Domestication

“Dude, you are so domesticated.”

I smiled with a nod. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean that as a compliment.”

I regarded my friend with a quizzical arch of the brow. “Your jealousy is so transparent.”

“I’m not jealous. What’s to be jealous of? Pssh. I’m not jealous.”

I grinned. “Okay, whatever you say man.”

He scooted his chair to the left, pushing his coffee mug with him. “Okay, let me tell you how lame being domesticated is.”

I waved him on. “Please, tell me.”

He cleared his throat. “First, it means your girl’s got you by the balls. You gotta do whatever she says now. Be at home by a certain time. No drinking late with your friends. No more parties and hangovers. No more—”

“Hold on man, I’m going to stop you right there. Do you honestly, seriously, in all sincerity, think I still want to be doing any of those things of my own volition?”

“Yea. Well… no? You don’t, I’m guessing?”

“Damn right I don’t. I’m too old for that crap. Hangovers? Dude. C’mon. Hangovers?”

“Well, I don’t mean hangovers are the goal, they’re just the end result of a good night…”

“A hangover for me is not the sign of a good night. Maybe when I was in college, but even then, I never aimed for a hangover. Who in their right mind aims for a hangover? I never did. And as an adult, definitely not.”

He rubbed his chin. “Okay…”

“And ‘got me by the balls?’ Really? Did you really just say that?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, sure,” I nodded slowly. “I know what you mean. Because I don’t go out and party all night long means my girl has me by the balls. That’s what you mean, right?”

“Yea…”

“And that presupposes that she ordered me to stay home. Hence the ‘by the balls’ comment, right?”

“Um…”

“So if I tell you I do not want to party all night long anymore, because I am a tired old man who needs his sleep, otherwise I’m a cranky bastard in the morning, does that constitute following an order by someone else?”

“Well, no…”

I sat back in my chair. “So what else you got, Sherlock? Tell me what else is lame about being domesticated.”

He shifted in his seat. Coughed. Cleared his throat again. “Fine. Point B, it means your ass no longer has freedom. You can’t just take off on a road trip, or hit Vegas for a weekend, or—”

“No more freedom. By that, I assume you mean I can’t travel on my own anymore, right?”

“Right, exactly. She either has to come along, or you can’t go at all.”

I studied the swirls of whipped cream on my mocha. “That’s not exactly true. Maybe for your past relationships, you’ve had that kind of restriction. For me, my fiancée doesn’t mind if I take off on a trip alone. She’s taken trips just with her friends, and so have I.”

He slumped forward. “Really?”

“Yea. To me, that’s a mark of a healthy relationship. Or, at least, what I want out of a relationship. Some people prefer tighter interaction. Others, looser. She and I both feel it’s important to have our own lives, as well as a life together.”

“Well, okay…”

“Then there are times when I genuinely want her along. I have fun with her. That’s why I’m marrying her! So why would I want to do all of those things alone, when I can have this wonderful, funny, beautiful person with me too?”

“Dude, you’re going to make me sick.”

I took a gulp of frothy mocha and wiped my lip. “Okay, okay. So moving right along. Are these your reasons against domestication? Seriously? You know, you’re just talking about relationships in general. Neither of these points has anything to do with being domesticated.”

He snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong! Domestication is the process of taming. You’re getting tamed, dude. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Tamed?”

“Yea. Like, you once could do all this wild stuff. Now, you gotta be—excuse me, want to be home by a certain time, and stuff like that.”

“Oh, so you’re lambasting the process of getting older, as opposed to being in a relationship?”

He scratched his head. “What? No. Don’t confuse me. No, I ain’t talking about… no, not about getting older. I mean, you’re getting domesticated, like, you got a girl now, you’re settling down, you can’t do the same stuff you once did…”

“As we get older, none of us can do the same things we once did. You can’t sit in a high chair anymore and be spoon-fed by your Mom, for instance. Well, maybe you do, but not the average adult.”

