Posted in July 2008 …

Jul 30 2008
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Scraps and Tidbits

God-Awful Teen Movie Script Bit

The Wanna-Be
By Catie Osborn

Scene 1: Alarm clock sounds. Good Charlotte’s “The Anthem” comes on. Cut to two feet swinging out of bed onto a floor strewn with clothes, papers and the bottom of a guitar. At Cue, Voiceover begins.

Voice (JACK)
My name is Jack Milester

Throughout entire introduction, a boy (JACK) is getting dressed in full punk attire and going through his morning routine.

JACK (VO)
I am your typical middle-class kid. Except for one thing–I have no place.

Cut to JACK coming out of his home. He grabs a skateboard from the porch and proceeds down the walk. He attempts to do a trick on the curb and falls flat on his back. The camera pulls up in an arial shot as JACK continues speaking.

JACK (VO)
So this is the story of my life–I got to school, go to work, and I don’t belong anywhere.

CUT to large, grassy commons of a high school-different group of students mill around, never interacting.

JACK (VO)
So this is my high school. John Adams high. It’s okay. I mean, we’ve never had any thing interesting happen, but we survive. It’s a typical high school with your typical cliques.

(As each group is names, a shot of each one is shown)

JACK (VO)
In fourth grade, my teacher brought in an ant colony. The ants all had a specific purpose. Food gatherer, soldier, queen, stuff like that. The way I see it, these cliques all support each other, but never really interact. They keep to themselves and are hesitant to let an outsider in. We first have the Jocks. Self explanatory. Next, we have the cheerleaders as sub clique of the popular kids. These are the people who rule the school. And believe me-it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do. Because for no matter how long, even for a moment, you’ve wondered what it’s like. You’ve wanted to be them. You want to have admirers, attention–you want to be the guy everyone cheers for as you score the wining baskets, and you want to be the girl every guy would kill to date.

Camera pans over to separate area of the commons. Here, the groups mentioned below are shot as before.

JACK (VO)
Next, we have the untouchables–so called because you are either in or you’re out. You can’t be a deep dark poet and be a jock. It just doesn’t work. The poets and drama kids are the mysterious  ones. No one understands their poetry or their photographs, and everyone knows they really don’t like coffee, but they put up with them because one might just be the next Longfellow. The nerds are my personal favorite–not because they’re fun to beat up, but because they’re the kids with an actual future, and they’re the ones with their heads in the toilet most of the time. The bullies, stoners, gangstas and posers are all so names because its exactly what they are. Here, some intermix, but everyone else stays away.
Then there are the gifted few with the tale of total acceptance–no matter what they do, each group accepts them as their own. They fit in as well with the poet as they do with the punks.
Shot of  group of beautiful girls.

JACK (VO)
That’s her.

Camera pans around girls to another girl, sitting by picnic table in a wheelchair, reading a book.

JACK (VO)
No, she isn’t a supermodel. But she’s perfect.

We finally see JACK’s face. He heads towards the girl. It’s obvious that he’s nervous and socially akward. The girl spots him and smiles.

EMILY
Hey Jack!

EMILY smiles and wheels away.

JACK (VO)
She knows every student by name. Girls are complicated beings, aren’t they/ they pretend to like you, or pretend to hate you, or laugh instead of cry or cry instead of laugh….it’s like they do exactly the opposite.

Bell rings and students start to go into the school.

JACK (VO)
(As he talks, camera follows JACK into school and to his locker!)

We are about to venture into the realm of high school. High school is a crazy thing. People tell us that high school is the best time in our lives –but then why is it so damn boring? And you’ve have to find your place right away, or you’ll be branded as the weird kid all four years, and then you’re screwed. I’ve tried nearly every group–but it just didn’t feel right. I can’t play sports, I can’t act, I can’t skateboard, I failed poetry last year and I’m socially akward.

