Saturday, November 5, 2011

Hedwig and the Angry Inch: An Adventure in the Entertainment Sector

Joe, surrounding himself with women after the harrowing "incident."

Academia wasn’t always the center of attention for the Randall Family. We enjoyed culture as well. By mid-September 2010, we had fallen back into our weekend socializing, which usually involved having a few beers with friends and watching strange movies during our Randall-sponsored themed movie nights. Considering the impending Rocky Horror Picture Show production at the Bay Street Theatre in October, we decided to fall into the transsexual theme early by going to see a live production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch at the very same Bay Street Theatre. My coworker at the therapist’s office was acting in the show, and she encouraged us to buy front row seats for the event. I promptly bought tickets for the boys and me, which proved to be worth the money I spent.
The plan for that Friday night was to go to the opening Hedwig show, then go get drunk with our friends who would be meeting us downtown later. As we entered Club One and walked up the stairs to the theatre, we became more and more excited about seeing this show that we hardly knew anything about. All we knew was that it was a musical about a German boy who got his dick half-assed cut off to become a woman and leave Communist Germany for the United States. It was all we needed to hear to be curious.
We immediately enjoyed the show from the beginning, but there is a special part of the musical that will always be remembered. Forever. There is a song, titled “Sugar Daddy” in the musical, and before Hedwig began singing, she asked, “Are there any sugar daddies in the audience?” Eric and I immediately pointed excitedly at Joe. He didn’t see the pointing. Hedwig stepped off the stage, grabbed Joe’s hand and told him to sit on the stage. He obliged.
What happened next was hilarious. Joe, grinning like a shit-eating toddler and listening to Hedwig sing this song to him, didn’t notice that she was moving herself to stand above him. Before he could react, she straddled the space above Joe’s head and let the fringes of her skirt brush his faux-hawk while telling the audience: “It’s a carwash, ladies and gentlemen!” Eric and I were doubling over in laughter, tears streaming from our eyes. Our very straight roommate was being molested by a transvestite in front of fifty other people. It was glorious.
Later that night, when Joe was discussing what happened, I let it slip that Eric and I had pointed at him to get Hedwig to pick him. He was tiffed. I'm pretty sure that, one day, he will get me back, and he will get me back good. I definitely agree that I deserve this revenge. 

Thursday, November 3, 2011

My Boss is a Secret Agent: Part 2

Dr. A---- continues to call my office's phone, leaving strange, garbled voicemails about books, the CIA, and how he is not a terrorist. As previously mentioned, his Indian accent is very thick, which makes it hard to understand sometimes on our voicemail.

Yesterday, Dr. A---- left about fifteen messages on the office voicemail. That's right, fifteen messages. All involved the same context, which included the aforementioned subjects. This man is convinced that my boss is an operative of the CIA for sure.

This morning, Dr. A---- greeted me about five times, voicing the same diatribes. This time, the P.A. heard the voicemail and decided that it was high time that Dr. A---- cease his serial calling.

"The next time he calls, give the phone to me," the P.A. instructed.

As predictable as Old Faithful, Dr. A---- called again. I handed the phone to the P.A. and he answered as such: "CIA, Langley, Southeast Asia Division."

Dr. A---- hung up the phone without saying a word. We giggled a little, and then laughed when the phone rang again.

"CIA, Langley, Southeast Asia Division."

Again, Dr. A---- disconnected the call and called back immediately. He did this two more times, both times with the P.A. answering the phone as before, and Dr. A---- hanging up without saying anything.

He hasn't called back for about an hour. This is good news.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

My Boss is a Secret Agent.

About a week ago, as I opened my boss' office, I decided to check for messages on our voicemail. The typical, mundane messages were there, but at the end, there was a..."special" message.

The man sounded afraid, and he had a very thick Indian accent. "I love this country. I would never do anything to harm anyone in this country. They think I'm a terrorist. Here and in India. God bless you and your family. I would like to have those books returned to me please. It is requested that I have 30 seconds to tell you how to ground them. There are bomb shells everywhere. I will speak less." The message lasted about 2 minutes.

I was dumbfounded. What the fuck did I just listen to? I replayed the message over and over, completely confused as to what the hell was happening. At first, I just assumed it was a patient, but then I began to believe that this guy was just dialing random numbers and talking like this for fun. I deleted the message.

This morning, I did the same thing, and the same kind of message was on the office voicemail. As the message was playing, my boss walked in and smiled at me. "That's Dr. A----. According to him, I cloned and killed his wife in 1962, and I work for the CIA."

"What?" I really didn't know what the hell this message was.

My boss laughed. "Dr. A---- used to rent the office above us. He's a licensed psychiatrist; at least, he proclaims that. He's just another psychotic. He'll quit calling after a while."

Since my arrival to the office this morning, which was only one hour ago, this Dr. A---- has left four messages for my Secret Agent Boss, and while I type this last sentence, he's leaving a fifth.

I'm considering recording all of them.