Day Walker Talker

Was emailed this joke by a buddy of mine this morning.

A woman meets a man in a bar. They talk; they connect; they end up leaving together. They get back to his place, and as he shows her around his apartment, she notices that on one wall of his bedroom there are three shelves covered, with hundreds and hundreds of cute, cuddly teddy bears, carefully placed in rows covering the entire wall!

It was obvious that he had taken quite some time to lovingly arrange them and she was immediately touched by the amount of thought he had put into organizing the display. There were small bears all along the bottom shelf, medium-sized bears covering the length of the middle shelf, and huge, enormous bears running all the way along the top shelf. She found it strange for an obviously masculine guy to have such a large a collection of Teddy Bears, but doesn’t mention this to him, and actually is quite impressed by his sensitive side.

They share a bottle of wine and continue talking and, after a while, she finds herself thinking, “Oh my God! Maybe, this guy could be the one! Maybe he could be the future father my children?”

She turns to him and kisses him lightly on the lips. He responds warmly. They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and he romantically lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom where they rip off each others clothes and make hot, steamy relations. She is so overwhelmed that she responds with more passion, more creativity, more heat than she has ever known.

After an intense, explosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying there together in the afterglow. The woman rolls over, gently strokes his chest and asks coyly, “Well, how was it?”

The guy gently smiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and says:

“Help yourself to any prize from the middle shelf.”

*Disclaimer*

I was told this story by my roommate a few days ago, and while we both question its truth it is way to good not to share with all of you.

The story starts on a road. A road engulfed in the shadows of vast evergreens, stretching as far as the eye can see. From the tree tops you can barely see the winding asphalt as it disappears into the sprawling Washington State landscape.

Dom, a 19 year old college student looking for part time work, has just found a job at a local wildlife sight seeing tour. A tour that deploys a coach bus to explore this very road multiple times a day. His boss has owned and operated the company for a few years, and takes pride in giving his costumers the wildlife experience at any cost. Today is Dom’s first day, it is also his last. 

When Dom arrives, first thing Monday morning, he’s approached by his superior who’s gearing up for the first excursion of the day. Business has been steady but, as Dom finds out this very moment, wildlife has not exactly been cooperating with the plights of the tour guide over the past couple weeks.

Boss: These people pay good money to see the animals and wildlife Washington State has to offer. We simply can’t afford to embark on another hour long tour that ends with no animal sightings. I’m going to need you to help us out today.

Dom: What do you need me to do?

He leads Dom to a closet around the back of the office, inside lays a full sized moose costume. His boss explains that every so often, when wildlife sightings are scarce, employees have to don the suit and pretend to graze in the grass while the bus drives by.

Boss: The bus drives by so quickly that it’s almost impossible to blow our cover. All you have to do is stand there, cool?

Dom: You want me to do what???

Two hours later he’s dropped off in the middle of a gravel parking lot that serves as entry to a local camp ground. Two or three cars are parked in the lot, but other then Dom stepping out onto the gravel, all is quiet and peaceful. Dom’s ride leaves, he takes a deep breath and puts on the moose head. On all fours he walks to the nearest tree and tries standing as motionless as possible. In a matter of minutes the bus should cruise by and he can take this ridiculous costume off and return to the office. He begins thinking if he really needs a part time job, how important is buying beer at college anyway? Before he can answer his own question there’s the sound of a branch snapping behind him. The moose turns toward where the cars are parked, a large black bear saunters out of the woods behind them and walks out onto the gravel.

Dom: Oh shit.

The moose looks up the road and sees the bus a mere two miles away. He doesn’t want to blow his bosses cover so he convinces himself the campers must have left food in their cars and the bear is simply after that. He stays in character, taking a few small steps closer to the road. Only the bear isn’t interested in the cars, he’s interested in the moose and he’s headed directly at Dom. Without giving it another moment of thought he stands up on his two feet and starts sprinting up toward the road, the bear rapidly approaching.

The tour guide is doing his routine, prepping his costumers for the wildlife they can expect to see during their hour together, when suddenly he sees a moose standing upright and sprinting toward the road.

Boss: (whispering) Jesus. Driver just speed up, keep driving!

Dom hits the asphalt as the bus blows right by him and continues down the winding road. Dom screams for it to stop, then turns to meet his certain demise. The bear stands up on its hind legs and a husky man removes the bear mask from his face.

