My Play Premieres

Dear Diary,

After seeing me on Oprah, the media rushed to the opening of my play this past Thursday. Reporters, photographers and cameramen crowded the alleyway where someone left the door to that building garbage room unlocked a few weeks ago. The door was still unlocked so that's where I staged my play in which I act out every year of my life and I play all the characters. I let everyone through the unlocked door and charged everyone eighty bucks. It is a sixteen hour play after all.

My parents were in attendance so I was nervous since in my autobiographical piece, I modify the accuracy of a few events for dramatic cohesiveness. Basically, in my play, my parents donate me to NASA, fidgety and obsessive that NASA might still be sending "those poor monkeys" into space. I also play my father with a limp and an eye-patch, with the uncovered eye being a false eye that keeps rolling to the back of my head. It's excruciating to play. Especially as I keep falling off the stage.

After five minutes, the entire audience left in one big group. I assume it's because the first seven years of my life are performed in a baby language that only I understand. Of course, I had no clue everyone had walked out; I only discovered the empty chairs when, after sixteen hours of playing over one thousand and four characters (and two space monkeys), the expected standing ovation never came. I stood there in the spotlight, sweat drenched, for over an hour before I exclaimed, "Come on, that deserves a bit of an applause!" I finally decided to walk down from the stage into the audience.

ME: Are you guys hiding?

It was already one in the afternoon the day after the play began. I had to get some sleep since my next show was at eight that night.

I got home at one thirty and devoured a huge lunch (I hadn't eaten in over seventeen hours). I turned on my computer and noticed that my junk mail folder was full from not being checked for seventeen hours so I read every e-mail message carefully before deleting it just to make sure they weren't from a close friend who had recently decided to change their name to Viagra.

I then read my regular e-mail and sent out commentary on all the forwarded jokes I received. I critiqued whether I liked the tone of the humor, if the joke was appropriate for children, and how I would end the joke if I had written it myself, with some of my self-created endings / punchlines lasting over two pages. Afterward, I went to Facebook and poked back all my six hundred and thirty-eight friends. I also harvested my crops on Farm Ville. I was shocked by how much work there was to be done after being away for so many hours. I also had plenty to do on Café World and Rabbi Ville.

That’s when my wife walked in at seven in the evening after picking our two-year-old daughter from daycare.

MY WIFE: What are you doing? You’re supposed to be getting ready for your play. It starts in an hour.

ME: Oh man...

MY WIFE: My parents are coming to see it tonight and my sisters and my brother. You better be on time. They paid a lot of money to see you.

ME: I still haven’t had any sleep yet. I’m just going to have a disco nap.

MY WIFE: You get yourself on the bus now.

ME: I’m just going to put my head on this desk and I’m going to close my eyes.

MY WIFE: My family paid eighty dollars each. Get going!

ME: I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours and I just performed in a sixteen hour play!

MY WIFE: I don’t care! That’s not my fault! You get going!

ME: Man, I hate this! I hate being a star!

MY WIFE: That’s the showbiz life you chose. Now get!

I sulked out the door. It was raining. When I arrived to the alley with the unlocked door, more than fifty people holding umbrellas were already lined up for my show, including all my in-laws with my wife.

ME: Why didn’t you give me a ride?

MY WIFE: Secretly, tonight, I'd like to pretend that I'm not married to you. Please, just tonight, let me have this. Please...

I turned the knob on the unlocked door. The door was locked. I slammed the door with my fists.

ONE PERSON: Can I buy my ticket? I heard about this show from Oprah.

ME: Just everybody hold their horses. I can’t get in. I’m locked out.

MY FATHER-IN-LAW: Well, Eric, did you pay your bills? Why are you locked out?

ME: Can everyone just shut their mouths for a minute while I try and get in here?

I banged even louder on the door.

ME: Let me in! I’m begging you! Please! Please!

The door opened.

BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT: Can I help you?

ME: Yes. I have a show in here tonight.

BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT: A show? Are you the guy who left tarp and crap everywhere?

ME: Yes, that’s my stage.

BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT: All that stuff went out with the garbage this afternoon.

ME: What about my props?

BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT: It’s the garbage room; everything’s gone.

ME: You get my stuff back! You hear me!

BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT: What are all these people doing out here?

ME: I’m going to call the cops.

BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT: I’m the one who’s going to call the cops. You broke in here. Scram before I kick your ass.

The superintendent shut the door in my face. I turned to everyone. The rain continued, but harder than before. I heard thunder.

ME: Well, a show is what you came to see and a show is what you’ll get.

I started my show, and my wife and her family left after two minutes, shaking their heads to themselves. Some people stayed. I had to stop the show a few times because of passersby who paused to gawk but refused to pay for a ticket. I chased them away and then came back to perform. I continued for sixteen hours, every now and then chasing passersby away. I was so tired; I was forgetting lines and making stuff up as I went. I made one of the space monkeys die so I wouldn't have to play him anymore. I may have even chased paying customers away, threatening them. I had no clue what I was doing.

I ended up curled up in the corner of the alleyway, rain soaked, hugging my shivering body, and unable to control my chattering teeth.

ME (to whoever was still there): If anyone has access to Facebook and Farm Ville, I think my strawberries might be spoiling. And little Jeff Lowenstein has a bris today.

My Interview with Oprah




Oprah, moments before she introduced me.

 
Dear Diary,

I was on Oprah for a few moments yesterday as part of a show about innovators and inventors. Oprah interviewed me regarding my part in the creation of the new Starbucks logo. She introduced me from an armchair on stage.

OPRAH: We have with us today the man who designed the new Starbucks logo! Come on out, Eric!

The audience applauded and cheered as I walked out onto the stage toward the armchair across from Oprah's.

ME (to Oprah): I'm sorry. I'm not here to talk about the Starbucks logo. My people very specifically told your producers not to even mention the logo or Starbucks.

OPRAH: I'm not sure...

ME: I was led to believe that this interview was about the play I wrote. I feel really betrayed.

I looked around, incensed.

OPRAH: Please have a seat.

ME (still angry): Gayle... where the hell are you?

OPRAH: Sit down. Please. Let's just talk. It's fine. You can tell us about your play.

I sat down across Oprah.

ME: I'm sorry, Oprah. It's not you. It's just that I had an agreement. I can't believe how unprofessional this whole show is. Anyway, I'm sorry about those nasty things I told Gayle backstage. Gayle, I'm sorry. That was truly revolting. I should be ashamed. And I would be right now if I didn't want to rip this entire set apart.

OPRAH: Eric... Eric... just tell us what this play is about?

ME: The play stars myself as myself as I explore every year of my life. It's a one-man show and it's sixteen hours.

OPRAH: And it ends with you creating the new Starbucks logo and becoming a success?

ME: No, it ends at the end of my life. It ends with me dying.

OPRAH: Dying?

ME: That scene lasts for two hours. It's just me on my deathbed. No movement, no sound.

OPRAH: But you haven't died in real life yet.

ME: There's lots in the play that hasn't happened yet. Trust me, as the scenes unfold on stage, they are as much of a revelation to me as they are to you all.

OPRAH: Where is this play playing?

ME: Well, right now, it's playing in the basement of a building. I was just walking down this alley one day, chasing a cat I wanted to be friends with...

OPRAH: You mean a person when you say a cat, right?

ME: No, I mean a kitty. Like with fleas. Anyway, I was trying out all these doors, seeing if they were locked or not.

OPRAH: Why?

ME: I don't know. Just to see if they're locked or not. Anyway, one door opened and it was a stairway to an empty basement with garbage and stuff. For all I know, that door's still opened so that's where we'll have the play. Anyway, I've set up a stage with some wood and tarp and I'll just sell tickets at the door.

OPRAH: When are you doing all this?

ME: The play is running indefinitely as long as people don't mind garbage falling from chutes around them. It doesn't bother me none.

OPRAH: What is your play called?

ME: Oprah.

OPRAH: Really?

ME: Yes, my name is Oprah on my birth certificate. You're not the only person in the world named Oprah, you know. I know lots of Oprahs. My play is called Oprah, but the full name is The Oprah Winfrey Show.

OPRAH: Eric… thank you…. for being here today to tell us about your play.

ME: Winfrey is my middle name.

OPRAH: Thank you, Eric.

ME: You can call me O.

