Story 57: Hit Song

            Ever since I was a wee tot, I’ve wanted to be the writer, singer, and producer of a hit song.  I wanted to be the one whose words people would sing to themselves until their friends were sick of them; the one they wanted to be as they sang my song in the shower.  I wanted to be the mastermind – nay, the genius – behind a song that was catchy yet clever, silly yet soulful, simple yet complicated, short yet long.  In brief, I wanted a moneymaker with heart.

            At long last, I struck gold.  After some tweaking by my team and intense, intense promotion, my song “Life Makes Me Want to Die” hit the number 1 spot on all the major music charts on its first week of release, and my album went platinum in two days.  I made history and no one, including myself, will ever be able to top this achievement.  I now am constantly showered with money, things, and adoration.  I am the voice of the age, I am the music of the heart – all love me and cannot get enough of my presence.

            As with an old-time record, there is a flip side: I am doomed.  Doomed, I say, to the hell that is having to perform the same song over and over and over and over and over and over and over and…. Till death do us part.

            The award shows are nothing; the song can only have one lifetime nomination for each organization, and I only had to perform at a few events.  The concerts, however, are a completely different animal.  The training for going on tour is similar to that employed by marathoners, and my whole body hurts until the numbness kicks in.  And sure, I usually have to do the same routine, but often I can switch out some songs, dust off some older stuff, and test out some newer stuff cleverly disguised as older stuff for my inevitable next album.  But I can never, ever leave out the hit song.  And I always have to end the show with it, at the point when I’m most exhausted.  I have to sing the song with all the vocal nuances I had used in the original recording on the 217^th take, and all the movements and facial expressions from the music video that were perfected after five days of filming.  If I don’t do the song in exactly the same way each time, the fan e-mails and online comments notify me and the world, and my success would end faster than immediately.  So I give it my all, every day, and sometimes several times a day for the fans who pay extra for special treatment.

            I’m sure many of you are thinking: “Oh, boo-hoo, the star who makes millions of dollars for seemingly little work is complaining about her success.”  And you’d be right – I’m extremely lucky and blessed to be paid so much to do what I love.  But I have this to say back: Take what you love doing most in the world and imagine doing it over and over (etc., etc.) with no end in sight.  Under those conditions, all love turns to tedium.

            So I keep raking in the money and performing the same song ad infinitum.  Maybe I can retire soon and hire someone to cover it, leaving me to face the accusations that I sold out.  Wait a minute, why don’t I do that?  I’m already a billionaire, why should I have to do something I now hate?!  Why am I enduring this torture when I have enough money that I could fly to an island paradise and live there forever?!  I’m calling my agent: cancel the tours, cancel the social media accounts, cancel the talk show appearances – oh, breach of contract, lawsuits, have to give back money.  Never mind: I like singing the same song over and over and over and over and….

Story 56: Change Is Good

            She finished ringing her order on the supermarket’s self-checkout machine, fed her money into it, and waited for her change.  The bills came out all right, but the coins did not dispense.  She distinctly heard them fall before not appearing, so she knew she was not making this up.

            “Excuse me?”  She asked the lone employee overseeing the customers who were taking his co-workers’ jobs.  “Could you help me with this machine?  The change is stuck.”

            “I’ve had problems with that thing all day,” he said, coming over with a sledgehammer.  “A few hits usually do the trick.”

            When the machine still did not release the coins: “Let me call my manager.”

            When the manager arrived, the three of them stared at the machine.  “Did you already use the hammer?”

            “I did.”

            “Did you try shutting it off and turning it back on again?”

            “I did not.”

            They turned it off and back on again – the change remained trapped.

            “What about that button?”  The customer pointed to an unmarked button.

            “Never tried that before,” the manager said.  She toggled it once, plunging the supermarket into darkness.  She hit the button again and the lights came back on.  “Hm.”

            “Number 1 is open,” a customer said to the man waiting in front of her in the line for that area.

            “That’s OK,” he said.  “I’m waiting for that one.”  He nodded towards the machine being worked on where a small crowd had now gathered.  A repairman for the store had arrived and removed the front of the machine.  A cool breeze could be felt coming from the inside.

            “Here’s your change,” he said, removing the quarter from the slot where it had jammed.

            “Would you look at that,” the manager peered with the self-checkout employee and the customer into the darkness inside the machine.