Man: Dude what the fuck? You’re going to blow our cover!

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:

____________________________________________________________________

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.

* * * * * * * *

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.

                                             * * * * * * * *

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. 

Back when bed bugs were coursing their way through Manhattan apartments like an unstoppable rebel force (about a year ago), there was no feeling worse than waking up to a few itchy red blemishes on your body. Or at least that’s what I thought….

There I stood, staring at myself in the mirror one fateful August morning. I had a terrible toothache but more disconcerting I had what looked like bug bites all over my chest and neck. Immediately I ripped all the sheets and bedding from my room and threw them in the washing machine. Like the cunning sleuth I fancy myself to be, I inspected the mattress to find and destroy my adversary. I saw nothing…had they moved on? Perhaps the sweet taste of ginger blood had caused them to spontaneously combust? I began getting dressed for work battling with the feeling that bugs were crawling all over my skin. Since the sight of a bed bug bite to an outside party was liken to having leprosy I decided to cover my skin entirely. It was August and I was wearing jeans and a blazer…I began thinking of myself as one of those characters in every zombie movie that gets bit and tries to hide his infection from the rest of the crew as not to be cast out.

I got to the office and was sweating like a whore at Easter Sunday mass. The itching was getting unbearable. I went to the men’s room to inspect the bites, they had doubled in numbers and spread to my arms. What was happening! Were the beasts in my clothing? I started googling “bed bug bites.” A co-worker came by and said, “Daywalker you’ve got hives on your neck.” Hives? I was having an allergic reaction? I was revealed that I didn’t have to fumigate my apartment but vexed by what the hell I could have possibly been allergic to. I had introduced nothing new to my diet, and as far as I know my sheets and bedding were all of respectable enough thread count to not irritate my delicate milky skin.  I left work and went to my doctors office to have some blood work done. Much to my surprise there was a new doctor in house…and it was a lady. A sexy lady. As she drew my blood I thought about those porno’s where patients seduce their physicians into office intercourse. Since I looked like I had slept on a bee hive the night before I knew my chances of wooing her were slim. I kept my charm in the holster. Doctor Sexy told me that ninety percent of the time these things are food allergies, but that she wouldn’t have a definite answer until the blood-work came back in 5 days.

My tooth was still killing me and had now began giving me migraines. There are 3 things I hate: Mushrooms, Liars, and the Dentist. Since migraine headaches were shooting up the hatred charts at an unrelenting pace I knew I had to make an appointment with the only dentist I’ve ever gone to. His office was back on Long Island, where I grew up. I couldn’t get an appointment until…

Fast Forward 5 days: Saturday

I lay in the dentist chair, listening to the dentist and his assistant talk about a company picnic as they look at my x-rays. There mundane conversation allowed me to drift away into the ocean landscape painted on the wall. The news of a double root canal brought me back to reality. Since I was going back to Manhattan later that day, I told him to take care of them while I was there. He obliged…for a hefty fee of course. His assistant armed him with 2 gigantic needles, filled with Novocaine. They were both dispensed into my gum line. In 5 minutes I couldn’t feel my face, could barely form a sentence and when asked to “rinse” completely missed the porcelain landing pad provided. Accenting the white tile with blood red saliva and mouth wash. Hell of a weekend so far. I drove home, and when I walked in the door was greeted by my parents, my sister and 2 of my sisters friends. They were eating pizza, which I couldn’t enjoy because of the “don’t eat for 45 minutes” after a dental appointment routine (Did I mention I hate the dentist?). The phone rang and my mother answered. She was giving me the “it’s for you look,” it was sexy doctor. The results of my blood work had arrived.

Sexy Doctor: Good afternoon Mr. Daywalker, hope you’re doing well.

Daywalker: I’m good…thanks (struggled to get those words out of a completely numb mouth)

Sexy Doctor: Just wanted to inform you that your bloodwork came back, and as I suspected it was a food allergy. You’re allergic to peanuts.

I loved peanuts and had eaten them all my life. The news was shocking to me…but not as shocking as I’m sure my response was to sexy doctor. I learned that moment that trying to say the word “peanuts” with 200 milligrams of Novacaine in your mouth is a bad idea.

Daywalker: PENUSSSS? (eyes widened in horror)

Sexy Doctor: Pardon?

Daywalker: PEA NUSSS? PEANUSS…PEA…

frustrated I gave my mother the phone to finish the conversation. I hate the fucking dentist.