Oct 18, 2007

End Times: A Tale of Fallen Beards or How Hard It Is to Find Time to Write with Two Jobs.

So, I walked in and told the receptionist that I had an appointment to be on the Stacy London show and they sent me to sit on a couch where a huge poster of Maury Povich stared me in the eyes. Next to me, a woman was talking to a psychologist and she was telling the psychologist that kids who overeat were subjected to blah blah blah and I turned around to see I was going to be on a talk show in the same offices where Quite Frankly with Steven A. Smith was filmed. I thought to myself, for the rest of the day, what would Steven A. Smith do? Then, in most cases, I did it. That's how the day started.

When a coordinator asked me if I was Jeff, I said yes, yes I am Jeff and so she led me to a back room where I talked about my beard to a camera that was not recording sound. This raging bitch of a beast-woman

"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I'm looking for the book The Accidental President."
"It's in Americana, under Kaplan."
"It's about Brazil."
"Right. THAT Accidental President. It's in History of Latin America."
Customer stares blankly.
"History. On your left. Latin America."
Customer stares blankly.
"History. Left side of the floor, sir. Do you need anything else?"
"Where is it?"
"Left side of the floor, sir. History. Latin American history."
"I don't know where that is."
"It's along the left side of the store, sir. Six rows back. Latin American history."
"And it's there?"
"Should be."
"You didn't check the computer."
"Sir, it's there. I shelved it myself."
"OK, where is the section?"
"Six rows back, take a left. Go about halfway down. Look to y--"
Customer walks away.

keeps talking to me and into a headset without specifying who she is talking to in the first place and I am getting pretty angry with her. The other two dudes who are supposed to get their beards shaved off are getting angry too. I start being as condescending as she was but now she is

"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a specific book, can I ask y--"
"What is it?"
"A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."
"It's in fiction, under Smith."
"Is that the author, Smith?"
"It's a kid's book."
"We keep it in fiction along the back wall."
"The back wall? Where is that?"
"In the back, ma'am, the whole wall."
"Under Smith?"
"That's right."

talking in

ah fuck it. I went on a TV talk show and shaved off my fucking beard. I look like an idiot (even without the mustache). This is what I get for writing autobiographically and trying to do ANYTHING for myself as of late.


Rayne said...

....judging by the picture you've still got the sexy thing going on, beard or not...and you've still got that articulate wit of yours, which is what counts...

i can so identify with the 2-job thing...life becomes a bit of a blur after awhile...

G said...

Did you save the shavings? Did you tenderly collect the trimmings and cosset them in a gentle baggie or crinkly napkin until you could find an appropriate time to lay them to rest in a soft, cool declivity hollowed into the ground of a park or some other shaded area filled with trees and growing green rustling noises to remind them of home and peace?

Or did you allow them to be swept unceremoniously up into a dust pan filled the the excrescence and shame of other human matter to be dumped unlovingly in the garbage?

And a very good day to you, sir.