“Funny. What I mean is, and this is reason number three: You’re not having any more fun.”

“Okay, now you’re lamenting the process of getting older, not domestication. Though perhaps you’re drawing parallels between the two.”

“Yea, um, exactly.”

“Well, I for one, relish the idea of growing older. I actually like to have more responsibilities, deal with new challenges, and adjust my life accordingly. For me, this is all very fun and exciting. I realize my sentiments are uncommon, but hey, that’s me.”

“I dunno man, that sounds crazy to me…”

“Sure. And that’s fine. You don’t have to like the process of getting older, or being in a relationship. Me, I love them. I love being in a relationship, I love being engaged, I look forward to a house and kids and in-laws and grandkids and all that. It’s not for everyone. There are a lot of people out there who don’t want this, and shouldn’t aim for this either. But I do. Each to his own, right? Each to his own.”

“I told you, man…”

I quizzically arched of the brow. “What?”

He shook his head. “You are so domesticated.”

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The Unoriginal Face-Down Beach Pillow Idea

“Mmmrph mmmrph mmmrph,” I muttered.

“What?”

“This is kind of uncomfortable,” I muttered again. My mouth was mashed against my face. It’s true, lying face-down on a beach chair is uncomfortable.

Mia giggled. “Why don’t you turn your head?” Smart girl, she is. But—

“I tried that already. My neck was straining, so I needed to straighten it.”

“And that’s why you’re pushing your face through the back of that chair?”

“And that’s why I’m pushing my face through the back of this chair.” See, told you she was smart.

She laughed and flipped onto her stomach. I watched her nuzzle into the beach chair, tossing her head around to find a comfortable position.

“See? Uncomfortable, huh?”

“Yea, I see what you mean.” She settled with her head turned to the side. “But at least I can breath when my head is this way.”

I took a breath, pushed my nose into the chair, and held my breath as long as I could. Then I snapped my neck and eeeexhaled.

She giggled again. I flipped over and rubbed my aching neck. “You know what there should be? A hole in the back of this chair, like they have on massage tables.”

“Oooo yea… good idea.”

“Damn Skippy it’s a good idea. Or, even better, a portable pillow you can bring around with you that’s shaped like that.”

“Like a donut?”

“I was thinking like a toilet bowl seat.”

Mia winced. “Gross. Figures you’d think of that.”

I chuckled. “But basically, a ring, yea. Then you could bring it to the beach. Or in bed, for massages. It would be so awesome.”

“Good idea. You should build it.”

I sat up and picked up my phone. “I should…”

A moment passed. Mia peeked up at me. “Are you tweeting?”

“That sounds dirty.”

“It does.”

I nodded. “But yes, I am tweeting it. You know me so well.”

“You should look it up to see if it exists already.”

I scratched my chin. “You’re right.” See how smart she is? “If I doesn’t, I’m going to build this and pitch it on Shark Tank.”

“Go for it, honey.”

I launched a web browser and searched for “face down beach pillow.”

“Holy crap,” I gasped. “It exists!”

“Awww, too bad. It was a good idea anyways.”

Another moment passed. “Is it worth buying?” Mia asked.

“I dunno. It seems kinda neat. And… whoa… get this. Someone else created a similar product… and already pitched it on Shark Tank.”

Mia peeked up again. “They’re stealing all of your ideas.”

“They are!”

“Or, you’re stealing all of theirs.”

I grumbled and continued working on my phone. “How funny. They pitched it on Shark Tank… and it didn’t win any funding. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t try to do that too.”

“Yea, you would have walked away with nothing.”

“Except a bunch of television exposure. This company’s website has a big ole ‘As Seen on Shark Tank’ banner posted on it.”

“Good marketing.”

“Damn Skippy that’s good marketing.”

Mia arched an eyebrow at me. “Damn Skippy?”

“Damn Skippy.”

“You should leave the colorful phrases behind and stick to business ideas.”

I mock-laughed. “Funny.”