A s

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

Being A Superhero (published June 2006)

So the other day my brother and I went to go see X-Men III. It was pretty good, I guess, considering the accidental exclusion of a plot, but it got me thinking. A lot of people have been talking about the hidden political symbolism that is present in the  movie, and about how it raises questions about human rights, ethics, war, poverty and other serious issues. I don’t know about other people, but I know personally I was very moved… All I could think of when I left the theater was “Man! I wish I was a mutant!”
Think about it. How sweet would it be if you could fly, or throw giant fireballs or control minds? And not just the whole superhero aspect of things–it’s the everyday practicalities that I would enjoy! Long line at Starbucks?? No problem! Just levitate everyone out of the way, or make them all forget what they wanted.
Can’t get that grill to light? Blast it with your fireballs. It’d be great on the 4t of July, as well! Tired of your neighbors? Simply make their house fly far, far away! Tired of listening to your sibling’s awful music? “Accidentally” freeze all of their Cds! Having superpowers would make all our lives so much easier.
Not only that, but we could make the world a better place. Being able to pinpoint certain people would finally enable my plan for locking all the stupid people in underground cages to finally come to fruition.
I’m not going to put on any false pretenses–I’d be the worst super hero ever. I am much too lazy and self-motivated to try and do anything that great for humanity. I’d be the superhero who uses the powers of flight to pick up something from the drive-through at McDonalds or the mall during Christmas time, just to avoid parking. My sweet costume would consist of jeans and a musical t-shirt (probably Wicked, because the irony would make me chuckle.), and this is only a public service. No one needs to see me in neon spandex. No one.  I’d save small children and cats from trees, but only if there were cookies in it for me.
And forget any of that crime fighting stuff. I’d much rather sit back and watch the royalties from the Catie action figure roll on in. I’ve always wanted my face on a t-shirt, and now this would be the perfect opportunity. I might even get my own fan club. Sweet.
I’d probably hire on of my brother’s friends as my arch nemesis, just so I wouldn’t have to worry about every actually fighting him. I’d just offer him a Twinkie and things would be cool.
All in all, I think that being a super-hero would be a pretty sweet gig. Especially the whole mind control thing–think about it. For all you know, I could be controlling your mind right now, telling you to buy tickets for George M!, which will be presented by Quad City Music Guild on July 7,8,9, 13, 14, 15, 16, at 7:30 in the Prospect Park Auditorium,to (Call 762-6610 for tickets).
Mwahahahaha!

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

Being a Princess (published 1/2007)

So, being a college student has recently started leaving me strapped for cash. There’s the little things in life that one realizes that they need to pay for…such as food. So, over winter break I started a business. And what a fantastic business it is, too. Really! I’m now the proud manager of “Princess Parties By Catie. Seriously.
See, it finally occurred to me while working at my mom and dad’s office.  My good buddy Autumn, who works up at the front was discussing her daughter’s birthday party, and how it was themed for the Little Mermaid. I jokingly suggested that I should dress up like the Little Mermaid and show up. Then it clicked.
This was a viable career opportunity!
Not only do I get to work with little kids, which I love, I have a legitimate excuse to play dress up. Combine that with the fact that I got a sewing machine for my birthday and it is perfect. (Although I did get a few strange looks carrying my supply of costumes up to my dorm room….I guess a Dorothy jumper isn’t as in fashion as it used to be…).
At this point, I’ve started making costumes to have on hand when people call and book parties. I’ve  even started to make friends with the nice ladies at the fabric store. The best moment was when I explained why I needed the Civil-War recreation pattern for a Disney Princess costume. And that I had never really sewn before. Or ever used a pattern before…
And the girls on my floor are starting to get used to seeing me waltz up and down the hall dressed like Belle, or stopping them and asking them to check and see if my hemline is straight.  But the kicker came when I forced my friend Beth to be my “body double” and try on my newest costume so I could see it on someone. Let’s just say that Beth is not exactly the type to dress up like a princess….
So far, it’s been a pretty good deal. I’ve booked a few parties and business is getting bigger. This really is the perfect job for a theatre major: Costumes, make-up, acting, an extremely receptive audience of hyper 4 year-olds….and plus, I get to play dress up for about 5 hours.  And I’ve found that little kids don’t really care what you look like, it’s all in the attitude…which is sort of deep, when you think about it.
It’s been a learning experience, that’s for sure, but I am loving the work. It is awesome to walk into a room and be bombarded by 40 kids. It’s also tons of fun to make the shy kid in the corner come out of her shell, or making a little kid feel like a princess for the day.
Plus, now I have a legitimate reason to start watching Disney movies again.
Shameless plug: Check out www.freewebs.com/princesspartiesbycatie if you want more information.

