Ah, happy Friday everyone. This one was a long time coming. I don't know who okayed this week having five work days, but they'd better have a complaint box. The unintentional themes of this week's posts have been thinking of things in the car and improvisational comedy. In that spirit, I have two things to write about (one in each of those categories) before diving into a pretty large pile of real work today. Sucks, I know.
First off, a commercial on the radio told me to get my news from "Fox 11 at 10." I'm used to this, and I doubt the 11 really throws anyone off, but it always catches my ear. This time, it reminded me of another Sacramento tale. I've briefly explained before in this space the type of work I did for that year to pass the time - basically "looking busy" for at least 6 of the 8 hours in the day. The other time was filled with such tasks as organizing thousands of pieces of paper into zip code order and manually entering information into a spreadsheet that already existed on the network in another format.
One task thrust upon me near the end of my stay (I almost said "my sentence" but that would've been unnecessarily mean to the Sackys) was to be the back-up receptionist for when the full-time one went on a break or to lunch. The rules I had to follow in that position were hilarious. I couldn't say, "Hold on one second," or even "one minute" because it could take longer than that, and we didn't want to lie to the customers. I argued that "moment" was undefined, but I was told to leave it as "Please hold." Also, I couldn't say, "No problem" because (get this) it implies that there may have been a problem. Oh sure, that makes perfect sense. Anyway, I occasionally had to page people or make announcements over the intercom. The only rules with that were to repeat the page twice, and if it was a general announcement, begin with "May I have your attention please." Not too difficult, right? I got a little stagefright the first couple of times, because this was a big place and there were hundreds of ears in cubicles hearing me.
So one Friday, I got a call from the very nice lady who ran Human Resources. This is what she made me say over the loudspeaker: "May I have your attention please. This is the last call for all first-timers for the Second Friday Lunch. Once again, this is the last call for all first-timers for the Second Friday Lunch." I immediately got two calls from smart asses (including my boss Kevin) asking me to repeat it again. I almost lost it a few minutes later mid-page when announcing the "first call for seconds for the Second Friday lunch." Ah, my time in Sac. I got to experience two new things up there: actual seasons and mind-numbingly menial tasks.
Crap, this is turning into a long post. I promised the second story, so I'll do it. When you speak of me, "honors his word" should factor prominently in the discussion. Back to talking about improvisational comedy. Improv is sometimes described as "comedy without a net" because there's only one take and the actors are out there relying solely on their minds. If the basic premise of a scene isn't working, the audience may be a little eager for the next one to start, but the actors themselves are dying up there. I have a little experience with this.
I was in the worst improv scene of all time. I fell, there was no net, and it hurt like a bitch. For a little while, I didn't want to discuss it. Then I grew to accept it, wear it as a badge of honor (or more appropriately, a Purple Heart), and I now think that I grew from that horrible experience. Here's what happened: we were playing a game called "Scenes." In it, the team does one short scene that doesn't necessarily need to be very funny. Then, they repeat the scene three additional times with different themes applied to it. The basic structure of the scene stays the same, so the audience knows what's going to happen while the actors need to spin everything in it to match the theme that the audience threw out. The details are fuzzy, but I remember the first scene was something about me being a scientist and aliens landing near my lab. I talked to them, they gestured, and we agreed to live together in peace.
The first theme we were given was the worst one possible for this scene: Science Fiction. There was no real way to change it to make it much more Sci-Fi than it already was. So, I grabbed a grey wig, and a la Doc Brown from Back to the Future ran out there and screamed, "Marty! You've got to come back with me!" Dead frickin' silence. The blankest of blank stares. I'm pretty sure those in the front row could hear my heartbeat. Alas, the scene must continue, so we ran through it almost exactly the same way as the first (not funny) scene.
We had to do it two more times, for an audience that clearly wanted it to end as quickly as we did. I saw the panic in my teammates' eyes, but we just needed to get through it. I'm sorry to say that I don't even recall what the second theme was or how it played out. I just know it was bad. The third though, I believe was in the style or either "detective" or "mystery." I can clearly recall a few things from it (besides the immense flight instinct). One, the aliens started talking in this one. "Glub glub," they said. Two, they pulled a gun on me for some reason and ordered me to go into a ditch. And three, this conversation happened:
First off, a commercial on the radio told me to get my news from "Fox 11 at 10." I'm used to this, and I doubt the 11 really throws anyone off, but it always catches my ear. This time, it reminded me of another Sacramento tale. I've briefly explained before in this space the type of work I did for that year to pass the time - basically "looking busy" for at least 6 of the 8 hours in the day. The other time was filled with such tasks as organizing thousands of pieces of paper into zip code order and manually entering information into a spreadsheet that already existed on the network in another format.
