Not A Story, Just a Post

For my play, Change or Death.

http://www.writersdigest.com/competitions/writing-competitions

Story 45: The Real Magician

(Setting: An outdoor kids’ party in someone’s backyard.  A makeshift stage in back of the house has an overhead banner proclaiming “THE GREAT MOMZINA”.  A gathering of the party guests are seated on the ground in front of the stage and a woman wearing a top hat and cape jumps onto the center of it, waving her wand and startling the elementary audience)

Magician: Hellll-ooooooooooo everybody, and welcome to the greatest show you’ll ever see, one to ruin all shows that follow ever after for the rest of your lives!  By day, most of you know me as “Mrs. Kay-Kay,” but by weekend, I am known as “The Great Momzina”!  Prepare to be amazed.  (She whips off her top hat, waves her wand over it, and pulls out a stuffed rabbit, nodding and smiling as the few adults in the audience clap.  The remainder of the spectators slouch with their mouths open) All right, enough with the amateur stuff.  (She throws the rabbit back over her shoulder – one baby starts crying) Today, I’m going to show you some real magic.  First, who here has a phone I can (she winks exaggeratedly) borrow?  (A bunch of the kids hold up their phones) No, that’s OK, sweeties – I’ll take Mr. Firestein’s.  (She takes his proffered phone, pulling up the antenna on it) Ooh, retro.  Now, watch very closely, (She waves her wand over the phone) because the hand… is quicker… than… the eye!  (The phone disappears)

            Kids: Ooooooooooh….

            (Another baby starts crying)

            Magician: That was the easy part: the real trick lies in making the object – reappear!  (She points with the wand to a middle branch of a tree in the corner of the yard.  Startled applause as Mr. Firestein goes to climb the tree to retrieve his phone) Thank you!  You’re a wonderful audience.  Now, for my next feat of prestidigitation, I now will make something appear that had vanished some time ago.  Do you recall, Margaret, that earlier this afternoon I said I was “borrowing” Cousin Eileen for a few moments?

            Margaret: That’s right – where is Eileen?  Frank, your mom will kill us!  (Frank shrugs his shoulders)

            Magician: Never fear, for soon she shall – reappear!  (She spins to the side, flaring her cape; as she steps aside, Cousin Eileen is revealed to be standing on the stage)

            Cousin Eileen: (Blinking in the sunlight) Where was I?

            Magician: In the Land of Magic, my dear lady, from which you have now returned to the Land of the Everyday.  Off you go.

            Cousin Eileen: (Stepping off the stage into her family’s arms) Was I missing?

            Margaret: It’s all right, dear, have some cake.

            Magician: (To the applause) Thank you, but I’m just getting warmed up.  Who wants to see something really cool?  (Everyone’s hands shoot into the air) All right, then – look to the skies!  (She waves her wand and creates a rainbow over the house)

            Kids: Oooohhh…..

            Adult Guest: How in the world…?

            Magician: Aaaand… easy go.  (She waves her wand in the opposite direction, erasing the rainbow)

            Kids: Aww….

            Magician: (Bows to the cheers and whistles) And now, for my next trick –

            Voice Behind the Audience: Hold it!

            (Everyone turns to the backyard gate, where a Wizard and his entourage have gathered)

            Wizard: (Pointing his wand at the Magician) You have violated our most sacred laws and exploited our world for the crass entertainment of these lowly beings, my lady.  You’re not even getting paid for this!

            Magician: (Pointing her wand at him) I do it FOR THE CHILDREN!

            Adult Guests: (Creating a human wall between the two) Yeah, the children!

            Party Host: I didn’t hire that guy!

            Wizard: That’s all right, because show’s over, folks!  (He and the Magician battle with streams of different colored lights shooting out of their wands as everyone dives for cover and Mr. Firestein falls out of the tree.  The Magician zaps the Wizard, who transforms into a flock of doves that soars across the sky.  The entourage flees)

            Magician: And don’t reappear!

            (The adults and kids come out of hiding and applaud wildly.  The Magician beams, spreads her arms wide, and bows.  She waves to the crowd)

            Magician:  Thank you very much!  Happy Birthday, David!

            (She descends from the stage and leaves through the gate, bumping into the Wizard)

            Wizard: Remember, Mom: if you finally get your big break from this, you owe me 10% of everything you earn.

            Magician: Only if you make sure you’re not so late the next time, kid – I almost had to go around finding quarters in people’s ears if I had to wait any longer for you to show up!

Story 44: But I Don’t Want to Play in a Kids’ Band!

This is it: my career has sunk to the rockiest bottom it can get, and I don’t see any way I can ever ascend to the surface without a severe case of the bends.  After years and years of playing guitar until my fingers literally bleed, trying and almost always failing to get into nearly every venue you can think of (including my local synagogue), playing backup to any group that would have me (most wouldn’t), and my parents kicking me out of the house three times, I finally was “hired” last month on a semi-permanent basis by a group that actually has steady work.  I knew I had sold my soul when I auditioned for – and was accepted by – a kids’ band.