“But then again, your business ideas are already taken. So you should stick to… lying face-down on the chair.”

I play-swiped her, then flipped onto my stomach. “Mmmrph mmmrph mmmrph,” I muttered.

“What?”

“There, I’m on my face again. Happy?”

“Damn Skippy.”

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The Phone Call from Mom

The caller ID displayed my family’s number. I answered cheerfully.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mike,” my Mom greeted.

“Hi Mom. What’s up?”

“I have something to tell you that might upset you.”

No one – I repeat – no one ever wants to hear those words from their Mom. No one. I sat down, took a deep breath, and asked, “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Don’t be upset when I tell you, okay?”

How can I not be upset when you tell me it’s news that might upset me, I thought. It’s impossible. Whenever someone tells you that you might be upset, chances are, you’ll be upset. And even before telling me, I’m upset just knowing I’ll be upset.

It’s like saying: “Don’t look down.” What does everyone do when they hear those words? They look down. It’s a natural reaction. When someone tells you don’t to do something, you do it. We’re all stupid that way.

“What’s going on Mom?” I asked, voice a little shaken.

“Don’t be upset, okay?”

What did I just say?? Well, I didn’t say it out loud. If this was upsetting news, the last thing I wanted to do was add more upset to the conversation. I bit my tongue and tried not to imagine the worse. Unfortunately, trying not to imagine the worse means… yup… imagining the worst. Death, destruction, divorce, diarrhea, dysentery… what could it possibly be?

“Okay, I won’t be upset,” I lied. I really wanted to know. “What’s going on?”

“You know when you were home two weeks ago?”

Frantically, I reviewed my trip two weeks ago. Seemed like a normal & uneventful trip. Nothing crazy or disastrous happened. No drama of any kind. “Yea…?”

“Well, when you knelt down to tie your shoes, I noticed something…”

I head my breath. There was a tumor on the back of my neck. Blood was gushing out. Blackened skin adorned my neck.

“I saw the top of your head…” she continued.

I cleared my throat. The tumor was on my head. It had a face and eyes. It was my conjoined twin, finally bursting to life.

“Your hair is thinning Michael. I saw the top of your head and your hair is thinning. Right at the top of your head. Your hair. It’s thinning.”

“What?” I blinked. ” That’s it Mom?”

“Your hair! It’s thinning!”

“You got me all worked up for that?”

“Don’t be upset now! I told you not to be upset!”

“Mom. I’m not upset. I know my hair is thinning. I thought you called because something crazy happened back home, like someone died or is in the hospital. My gosh Mom… you scared me half to death…”

“So you’re not upset?” She almost sounded disappointed.

“No Mom, I’m not. I know my hair is thinning. I don’t really care. If it happens, it happens. Nothing I can do about it.”

“You can use Rogaine,” she countered.

“I don’t need that. If I go bald, so what? It’s natural. This isn’t something I can control.”

“Sure it is, with Rogaine.”

Good thing my Mom couldn’t see me rolling my eyes. “Rogaine doesn’t grow your hair back. Not that I’m an expert on that stuff or anything, but I heard it only keeps you from losing more hair or something.”

“Don’t you want to keep your hair?”

“Mom.” I took a deep breath. “Am I going to be the same person with or without hair?”

“Yea…”

“So why does it matter?”

“Yea… So you’re not upset. That’s good, that’s good.”

“I think you’re more upset than I am.”

She chuckled uneasily. “I just called to tell you that. That’s all. I am glad you are not upset.”

“Thanks Mom. I think. Don’t worry, I’m fine. This is natural. Thanks for… uh… calling to tell me about this.”

“Sure sure.” She paused. “Are you sure you don’t want Rogaine?”

“Good bye Mom.”

“Okay okay. Bye bye. Take care of your hair!”

And with a Click she hung up.

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Duck Evolution

“What do you think life would be like if we evolved from ducks?”

She looked up into the sky and, without missing a beat, replied, “There would be a lot more going on in the sky, that’s for sure.”