            “I’ve never seen anything like it,” the customer said.

            “Does this come standard with these machines?” the employee asked.

            “No it does not,” the repairman answered, now also gazing in wonder into the machine.

            Once adjusted to the dim light, they could see that a whole other world lay within the interior of the self-checkout machine.  Rolling meadows, clear waterfalls, frolicking animals, and music awaited.  It certainly was unexpected.

            “Well, as a manager, I should be familiar with everything that goes on in this store.”  She gripped the sides of the opening and climbed in.  She soon made her way to the center of the new world and seemed happy.

            “I’ll be your backup,” the employee said, and followed her.

            “I’ll help!”  The customer followed them, leaving her groceries behind.

            “Machine’s fixed, so I’m done,” the repairman secured the cover back onto the machine, placed the quarter on the adjacent shelf, and left.  The music could no longer be heard.

            The customer who was waiting for the machine to be free gently pushed through the remaining crowd of gawkers and proceeded to ring up his order.  The total was $30.25, so he took the quarter from the shelf and deposited it into the machine along with the bills.  The receipt that printed for him read at the bottom:

            “Thanks for the change!”

Story 55: Reverse Eavesdropping

            Hypothesis: Human beings will start talking to themselves, singing to themselves, singing with whatever music is playing around them, humming nonsensical tunes, whistling, and making a large variety of noises when they are aware that another person(s) is (are) around to overhear them.  If they already are engaged in said activity(ies), then they will increase their volume.

            Method of Observation: Hover around people at work, in stores, in homes – everywhere – and listen.  The cell phone variable is excluded from this study.

            Instrumentation: Ears. 

            Day 1: A Monday.  Location: A supermarket.

            Observer grabs a basket and browses the aisles, occasionally dropping in a random item to maintain cover.  At cereals, Observer strolls within a three-foot proximity of Apparent Grandmother and both stare at the wall of brands.  After 3.5 seconds, Apparent Grandmother begins to mutter phrases: “Too many choices”, “What is this junk?”, and “Kids are so spoiled nowadays”.  Observer leaves soon afterward, sans cereal and watched by Apparent Grandmother who was looking for affirmation and will receive none.

            Day 2: A Tuesday.  Location: An office.

            Observer is at a desk job and requests to turn on the radio at approximately 10:38 a.m.; Supervisor situated at a nearby desk agrees.  After one and a half songs, Supervisor begins singing along, leaving out the lyrics he does not know.  He includes sound effects using his mouth and starts tapping the desk using his hands to keep the beat.  It is inconclusive whether Supervisor is seeking secret admiration or open applause.

            Day 3: A Wednesday.  Location: A domestic residence.

            Observer is at a domicile and witnesses numerous occasions of muttering, especially when one party knows that anyone can hear except the person to whom the comment was directed.  Much angst abounds and the proper parties are not addressed for resolution, creating an endless cycle of agita.  An additional observation: a workman repairing the kitchen sink begins whistling and singing non-existent tunes every time someone enters the room.  Is this to prove that he actually is engrossed in his work and not goofing off, or is he just that carefree?

            Day 4: A Thursday.  Location: A movie theater.

            Observer goes to a poorly attended theater and sits near a couple.  Once they begin talking during the credits, Observer moves to a seat near a single attendee.  When the number of “Whoa”s and “Ha!”s increases, Observer moves to a seat near a group of teenagers, whose chatter increases in volume once Observer sits near them.  Science is sacrificed in favor of watching the movie: Observer moves to an empty area near the back of the theater that is quiet.

            Day 5: A Friday.  Location: A college.

            Observer goes to the student center, a computer lab, a study hall, and a dorm common room, and is surrounded by individuals talking, singing, humming, whistling, etc. soon after Observer arrives.  No work is done that day.

            Conclusion: People like to be overheard so as to be admired for their supposed intelligence and/or taste, depending on the situation.

            “Harry, that project is a sociology experiment – this class is Biology 101.”

            “I was hoping this could be my proposal for a grant to fund my research in isolating the gene that causes this behavior so as to silence everyone ONCE AND FOR ALL.”

            “The Evil Geniuses Lab is not at this school, Harry – please take your seat.”

            “Oh all right.”  Mutters: “There should be an Evil Geniuses Lab here – OH MY STARS I JUST PROVED MY OWN HYPOTHESIS!”