Wiston Papers

So, call me, maybe?

“I’m depressed,” John confessed as he slumped back into his chair after our waitress, Beverly, poured our first round of coffee.

“Why?” I asked with my customary caution of where this might lead.

“Don’t you see?

“Uh...know...I don’t see anything out of the normal about you,” I conceded.

“Yeah, because I had to return all of my Olympic sports wear that I usually have on.  It’s all made in China,”  John shook his head.

“Oh...now I see.  But cheer up, John, the games are about to begin with or without made-in-China gear.”

“But it won’t be the same.  It’s just so...sad...and un-American,” John slowly sipped his coffee.

“Hey, I just met you,  And this is crazy,”  Beverly sings and begins to sway as she pours more coffee at the counter.   “But here's my number,  So call me, maybe?”

“What about your Gay and Lesbian Marriage Counseling business you were starting” I wondered.

“Oh that...yeah...well I’m thinking of outsourcing that overseas.  I can hire some call centers in India to do the counseling.”

“Uh..John...I don’t understand...”I began to ask.

“Well, most of my clients won’t understand the Indian accent either, but I at least I can save administrative costs,”  he shook his head.

“Your stare was holdin',  Ripped jeans, skin was showin,” Beverly begins to dance slowly between the counter and the booths. “Hot night, wind was blowin' Where you think you're going, baby?”

“Have you tried any medicine to help your depression?”  I suggested.

“"No way, Man, haven’t you..you know...heard?”  John lapsed almost into a stupor.  “I mean...a bunch of Israeli science dudes have just developed some marijuana without--uh--you know...the high, Man.  I can't smoke the weed now for my 'medical condition.'  I mean--uh--you know--Dude--only the real stuff works for me.  I gotta get high for my--like-- 'medicine' to kick in.”

“John,  maybe you need something to occupy your mind.  Maybe a new project, a hobby perhaps.  You could take up music,” I began to brainstorm.  “Say, weren’t you going to run for Congress?” It dawned on me.  “This made-in-China Olympic clothing could be your issue.”

“You’re a genius,” John sat up and smiled.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m...”  I feigned modesty.

“That’s just the ticket,” as he sipped his last bit of coffee and jumped up.

“Good for you, John.  So you’re going to run for Congress after all on the Made-in-America Olympic Uniform issue?”

“No way, man.  “I’m going to take up singing,” as he sweeps up Beverly and they begin to dance.

“And all the other boys,  Try to chase me,  But here's my number,  So call me, maybe?”

            “Just shoot me now, please,”  I bang my head on the table.

Steve Coon

July 15, 2012