I blinked. “Really? You didn’t want to think about that first?”

She gave me a look. One of those Of course peanut butter goes with jelly! looks.

“Okay. So there would be a lot more going on in the sky. Like what, floating buildings?”

“Oh, definitely. Since ducks can fly, there would be all kinds of floating buildings.”

“Definitely.”

“Definitely,” she nodded. “And there would be sky traffic lanes and zoned spaces.”

“Zoned spaces?”

“Sure. That piece of sky over there would be commercial. And over there, residential.”

“Ah.”

“There would be buildings on the ground too. Because ducks can also walk, you know.”

I slowly nodded. “Of course, of course.”

She looked back up into the sky and stopped talking. I scratched my chin. Shifted my weight. Then I asked, “So you disagree with the Howard the Duck scenario?”

She gave me another look. One of those, Did you just fart in the car? looks. “What?” she asked.

“Howard the Duck. In his world, things aren’t floating. Everything is just like it is right now, except the people look like ducks.”

“Oh no, no no no no no. That wouldn’t be it at all.”

“You seem so certain.”

Now a Great, I have to teach him the alphabet AND how to count to three look. “Well, duh. Ducks can fly. Hello.”

I blinked again. Twice.

“You don’t understand evolution at all,” she continued, then returned her gaze to the sky.

I looked up at the sky too. Scratched my head. “I guess I don’t,” I replied.

We both watched a flock of ducks fly by. I think I heard her sigh too. Probably off thinking about floating buildings and zoned skies and whatnot. I decided not to ask any more questions and let her watch the ducks go by.

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The Trip to Vietnam

“Oh my goodness, let me tell you this story,” began the barber. His electric shaver sheared my sides as he started.

“I was flying back to Vietnam. I have not been there in years. Many, many years. It has been so long that I did not remember if I needed a Visa or not.”

He shook his head and frowned. “A friend told me I did not because I am Vietnamese. I believed him. So I packed up all of my bags and went to the airport. And guess what?”

“What?” I asked.

He took a step back from my hair and examined it. Narrowed his eyes. Then he looked at me. “When I got to the gate, they rejected me. They told me I needed a Visa. Can you believe it? I listened to my friend. I believed my friend. And here I was, at the airport, with all of my luggage, and I was told I could not get on the plane.”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured. “So what did you do?”

“I had to go all the way back home, get online, and look up information on how to get my Visa.” He snipped some hair and shook his head again. “Normally, it takes only ten dollars and a few weeks to get the Visa. But because I needed it right away, I had to pay… guess how much?”

“Fifty bucks?”

“No, more.”

“Hundred bucks?”

“Yes! Hundred bucks! A little more than a hundred bucks, actually. I had to call up my cousins in Vietnam to help rush it too. It was such an ordeal. I finally got it in an email, printed it out, and called the airline to book another flight. But then…”

His voice trailed off. I couldn’t tell if he was lost in the shears, or in the story. I decided not to push him and let him finish my sides.

“…and then,” he finally continued, “they told me all the flights were booked. I had to wait next week for the next available flight! I was so angry. I only had a week of vacation and already took a few days off. I could not wait a week!”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured again.

“So my brother, he travels a lot. He called up the airline and talked to them. Somehow, he got them to give me a flight in two days. I was so happy”

“Uh huh,” I concurred without trying to nod my head.

“I flew from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Then from San Francisco to Shanghai. Then from Shanghai to Vietnam. Oh, and while at Shanghai, there’s more to this story…”

“There’s more?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes! These things always happen to me. I don’t know why.” He rolled his eyes. “When I got to Shanghai, they told me I had to get my luggage from luggage claim and check it in again for my flight to Vietnam. I told them No, it should be transferred automatically. But they kept saying No, I need to pick it up myself and check it back in again. Such an ordeal. So I went to luggage claim. And guess what?”

“What? Your luggage was missing?”