            And no, it’s not a band made up of kids: I’m 37 years old, so at this point most of my peers are starting to look like kids to me anyway.  Belonging to a youth band actually wouldn’t have been so bad, since the audiences usually are made up of at least teenage-level people.  Nope, this band plays for kids, with kid songs and kid choreography.  I don’t know which audience is more unruly and unappreciative: the drunks and drug addicts who throw stuff at you just because, or the crying babies and wandering toddlers whose parents let them crawl everywhere and mess up everything.

            Another blow to the ego is that I was told by the always-peppy lead singer/songwriter who wears overalls and pigtails all the time that I had to “clean up my act” when we’re performing.  What, I always wear a nice T-shirt!  But that wasn’t good enough: I had to cut my awesome hair as short as if I was in the Army, I had to shave my awesome beard just as it had reached my belly button, and I had to wear long sleeves so the little tykes don’t see my awesome tatts (one is a beautiful mermaid, I don’t see what the problem is) and become “negatively influenced” because I “clash with the band’s image”.  Whatevs – long as I don’t have to get my tattoos removed, `cause then you’d be paying for it, sweetheart.

            The first gig I had with the “The Littlest Sea Turtles” (I kid you not) was OK: the songs were easy to memorize since they used the same chords over and over again.  The leader kept sneaking me dirty looks `cause I wouldn’t sing with her and her doofus co-lead singer/first guitarist, who is either her brother or owes her money (I thought it would be rude to ask which).  I also wouldn’t jump up and down, wave my arms, or chirp like a bird/moo like a cow/etc. whenever she commanded us and the brats to.  The kid whose birthday it was had already checked out so he could get his face painted as some superhero, so really, what was the point?

            I couldn’t even sneak a cigarette: the moment I pulled out the pack, every pair of eyes that was over the age of 7 shot in my direction.  I was afraid for my life, so I put it away and bummed a bottle of beer instead.  Apparently, polluting your body with liquor is OK, but polluting your body and the shared air with tobacco is not.  Safe ride home, moms and dads!

            Our second gig was not much better – the leader threatened to fire me if I didn’t at least bob my head in time with whatever motions she was doing, so I figured that was a small sacrifice that required minimal effort.  I somehow forgot some of the notes between shows, so I had to improvise during two of the songs; she sure knows her stuff, `cause she shot me with a stream of bubbles during those times, laughing as if it was a joke but glaring daggers from her eyes, as if she wished she had been holding a flamethrower instead.  I like my band leaders stoned, not psychotic, thank you.

            As punishment, at the next gig we landed she made me hand out the props to the kids wandering all over the place, which took me forever and killed the show’s momentum (I didn’t care anymore – my professional pride had long left me by that point).  She also made me go back later and collect them (those things ain’t cheap), and the amount of drool on them made me feel like my hands will never be clean again.  Also, one kid of course didn’t want to give up the thing (I think it was a salt shaker with rocks inside), and mom’s yelling at me to let him keep it that by then I almost punched both of them in the face, I was that far gone.  The lead singer cheerily called me back to the stage in order to keep me out of prison, so I’ll give her that.

            Next week, we’ve got a preschool graduation party (really?!) and already the ungrateful audiences are getting me down.  They don’t even pretend to pay attention, and they’re constantly going on potty breaks, and their adult keepers seem to be more into it than the kids are.  Half of them leave before the show’s over, and they’re talking and/or crying through the whole thing.  I’m sorry, but I’m an artist, and I would like to have some kind of acknowledgement during the show!  The better crowds sing and dance along and clap after each song, but most of them are jerks.  I want to scream at the end of each set “You’ve been a terrible audience!  Good night!”, but I think the lead singer would then strangle me with the microphone cord.

            For now, I endure as all do, for – you guessed it – the money.  And the music: it really is all about the music.

Story 43: The Silent Conversation

This is a tale told in e-mail.  In the interest of saving space, in the headings for each item the Date is Today, the Time is Now, and the Subject is Question.

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            Is that report ready yet?

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

            Almost.  When do you need it by?

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            In an hour.

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

I thought I had until this afternoon………..???????

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            No, I had said by 11:00.         A.M.

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

Actually, you had said 1:00.       P.M.  Here’s the e-mail.  [Screenshot of the

evidence]

To: Employee

            From: Boss

            Still need it by 11 A.M.

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

I don’t think it is humanly possible that I can finish it by then.

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            This should have been done last week!

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

I was a little busy.

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            Busy?  Doing what?????

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

Working.

To: Employee

            From: Boss

            You were not, you’re always playing on your phone or talking with other people. 

            YOU ARE NOT WORKING.    

>:[

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

DON’T ALL-CAPS YELL AT ME.

>:/

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            I’M NOT YELLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

            :{  

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

All this typing is keeping me from finishing YOUR report.

;(

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            Then stop winky-frowning me and start working already!

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

Then stop interrupting me with e-mails!

            To: Employee

            From: Boss

            Your productivity is down the toilet and you contribute NOTHING to this

company!

            To: Boss

            From: Employee

I’m CC’ing H.R. on this conversation.

           

“No!  Don’t CC H.R.!”  He ran the five steps to her computer and ripped out the network cable.  “There, I fire you before you have a chance to quit.”

            She stood up slowly, dignified. 

            “I could totally fight this, but I respect that you had the decency to do it in person.”