Jul 30 2008
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Scraps and Tidbits, Things of a Literary Nature.

Super Sweet Time-Travel-y Story Thing…

Chapter One

She bolted down the shadowed alley, her short brown hair hitting her cheek as she twisted to look behind her. She was still being followed. The sun was setting in the distance, creating the eerie half-light that now lit the open street ahead of her. She ducked behind a dumpster and peeked out. She spotted two men in suit casually strolling down the alley and grimaced. Hoping for the best, she crouched low and ran, stopping behind a giant van that was parked across the street. Her sneakers splattered in a puddle and she cursed as she felt her socks absorb the moisture.
She’d been out shopping all day, stopping at the local bookstore to admire the display of her new book and to check her mail at the post office. She’d noticed the men in the bookstore, and had hardly given them a second glance. It wasn’t until she noticed the suspicious looking shape tucked into one of their socks did she panic. They’d found her again.  This time, she’d missed the warning signs. She’d have to improvise.
Muttering  quick prayer to whomever might be listening, she crouched low and began to creep down the street in the opposite direction of the two men. Suddenly, the men crossed the street and studied the row of parked cars. She froze, trying desperately not to breathe too loudly as the larger of the two men spoke.
“We’ve been tracking her for days. Let’s just leave and wait for her to go back to her place, and take her back from there”. His deep voice implied his authority over the his smaller counterpart, but  it seemed his partner had an idea as well.
“What if she finds out that we’ve been ordered to watch her? That book of hers—this is serious business she’s gotten herself into. We’ve got to take care of this, and now”. With a furtive glance around him, he reached down to his shoe.
From her vantage point behind the car, she could clearly see what she had feared–a long, narrow wooden object about 8 inches long. It was a wand. He was one of them. There was no time to think. She could tell that this was serious, that she needed to get out of there–and quickly. She began running at a low crouch behind the row of parked cars, and finally reached the bus stop at the end of the block. She grabbed a disgusting old newspaper from underneath the bench and hid her face, glancing every so often from behind the damp pages to check on the men. They were still arguing.
Finally, the bus wheezed to a stop and she jumped on, excusing herself as she pushed past a few people on the way out.  She dug in her pockets for change, paid the driver and walked to the back, trying to keep her face turned away from the windows on that side of the street. Finally, she reached the back sat down, sighing. She rubbed her face with her hands and watched the two men as the bus pulled away.

Chapter Two

When she arrived home, she immediately grabbed her backpack and duffel bag and began throwing in everything important. Her laptop, notebooks, purse and keys and money went into the backpack, and some clothes and other assorted junk went into the larger duffel. She had done this dozens of times before–there would be new clothes and new copies of her favorite books—only what she truly needed went with her. She frantically dug under her bed until her hand made contact with a wooden box, which she carefully wrapped in a sweater and shoved deep into her backpack.
She had her hand on the doorknob when she noticed the blinking light on her answering machine. She cursed again under her breath and set the bag down. She hit the button and the message played.
“Hi, Em, it’s Jane down in publicity. Listen, the kids are loving your book. We’re looking to perhaps have you go on a short publicity tour. Nothing too fancy–just a couple of stops on some local television stations and then maybe a press conference if sales keep picking up. I’ve got all the information ready to go, so just give me a call when you get this. Thanks a lot!”
That message being played, Emily stopped and considered her options. She could go out and make a run for it, pick up and move and hope to keep a low profile, or she could agree to the publicity tour and buy herself sometime–they wouldn’t dare try and touch her with so many people around. Plus, she might be able to find a friend to stay with in the meantime.
Her decision made, she picked up her bags and glanced back at the comfy apartment. It had been one of her favorites, but it was time to move on. She dug her cell phone out of her back pocket, and dialed.
She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice.
“Hi, Jane? It’s Emily. I got your message. No, I’d love to.”.
Twenty minutes later Emily was seated in a plush glass and leather office decorated with posters of best-selling novels. Two huge bookcases stood like guards behind a desk, at which sat a tiny woman with a mess of curly blonde hair. Emily was sitting cross-legged in one of the huge leather chairs that sat in front of the desk, toying with a sample action figure she’s found in the lobby.
“Thanks so much for coming in, Em. I really appreciate it.” Jane was a perky twenty something who ……