“Yes! My luggage was missing! Can you believe it? I talked to the airline and they told me it was still in San Francisco. So I had to call San Francisco airport, and they told me they did not have my luggage, that it was on the airplane.”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured again.

“I know! I was so angry. So I called my brother and he checked it for me. They told him my luggage was on its way to Vietnam already. So I got on the plane and flew to Vietnam. And guess what?”

“You didn’t find your luggage.”

“Yes! I didn’t find my luggage!”

This guy’s story is either one huge exaggeration, or the poor fellah really does have horrible things happening to him all the time. Either way, the story was enticing. I listened with intense interest.

“I called my brother again,” he continued. “The airline told him my luggage was in Vietnam. But the airport in Vietnam said they did not have my luggage. I was on the phone all day, calling Shanghai, San Francisco, my brother… such an ordeal. Finally, someone told me to check the luggage counter. I did, and there was my luggage.”

He let out a long sigh and shook his head.

“Daaaaaamn.”

“Everything in my luggage was broken. The luggage itself was okay. Nothing was missing. But all of my stuff inside the luggage was broken. I had to buy all new things.”

“Daaaaaamn.” Well, at least you finally made it to Vietnam.”

“Yes. I finally did.” His face hinted at a momentary smile, then it vanished. “But there’s more.”

“More?”

“More.”

“Haven’t you had enough already?”

He laughed. “Yes, I have. These things always happen to me. My sister asks me why these things always happen to me. She doesn’t believe me that they always do, but they do.”

Another long sigh. Then he continued.

“While in Vietnam, sister made me a delicious dessert with coconut. She doesn’t know that I get sick with coconut, unfortunately. I ate it and started to feel sick. I didn’t know why. I asked her, ‘What is in this dessert?’ She said, ‘coconut.’ I ran to the bathroom and had such stomach pains. My goodness I was in such pain.”

I grimaced. He noticed the expression on my face and nodded.

“Yes. I had bad diarrhea. It was such pain. I even had to go to the hospital because I could not stand it. The doctor examined me and said there was nothing he could do. I just had to wait it out. But I kept telling him I was in a lot of pain, tremendous pain. He finally gave me some medicine, but it didn’t help. I just sat in the bathroom for a long, long time, in such pain.”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured.

He snipped my hair, looked at it in the mirror, and snipped again. I waited silently to hear more, but he just kept cutting my hair. After a moment, I asked, “How did the rest of the trip go?”

“Oh, it was okay. I saw my family, then flew home without any more problems. Getting there was such an ordeal. But coming home was great. I was so happy to come home.”

That was so not the answer I was expecting. A part of me almost hoped to hear more horrible ordeals. I dunno why. Something about watching a train wreck, that kind of thing.

“My mother,” he started up again. “She wants me to go back again this year. I told her No. I had such a horrible trip, I do not want to go back again so soon.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yes. Such an ordeal. Such an ordeal.”

Fortunately, he cut my hair without incident. No lost scissors or explosive diarrhea marred my haircut experience. But stories like that sure have a way of capturing one’s attention. Everybody loves a good, horrible ordeal, especially when it’s someone else’s.

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Do You Go To Church?

“Do you go to church?”

We stopped in our tracks. Blinked. Our dog pulled on his leash uneasily.

“Do you go to church?” barked the portly woman again. Her brow furrowed. Clutched in her fist was a stack of pamphlets. Dangling from my hand was a bag of stinky, liquid dog poop.

“You guys do go to church, right?” she demanded.

My girlfriend and I exchanged furtive glances. We had just come from a local street fair and were in a good mood. The summer evening air was cozy and warm. Delicious homemade food sloshed in our tummies. Even the dog had a good time with a few organic gourmet doggie treats, though his stool indicated otherwise.

It’s funny how one person can turn an otherwise good day upside-down.

“Sure,” I muttered.

“What? You go to church, right?”

My mind struggled to process this situation. It’s not every day that I’m interrogated on a nice summer evening like this. I nodded.

“Which church do you go to?”

