. His eyes widen in horror…

The salesman gave him the jacket.

I sat behind the desk of an absent co-worker inquisitively scanning his office walls. Somewhere deep down I knew what had just transpired could only happen to me. The week had been miserable, but somehow here in the aftermath of absurdity I found myself at home. Maybe there is a reason these bizarre things happen to me. Maybe I was put here to navigate through life’s shits storms only to come out on the other side unscathed, ready to take on the next bizarre hurdle thrown in front of me. Or maybe I’m just an unlucky son of a bitch.

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3 hours earlier

It was a typical morning. I arrived at my office about 5 minutes late because the barista at my regular Starbucks refuses to have my order ready—despite the fact I’ve ordered the same drink everyday for 3 years—and I refuse to show up five minutes earlier to ensure I get to work on time. Once I settled into my cubicle I went through my morning routine, first tearing away the previous days page on my “2012 quotation calendar” and queuing up today’s inspiration which came in the form of one of my favorite people, Bill Watterson:

              “I find my life is a lot easier the lower I keep my expectations.”

I pondered it for a moment. Did I expect today to be any different than yesterday? Did I expect the annoying woman to my right to not break a bottle of perfume over her head before she arrived completely polluting the atmosphere of my well kept cubicle? The answer to my queries was obviously, no, and the bitch walked in reeking of patchouli blossoms and lavender accents a few minutes later to solidify this notion.

A quick tangent for a moment. Like most people, my cubicle is a manifestation of my passions and interests. It’s a universal interior design commonality that people design their cubicles/offices to embody the things most important to them (photos of family and loved ones, sports memorabilia, humorous anecdotes, etc). So when I escape into a birds eye view photo of Yankee Stadium, envisioning the atmosphere of a ball game to escape work only to be brought crashing back by the smell of ten dollar flea market perfume applied by a garden hose you can imagine how destructive it can be to cubicle feng shui.

Next I look at my computer itinerary, I’ve got to interview a prospective intern at 11am. I look at my clock, it reads 8:15. I grab the NY post and read whatever salacious bullshit it’s printed today while I drink my coffee. Once the clock strikes 9 I dial my interviewee’s number. We’ve spoken via phone 3 times already and have a fairly good repertoire, I’m not at all concerned she won’t show but I”ll give her a reminder none the less. I’ve got an extremely deep voice, so she has no problem discerning who has called. We speak briefly, I tell her where the office is located and we both are looking forward to meeting each other (only one of us is being honest and it’s not me). 

Despite my love for my 7x7 foot work space, it’s not ideal for 2 people. I cannot conduct this interview here. So I dip into my bosses office, informing her of my situation. My colleague A.J. is out of town and I’m given access to his office at the other end of the building. A.J. is one of the nicest African American’s I know and his office is beautiful. The mischievous side of me now wants to pretend the office is mine. After all, the prospective interns are all within my grasp age range, and being that they’re fresh out of college would probably be more attracted to a working man with a corner office in a Manhattan high rise then the normal drunk frat boys they’re used to. It doesn’t take me long to convince myself that I’m telling this girl the office is mine and I begin actually looking forward to meeting this girl.

At 10:55 on the dot my telephone rings. It’s the receptionist informing me that Kelly has arrived and is ready for our interview. “Keep her in the lobby for a minute, I’ll be right out,” I say authoritatively. I keep her on ice a few minutes, I remember going on interviews when I first got out of college and began thinking to myself how many of the assholes I’d met had actually done what I’m doing now?

I walked into the lobby a few minutes later to see an attractive young woman sitting on one of the couches. She’s wearing a puffy Eskimo jacket and has large hoop earrings. She looks very “thuglife.” I make eye contact with her as I walk across the room. She looks at me pensively as I extend my hand.

DayWalker: Hey Kelly?

Kelly: Yes, hello I’m here for an interview with DayWalker.

DayWalker: Yeah that’s me. You ready to head back?

Kelly: Oh…

DayWalker: Everything okay?

Kelly: yeah, yeah it’s fine. You’re just not what I was expecting that’s all.

DayWalker: Well what were you expecting?

Kelly: Well to be honest…I thought you’d be black. You have a real deep voice on the phone and I thought you’d be a black guy.

The receptionist spits her water out in shock. I don’t know what they’re teaching kids in college these days but this has to be commonsense in the interview process. I laugh though, I mean how often will you hear something like this? Plus I can tell she’s very uncomfortable and I feel bad. “Oh don’t worry, I get that all the time,” I say. “I was actually Denzel’s stunt double in Man on Fire.” She laughs as we walk around the office exchanging pleasantries. As we approach A.J.’s office door I realize I’ve forgotten her resume at my real desk. Being the quick thinker I am, I open the office door and let her in. “Make yourself comfortable,” I say, “I’m just gonna grab a coffee, can I get you anything?” She declines.

I run back around the office to my desk and grab her resume laughing at the audacity of this chick to tell me she thought I was black. I take another look at my quote calendar, I guess I should lower my expectations for the youth of America. When I open the office door, Kelly is sitting there looking at the office walls. I sit down behind the desk.

Kelly: This is a nice office.

DayWalker: Thanks.

Kelly: Is this autographed Bob Marley album real?

A.J. much like myself, has designed his office in a state that’s representative of his passions. His African American heritage. I begin scanning the walls as Kelly does. An Obama “Hope” poster, a Martin Luther King Jr. “I Have A Dream” plaque, African Masks, Muhammad Ali fight cards, an autographed photograph of Oprah, and a signed Bob Marley and the Wailers album. Kelly is now staring at me with a very incriminating gaze. A gaze that says she thinks I pretend to be black on purpose. I get back to her resume and try and navigate through this.

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There I sat, staring at the walls taking in the African culture. The interview had ended…it didn’t go well. But then again, what the hell was I expecting? The phone began to ring…I thought for a minute..Should I?…No Daywalker, no you shouldn’t. I got up and walked out of the office, laughing to myself as I exited.