Jul 30 2008
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Scraps and Tidbits

Terrible Screenplay Idea

Scene 1: Airplane Hangar. In foreground, a giant, half-built airplane looms up out of the half-shadowed bunker. Camera flies up and over the airplane, showing the construction progress. Camera moves down and around to the other side of
the plane, where a news reporter is filming against the giant wing of the plane.

Reporter: I’m standing here in front of the nearly completed Boeing 17-68, the largest and most complex plane ever constructed for international use. With only 3 weeks to go untill it’s maiden voyage, many critics of this multi-billion dollar project
say that it will an impossibility to complete this project on time.

Camera pulls back to reveal the scene on a flat-screen panel in a lush office.

Reporter: The plane is being called the “peace plane” by many. In a historical precedent, the Boeing company has invited over 50 world leaders and dignitaries from various countries to hold an international peace conference on board during the flight. Only 36 have accepted this invitation as of yet, but critics are already concerned about the type of security required to —

Scene 2: Office The screen goes black. Camera pans 360 to reveal a man sitting at his desk, phone on his shoulder and remote in hand. He is not happy.

Man: No. I told you at least three times that we needed —- I understand there are certain issues that can— yes.. No. Look. This is time sensitive material. I want it tonight. Be there at eleven or not at all.

He slams down phone, and yanks open a drawer. Inside, we can see blueprints, newspaper clippings and photographs. He reaches through the assortment and pulls out a box. It is a small, “security” box lined with eggshell foam with a tiny cut-out, about the size of a postage stamp. He clips it shut, and stands. He takes out another, almost identical box from another drawer and opens this. Inside is a gun. He removes it and hides it in his coat, and leaves the office.

Scene 3: Night. A Starbucks. The man is sitting at a table, enjoying an overpriced coffee delight. He is on his cell phone, talking in low tones.

Man: (on cell). Yes. That’s correct. I should have it in my possesion in—

He looks up as the door opens. A shifty looking guy in skeezy clothes enters. This is Jay. He has obviously noticed the man, but is trying to play it cool. He meanders up to the counter, and the man quickly ends his call, and watches Jay as he recieves his drink. Jay stands akwardly, realizing that he’s going to have to interact with the man, but he doesn’t want to. The man quickly intervenes. He stands.

Man: Good to see you.

He (not that gently) steers the guy to his table.

Man: I assume you brought the mercahndise?

Jay: Mercahndise? What is this…the Godfather? Why don’t you just say the chip?

Jay smirks. He rumages through his knapsack and holds up a thermos. He shakes it, and a rattle from the inside assures him that chip is inside.

Man: So you want to be cute. Let me ask you—do you enjoy your kneecap?

Camera pans to the underside of the table, where we see that the man has placed his gun point-blank against Jay’s leg.

Jay: Oh…now what are you gonna do? Shoot me? Right here in Starbucks. Why, I expected more than that. Besides..you want to keep me mobile…I might just slip…and the chip might just happen to fall into a sewer grate or something.

Man: That would be tragic. Especially because that chip is worth more to me than your pathetic existence. I’ve got your check. Take it and go.

From under the table, the sound of a cocking gun can be heard. Jay, however, shows no fear.

Jay: Why you gotta threaten me all the time, man? I’m just trying to do my job, and you’re always all up in my grill, trying to scare me. Why you gotta be like that?

The man slams an envelope down onto the table. Jay delicately slides it accross, and obviously yet delicately opens it and checks the amount. He looks up sharply

Jay: I thought you said three—

Man: I had to take off a smart-ass tax. I hope you understand.

Jay is pissed

Jay: I’m sorry, too, man.