My girlfriend cleared her throat. “It’s… not around here…” she said with a sideways glimpse in my direction. I nodded in consent of the unspoken agreement between us.

“Oh really? But you DO go to church, don’t you?”

This lady was relentless.

“Yea, sure,” I threw into her face. “We go to church, okay?”

She eyed me. One eye narrower than the other.

“Which church do you go to?”

Relentless. My girlfriend and I exchanged glances again. The bag of liquid poop started to feel like a hot potato. I started walking forward, my girlfriend and the dog right behind me.

“It’s not around here,” I barked.

She scowled. Both eyes narrow. “Good,” she stated. “God be with you.”

I shook my head and we pushed forwarded. Her countenance disappeared behind us. The dog farted. My girlfriend and I gave each other another look. We rolled our eyes in unison. Sighed. Then laughed as we walked home.

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I’ll Be Right Barack

A Girl:

“I’ll be right Barack.”

A Boy:

“Wait. What? What did you just say?”

Girl:

“I said I’ll be right back.”

Boy:

“No you didn’t. You said you’ll be right Barack.”

Girl:

“Yea, you’re right, I did.”

Boy:

“That’s so corny.”

Girl:

“No it’s not. I’m trying to factor Barack Obama’s name into my everyday life now. He’s a big part of our lives and I want to make sure I say his name at least once a day.”

Boy:

“Why not just wake up every morning and say his name? Then you’ll have said it once every day.”

Girl:

“That’s just not the same. He means more than just a robotic utterance. He’s our President. He deserves more respect than that.”

Boy:

“Oh, but he deserves to be used in corny lines?”

Girl:

“There’s nothing corny about that. You’re just projecting.”

Boy:

“What? No I’m not.”

Girl:

“Now you’re in denial. It’s truly dreadful. You should see someone about that.”

Boy:

“Stop that!”

Girl:

“Don’t cry. Are you going to run to your Obama now?”

Boy:

“No, I’m not going to run to my… wait, what did you just say?”

Girl:

“I said are you going to run to your mama now?”

Boy:

“No you didn’t. You said… Omigosh you’re driving me insane!”

Girl:

“See, I knew you were loopy.”

Boy:

“I’m not loopy. You’re the one that’s loopy.”

Girl:

“Why, because I’m supporting our President?”

Boy:

“Because you’re… you’re… Argh! Weren’t you just leaving?”

Girl:

“Yea, but just for a minute. I’ll be right—”

Boy:

“Don’t say it! Don’t you say it!”

Girl:

“Say what?”

Boy:

“You know what you were going to say!”

Girl:

“How very unpatriotic of you.”

Boy:

“I’m not the one making fun of his name!”

Girl:

“Barack you are. You are making a mockery of his name.”

Boy:

“You did it again!”

Girl:

“No I didn’t. I said but you are. I better tell Obama about you. She’s going to be worried about her son.”

Boy:

“That’s it. We can’t have this conversation any more.”

Girl:

“Yes we can. Yes we can. Yes we can.”

Boy:

“…”

Girl:

“Okay, I really gotta go now. Be right Barack!”

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Eavesdropping in a Cafe

I was minding my own business when seven words caught my attention:

“And then she went down on him?”

How fortunate. I’m on my laptop right now, trying to come up with something to write. Thank you sweet fate for offering this titillating story to me via eavesdropping.

“No, he did not.”

I inch my chair closer while keeping my eyes on my screen. Mustn’t be too obvious.

“Wait, how old is she again?”

My fingers tip-tap on the keyboard. I scramble to capture it all.

“Okay, but like, how old was she then?”

A quick glance around the cafe netted a few other eavesdroppers. How could you not eavesdrop on a conversation like this? She wasn’t being particularly quiet on her cell phone either.

“Ohmigod isn’t she worried about him getting shot or anything?”

Someone coughs and looks away. Our collective minds are bubbling with explanations. Maybe he was a drug dealer. Maybe he was in a street gang. Maybe…

“Wow, I didn’t know he made sergeant. Like, which precinct?”