One task thrust upon me near the end of my stay (I almost said "my sentence" but that would've been unnecessarily mean to the Sackys) was to be the back-up receptionist for when the full-time one went on a break or to lunch. The rules I had to follow in that position were hilarious. I couldn't say, "Hold on one second," or even "one minute" because it could take longer than that, and we didn't want to lie to the customers. I argued that "moment" was undefined, but I was told to leave it as "Please hold." Also, I couldn't say, "No problem" because (get this) it implies that there may have been a problem. Oh sure, that makes perfect sense. Anyway, I occasionally had to page people or make announcements over the intercom. The only rules with that were to repeat the page twice, and if it was a general announcement, begin with "May I have your attention please." Not too difficult, right? I got a little stagefright the first couple of times, because this was a big place and there were hundreds of ears in cubicles hearing me.
So one Friday, I got a call from the very nice lady who ran Human Resources. This is what she made me say over the loudspeaker: "May I have your attention please. This is the last call for all first-timers for the Second Friday Lunch. Once again, this is the last call for all first-timers for the Second Friday Lunch." I immediately got two calls from smart asses (including my boss Kevin) asking me to repeat it again. I almost lost it a few minutes later mid-page when announcing the "first call for seconds for the Second Friday lunch." Ah, my time in Sac. I got to experience two new things up there: actual seasons and mind-numbingly menial tasks.
Crap, this is turning into a long post. I promised the second story, so I'll do it. When you speak of me, "honors his word" should factor prominently in the discussion. Back to talking about improvisational comedy. Improv is sometimes described as "comedy without a net" because there's only one take and the actors are out there relying solely on their minds. If the basic premise of a scene isn't working, the audience may be a little eager for the next one to start, but the actors themselves are dying up there. I have a little experience with this.
I was in the worst improv scene of all time. I fell, there was no net, and it hurt like a bitch. For a little while, I didn't want to discuss it. Then I grew to accept it, wear it as a badge of honor (or more appropriately, a Purple Heart), and I now think that I grew from that horrible experience. Here's what happened: we were playing a game called "Scenes." In it, the team does one short scene that doesn't necessarily need to be very funny. Then, they repeat the scene three additional times with different themes applied to it. The basic structure of the scene stays the same, so the audience knows what's going to happen while the actors need to spin everything in it to match the theme that the audience threw out. The details are fuzzy, but I remember the first scene was something about me being a scientist and aliens landing near my lab. I talked to them, they gestured, and we agreed to live together in peace.
The first theme we were given was the worst one possible for this scene: Science Fiction. There was no real way to change it to make it much more Sci-Fi than it already was. So, I grabbed a grey wig, and a la Doc Brown from Back to the Future ran out there and screamed, "Marty! You've got to come back with me!" Dead frickin' silence. The blankest of blank stares. I'm pretty sure those in the front row could hear my heartbeat. Alas, the scene must continue, so we ran through it almost exactly the same way as the first (not funny) scene.
We had to do it two more times, for an audience that clearly wanted it to end as quickly as we did. I saw the panic in my teammates' eyes, but we just needed to get through it. I'm sorry to say that I don't even recall what the second theme was or how it played out. I just know it was bad. The third though, I believe was in the style or either "detective" or "mystery." I can clearly recall a few things from it (besides the immense flight instinct). One, the aliens started talking in this one. "Glub glub," they said. Two, they pulled a gun on me for some reason and ordered me to go into a ditch. And three, this conversation happened:
Alien: (pointing gun at me and motioning) Glub glub, on the glub glub.
Me: (slowly walking toward the 'ditch') You want me to glub glub on the glub glub?
I hope you can sense how unbelievably bad this was. For one of the longest games in our arsenal, I don't think we got a single laugh. It was painful. And yet, it was a good thing. For one, I learned that if I could survive that, I had nothing to fear every other time I went out there. It would never be that bad again, and I lived to tell that tale without any external injuries. And two, it gave us years of "Glub glub" jokes. Totally worth it.
On that note, gentle readers, have a lovely weekend.
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