Jay slowly removes the thermos from his backpack, and unscrews the top. He overturns it, and the chip slides out onto the table. He then takes his coffee and goes to dump it onto the chip, but before he can, the sound of a silenced gun is heard and Jay screams. The man slides the chip off of the table and into his pocket as Jay continues to scream. The camera pans down to the floor, where his shoes walk through the blood and around the feet of the concerned patrons.

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

The Glorious Return Of Catie (published 5/2008)

For awhile now, I’ve been getting stopped in malls, restaurants, office buildings and airports with the question “When are you going to start writing again?”  Now, as nice as it is being a Q level celebrity in the Quad-City celebrisphere, it started to get really, really annoying.  And so I as I thought over the past year of my life, I realized…my regular readers have missed a lot.
And so, I am incredibly pleased to say: I’m back.
Actually, now that I think on it, I get asked a lot of questions on a daily basis that are frustrating to answer over and over. So let’s play catch-up, readers.
College: is fine. Ambrose is fantastic, yes, I like it here and no, I haven’t had any trouble with my roommate. In fact, we are best friends.  No, the food isn’t the best, but yes, I get enough to eat and no, I do not live on ramen noodles.  Yes, I am having fun in college. No, I will not elaborate. You do not want to know.
No, I do not have a boyfriend. And no, I do not want to meet your son/cousin/roommate. Yes, Mom, I know you want grandkids.  Yes, I had a boyfriend, and yes, it is a long, long story.
Yes, I have a job, I still work at the state’s attorney’s office part time. And yes, I still do understand that I could be replaced by a  high functioning Xerox machine. It might even do a better job. Xerox machines don’t take dance breaks.
Yes, I am still a theatre major and no, I do not have a fall back. Yes, I am okay with that. Yes, I know I am going to be poor and hungry, and yes, I’ve picked out a nice box to live in. Yes, I understand that to you, theatre is not a “real job”, and I find that deeply offensive and I will secretly judge you for that statement for the rest of your life. And no, I will not thank you in my acceptance speech.  Yes, I am doing theatre this summer, and yes, I am quite excited for it.
No, I don’t have many plans for the summer. This is because I am saving up money for the greatest adventure of my life, which will be discussed in future columns. Yes, that means you are going to have to keep reading….see what I did there?

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

Hypothetically Speaking (Published 10/2006)

So, as most of you know, OJ Simpson decided it would be cool to write a book that set up a few hypothetical situations and then explain what he would have done IF these situations had actually happened. With that in mind, I would like to present my first ever “hypothetical column”, in which I am going to discuss some hypothetically crazy things that I may have done in college. But remember, these are only hypothetical.
If, hypothetically, I had come back to the dorm after fall break and spent the entire night riding down the halls on my roller skates out of sheer boredom,  I might have hypothetically learned that it hurts when you run into the wall.
If, hypothetically, we had transformed the hallway into a giant slip-n-slide, and I had been one of the perpetrators, it would have resulted in an awkward situation when we took it outside and they were having mass in the Chapel (which has large, plate glass windows. Facing our direction).
If, hypothetically I had spent an entire day listening to Christmas songs and making paper snow flakes, it would only have been pathetic when I had to look up how to make them on the internet.
If, hypothetically I had stayed up ‘till 4 AM for three nights in a row playing Guitar Hero 2 at Wal-Mart and then eating at Village Inn, I would have learned that eventually you run out of energy drinks and class is much less fun afterwards.
If, hypothetically I had spent an hour railing about the life size animatronic pony that they now carry at Wal-Mart, (which is ABSOLUTELY ridiculous–in my day, you told your mommy and daddy that you wanted a pony and they chuckled and patted you on the head. They didn’t go to Wal-Mart and buy you one. ) the hour might have ended in a trip to Wal-Mart just to see the pony.
If, hypothetically, I had stayed up until 3 AM the morning of a show because I couldn’t tear myself away from Twister at the cast sleepover, I would have learned that snow isn’t as much fun when it’s really late and you’re really tired.
If, hypothetically, I’d become completely addicted to Grey’s Anatomy because of my suitemates and roommate, I would now consider the question “McDreamy or McSteamy” a serious one.
If, hypothetically, I’d become so completely engrossed in the SAU theatre department that my life seriously revolved around it, I wouldn’t mind at all, because they are some of the nicest people on campus, and throw the best parties as well–or so I’ve been told.
If, hypothetically I spent more time playing Mario Kart than I did doing homework, I would have realized that I have a wicked case of Mario Kart-induced Tourette’s syndrome that I really need to have checked out.
I guess what it comes down to it that I’ve become, hypothetically, happier than I’ve even been. I’ve gotten so much out of just this first semester of college–I can’t wait to see what may or may not happen to me for the rest of my college career.