Oh, okay, so he’s a police officer.

“Ohmigod she did not say that! Get out of here, she did not say that!”

What did she say? What did she say?

“Before she turned thirty? Seriously? So that’s why her wedding seemed so last minute. It was so rushed. Ohmigod did you see the centerpieces? They were so messy.”

Did this girl give this police officer’s baton a shining just to get married before she turned thirty? That’s determination. This girl sounds like once she’s focused on something, she won’t let go. Maybe literally.

“I know, like, there were pedals everywhere. They were dropping off everywhere.”

I like how this conversation just took a major detour. From sex to work to marriage to wedding. Just like the progression of a natural relationship, I suppose.

“Ohmigod he was so cute. Did you see him? He looked so adorable!”

Could be the best man. Or the little kid who walks down the aisle before the wedding party, whatever they call him.

“So is she, like, happy now that she’s married and everything?”

Ah yes, the most important question of the day. I lean closer.

“Oh. Ohmigod. Oh. Ohmigod.”

What? What?! Tell us! Prying minds want to know!

“Ohmigod. That poor thing.”

Dammit, tell us! You’ve carried us along this far, you can’t stop now. What happened to your friend??

“You know, I totally knew this would happen. Like, I know a friend whose sister dated a cop, and he would like, totally come home and beat on her. No, yea. Like, it’s a power trip thing or something. Yea. Totally.”

Oh. That’s pretty awful. I know not all police officers are like this, but it’s awful her friend is going through whatever she’s going through. Some of the other cafe patrons return to their lattes, having heard enough.

“Ohmigod! Get out! Oh, she is such a slut!”

Oh? The other patrons peek over again.

“That guy from her office? I think I met him. Ohmigod I totally met him! She did him? No way!”

Ooo, methinks this story is getting better again. This whole conversation is like a car wreck; you just can’t turn away, bloody bodies and all.

“Oh really? No, really?”

Suddenly, she gets up. Everyone shifts in their seats and pretends to be reading whatever is on their table. A laptop, a magazine, the logo on their cups. She seems oblivious as she shuffles out the door.

“And then she went down on him?”

That’s the last we hear of her titillating tale. And thus it comes full circle, back to the beginning seven words. Just like love and life. Thanks for the story! Hope things work out for your friend!

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Mr. Cornne in Brazil

Background:

A series of vignettes of Mr. Cornne, a young American high school teacher working in a small town in Brazil. Based on a true story. All dialogue is in Portuguese.

Scene One: The Street

Setting:

A street in a small town somewhere in Brazil. Several female high school students walk past the camera. The camera pans to reveal Mr. Cornne walking towards them. He smiles and recognizes them as students from his class.

Students:

Mr. Cornne! Mr. Cornne!

Mr. Cornne:

Good afternoon, my friends.

Students:

We love you Mr. Cornne!

Mr. Cornne:

Blushes and smiles in response.

Students:

Each one leans over on the tips of her toes and kisses him on the cheek.

Mr. Cornne:

Thank you, thank you.

Silvia (one of the students):

Mr. Cornne, you are so handsome today.

Mr. Cornne:

Still blushing. Um, thank you.

Students:

Walking away from Mr. Cornne. Bye Mr. Cornne! We love you! See you in class!

Mr. Cornne:

Looks at camera and smiles. This is why I love teaching in this country so much. The people are so friendly and familial. All students treat their teachers like this, not just me. With such passion. It is their custom. But still, I love it. Though… it seems one may have formed a crush on me. Blushes.

Scene Two: The Classroom

Setting:

Mr. Cornne’s classroom. It is the start of class. Students are arriving and taking their seats.

Mr. Cornne:

Everyone, please take your seats. Waits a moment until all are seated quietly. Thank you. Now take out your English textbooks and turn to page 125. Please read that story. When you are done, we will discuss it.

Students:

They flip open their textbooks and begin reading.

Silvia:

Gets up from desk and pulls chair over to Mr. Cornne’s desk. Positions herself right next to him. Her textbook is in her hands. He looks over curiously as she leans against him and starts reading quietly.

Mr. Cornne:

Looks at camera and shrugs. Silently mouths the words, “She does this all the time. Sometimes other students do it too.”

Scene Three: Chocolate

Setting:

Mr. Cornne’s classroom. The class is over and students are walking out. Silvia lingers after everyone has left and approaches Mr. Cornne. Don’t worry, this isn’t a porn, this is a PG story.

Silvia:

I love you, Mr. Cornne.

Mr. Cornne:

Oh, um, thank you.

Silvia:

Why don’t you love me?

Mr. Cornne:

Uh, well, it’s complicated, you see. First, there’s the age difference. I am much older than you and you are still very young. Then, I’m also your teacher, so…

Silvia:

So what do you love?

Mr. Cornne:

Um. Chocolate. I love chocolate.

Silvia:

I am chocolate. Love me.

Mr. Cornne:

Blushes. Um, that is very sweet of you. Class is over now. You need to get to your next class before you’re late.

Silvia:

Pouts. Bye, Mr. Cornne. I love you! Runs out of the classroom.

Mr. Cornne:

Looks at camera. What did I say about the people here being very, uh, passionate? You should hear some of the things they say to me off camera. My gosh! Blushes and shakes head.

Scene Four: Back in America

Setting:

Back in America. Mr. Cornne is walking down a street in his hometown. He passes by some of his former students. All dialogue here is in English.

Mr. Cornne:

Smiling. Good afternoon!

Former Students:

Cast him a scowl and scurry past him without saying a word. As they walk away, they turn their heads and giggle. Ohmigod, do you know who that is? Mr. Cornne! Didn’t he leave the county and like, get deported or something? What’s he doing back here?

Mr. Cornne:

Looking at camera. Shakes his head with a sigh. I miss Brazil.

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The Pick-Up at the Drive-Thru

Setting:

I’m on the phone with my girlfriend. She is in her car at a fast food drive-thru. There is a car ahead of her in the line.

Girlfriend:

…and then I have to complete ten more reports before getting into work tomorrow and… um… hmm, that was weird. The person in front of me is waving at me. I wonder if I know that guy.

Me:

Really? Is he from work?

GF:

I don’t think so. I don’t recognize him. Oh well. So if I work tonight, maybe I can get most of it done. Then I can wake up early and…

Guy from Car in Front:

Hey! What, you’re too busy to say Hi?

GF:

Yelling to guy in car. Oh, um, Hi. Do I…

GFCIF:

Hi beautiful! You are so beautiful!

GF:

Oh, heh, thanks…

GFCIF:

Do you have a boyfriend?

GF:

Yea, I’m on the phone with him right now.

GFCIF:

Oh, okay. He’s a very lucky guy to have a beautiful girl like you. Tell him he’s a lucky guy.

GF:

Heh, okay. Talking to me again. Did you hear that honey? You’re a lucky guy. Hehe.

Me:

I know! I’m so lucky to have a beautiful girl like you!

GF:

Giggles. Oh my gosh, that was so weird.

Me:

Hehe. I’m not surprised. Beautiful girl like you, this must happen all the time.

GF:

No way. And I look like a total mess today too! I just got out of work! Why do these guys always try to pick me up when I’m at my worst?

Me:

Babe, you’re always beautiful. There’s never a time you’re not beautiful. See, that guy thinks so too!

GFCIF:

Mumbles something.

GF:

I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.

GFCIF:

Can I give you a call or something?

GF:

No, no thank you.

Me:

Wow, that dude is persistent.

GF:

Yea, my gosh.

GFCIF:

Have a great night, beautiful!

GF:

Okay, thanks, you too.

Me:

That was classy.

GF:

Laughs. I know, right? Welcome to my neighborhood. Where a girl can get picked up at a fast-food drive-thru at night.

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