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

Being A Whore and Other Adventures Of Theatre Major-y (Published 10/2006)

I’ve been at St. Ambrose for almost two months now, and things are going smashingly. I’ve met loads of fun new people, done crazy college things and become a whore. A dirty one, no less.
(Okay, so it’s in the musical, and I took that statement completely out of context. But it’s still fun to tell people I’m a whore. Especially my dad. )
And because of this role, I’ve learned several very important things. First, high heels are an acquired talent. It also hurts if you fall down whilst wearing said heels. It also is possible to dance somewhat like an ape in a corset and high heels; you just gotta have skills. And these skills are not something that come unnaturally…you gotta work on them for awhile.
So the show’s Threepenny Opera, and wouldn’t you know —it’s this weekend. (Note: shameless self-promotion follows). Call the Galvin Fine Arts Center  at (563) 333-6251 for tickets.
In addition to all of this fun stuff, I also got a job working at a haunted house.  Which, in my opinion, is about one of the most fun things ever. Where else can you scream at people for no legitimate reason and get away with it? And it’s not just the stress relief–not only do I get to put on some sweet make-up, I also have the best costume ever: A towel. That’s right. A towel. It’s a bloody towel, but a towel nonetheless.
See, the plan was that I was going to be the “scary locker-room/Psycho/Carrie” take-off. The only problem was that the room I was supposed to be in was a little….distracting due to the presence of certain other characters.  So I moved into another room, where the look turned into a sort of “The Grudge/The Ring” sort of look. Which is pretty sweet if you ask me.
But it is hard to keep a straight face when dorky teenage boys start making fun comments, or even better, when they scream like little girls and then try to play it off like nothing happened.  You’ve really not lived until you’ve seen a group of grown men clinging to each other trying to get away from the scary girl in the towel.
I’ve found that people scare differently, which makes ‘spooking’ more fun. Some people get really scared and scream at the slightest noise, and some won’t say anything. Others just cold-cock people in the face. (Okay, that was me. But it was an accident. Sort of. I said I was sorry.) Then you have your “too cool for school” types, who pretend like they aren’t scared at all., and just mosey on through the haunted hause giggling.  Those are the people I enjoy scaring most of all. Because the plan is to act all cool and the spooks will write you off as a lost cause. Not me. That’s who I go for. Because the trick is to make them think you’re done scaring them, and then move in for a second attack. Or a third.
And speaking of haunted houses…..the Silvis/East Moline Jaycee’s Haunted House is also this weekend! And every other weekend in October. It’s at the Quad City Downs, and  it opens Fridays at 7:00 PM.
Now to tell Mom what really happened to her favorite towel….

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

The Mall And Other Horrors (published 3/2006)

A few weeks ago, something strange happened to me. I joined a special club—one only a privileged few join. “The Retail Club”. That’s right…I got a job. After months on the unemployment circuit, I got tired of my lack of fundage and decided to get a job. I was hired as a “part-timer” at an extremely pink store in the mall, or as I like to call myself, a “lowly minion”.
This was my first major mistake: getting hired at an all-pink store. If you like pink, that’s great. Pink is actually a nice color in most circumstances…but when forced to stare at a pink wall for 5 hours, it gets old. Really fast.
To share with you how much I…enjoyed….working there, I think I’ll share a few things I learned since becoming employed.
If the clothes don’t fit, it is not my fault. Really. I understand that it can be hard to find clothes that fit and look good, but is there any reason to complain to me about it? This leads me to number 2:
We do not make the clothes. Funny enough, there is no magical sewing machine in the back that turns out clothes while you wait. I do not know why a zipper is pink, or a seam is yellow. Please do not ask. I enjoy the show “Project Runway”, but I am not the designer. And no, the hood of that sweatshirt does not come in a different color.
Sales. I like to shop. I like to find things for a low price. This means I like sales. Most people like sales. Most people understand that some things go on sale when others don’t. However, threatening me with a lawsuit because an item you want is not on sale is not a great way to make friends.
There are no magical fairies in the mall. Contrary to popular belief, the elves do not come at night to straighten the store. No gnomes come to sort the shoes, and no little gremlins straighten up the dresses when the lights go out. That’s my job. Which means every time someone throws a shirt under a rack or cleverly hangs something up inside out on the wrong rack, I have to pick it up and put it back. Which, while entertaining in the first 15 minutes, gets really old after the first 4 ½ hours.
The power of invisibility. A funny thing happens to you when you join “The Retail Club”—you gain the amazing powers of invisibility! It must be really weird for someone to see clothes they tried on magically floating across the store, or seeing the cash register ring up purchases by itself, but apparently it’s okay. I mean, it couldn’t be anything else, right? Why else would someone ignore your question or just brush right by you while pretending not to see the giant pile of clothes they just kicked over?
Cell Phones. I like cell phones. I own a cell phone. I even talk on it sometimes! But there are some people who are going to have to have surgery to have the cell phone detached from their ear. Then they complain about the poor service they received while shopping. (Hint: maybe if I could tell whether or not you’re referring to me when you order a large pizza after I ask if I can get you anything I would be able to help you more.)
I really did learn a lot during my 3 ½ weeks of employment (yes, I quit—but that’s a whole other column). Much of it was job related, but some of it was about human nature…and how truly evil the people who take fifty things into the dressing room at once are.

Jul 30 2008
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Columns

Working (published July 2007)

So first I thought I was going to write an article about my FABULOUS buddy Trisha, who’s been demanding an article for about 6 months, but no. Not any more. Nope. I’ve reached my breaking point, and I’m not going to take it any more.

The following is a public service announcement regarding the crime in Rock Island County.

Seriously folks, it’s time to stop with the crime. For the couple of months or so, I’ve been employed as an intern at Rock Island Court House. This has been a pretty sweet gig, but the work is tedious. And just so everyone knows how it works, a short explanation;  when you commit a crime, you get a file. Then, the file is given to me.
And what do I do with this file? First, I pull it apart. Then I sort it. Then I scan it, then I stamp it, then I file it in the computer. And this is what I have to do for every time someone commits a crime. So I ask you as a personal favor to myself to please stop doing stupid things.
Now, I understand you can make a mistake. Or two. Or three. But when it gets to the point when I’ve never met you but I know your address and your birthday because I’ve filed you so many times, maybe it’s time to stop.
And another thing. Now, I encourage creativity. But there is a limit to where creativity should be employed . Especially when naming your children. Naming your child Tar-Tar Lord of the Underworld and all Outlying Gophers is great. But when he starts doing crazy stuff and winds up in jail–don’t complain. You had to see it coming. Naming your child with any name involving more than 5 silent letters or more than 4 consonants together is just unnecessary.  And eventually, that child is going to grow bitter and angry because he never found  a bike license plate, and then where are you gonna be?
I never thought being a summer intern would leave me so jaded. Seriously. It’s gotten to the point where someone assaulting his grandmother with a crossbow doesn’t even phase me. Getting shot over a lawn chair? Daily business.  Chasing down someone in a car because they stole your last Jolly Rancher? Ain’t no thang.
So here’s what I propose. Next time you go to  punch someone, steal their car or smoke something illegal, first ask yourself “WIWTHOAI?”–What impact will this have on a lowly intern? Stop and think about me slaving away somewhere, sorting your file, dying of thirst and hoping that someday, someone will figure out that the cops will find what you’re hiding in your pocket, they will check the trunk of your car, and you probably will get caught if you run down the street naked.

Until that day, I’ll be here. Wasting away with my amazing summer intern partner Emma…Sorting, filing, scanning. And stamping. Stamping…..stamping….stamping……

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