The camera began moving away from my face as I swiped some crumpled loose leaf paper from under my shirt.

ME: Oprah, I have your next book pick from your book club. I know you're going to love it because I wrote it. I only have one paragraph but that's only because I couldn't come up with anything more.

OPRAH: We'll have to talk about that another time.

ME: Let me read you the first sentence.

I read my handwriting from the sheet of paper.

ME (reading): The year I become lovers with Oprah is the year she shot a man in cold blood. I could tell she had murdered before. Why? Because she told me she planned to kill more people, and would have taken out Mother Theresa if she were still alive…

OPRAH (to the camera): We'll be right back after these messages…

ME (still reading): I told Oprah, "Please stop this killing spree. I think you should at least stop stalking that family from Little People, Big World." That's when Oprah broke up with me because I didn't have room to stash two hundred and seventy-six "free" cars.

The New Starbucks Logo



Introducing the brand new Starbucks Logo for 2011 which I designed.


Dear Diary,

I'm still at the temp agency, wishing I had a job at Starbucks. After I'm done a shift, I usually end up standing on the sidewalk, staring into the window at the King Street Starbucks, watching all those lucky people working inside, sometimes with a tear dripping down my cheek. I usually end up banging my fists on the glass and then running away into the street, making cars screech their tires to avoid me as I trip and roll across the pavement.

Sometimes, through the window, I even watch other blessed souls getting interviewed, wishing that was me at the little round table, talking about how exceptional I am and how much I'd love to have a job where I could drink coffee all day and eat pastries and chat up the customers and put on one-man plays about my childhood and adulthood and my future old age with a two hour death scene of me in bed, just lying there, saying nothing. But no one could talk or order anything during my deathbed scene; it would only ruin the atmosphere. The play itself would run eight hours, playing daily, and twice on weekends.

Since my job interview, no one's called me, and that was almost four months ago. I've been furious so I've refused to walk into a Starbucks and give them my business.

Yesterday, after a few minutes of staring, I stepped inside. Slowly… I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't believe what I was allowing myself to do. I walked up to the lineup at one of the counters. When it was finally my turn to order, I slowly permitted myself to look up at the menu. I had tears in my eyes; The Prodigal Son returned. There, up high, were all the things I adored and obsessed about but had been doing without for four months.

CASHIER: Sir, what can I get for you?

I didn't respond. I looked down at the glass display cases with all the treats and pastries my desperate, wanting mouth had denied itself since October.

CASHIER: Sir?

I yelped like a puppy finally adopted. I gulped hard.

ME (barely audible): I'll have a panini.

CASHIER: Pardon me?

ME (still barely audible): A panini.

CASHIER: Anything else? Something to drink?

ME (almost under my breath): I think so… I'll have two of those bagels, toasted, five scones, half that cake, some more paninis…

The cashier listened as I continued to order and sob.

ME: Please hurry. Please…

Everyone on staff behind the counter worked on my order. I had bagels toasting, sandwiches pressing, beverages steaming. The line-up of fidgety customers behind me burgeoned as my order was being set up on the counter like a buffet. I couldn't believe I was finally going to have this dream Starbucks feast all to myself. At last… It took an eternity for the staff to put it all together.

CASHIER: That'll be two hundred, twenty, and fifty-two cents.

I reached into my pocket as I grinned happily.

ME: No problem. It'll be worth every penny.

My pocket was empty.

ME: Hold up. Where's my wallet?

I pulled my hand out of my pocket and stared at it. It was bare.

ME: Oh God, I just remembered. I didn't bring my wallet today. I just didn't need it because I wasn't going to buy anything. I mean, I haven't been going to Starbucks lately so why would I need any money?

I walked away. Some male, shift manager raced after me.

SHIFT MANAGER: Who's going to drink all these drinks? And eat all this food?

ME: Not me. I don't have that kind of money.

The shift manager turned back toward his staff.

SHIFT MANAGER: Who okayed this ridiculous order?

As the staff were accusing and pointing at one another, and the line-up of anxious, angry customers continued to bloat, I slipped away toward the tables.

A large group of suits was seated at a table with Keith, the store manager, and Allison, the assistant manager, both of whom had led my interview four months ago.

I hovered a few inches away, listening in.

KEITH (to me): Sir, can we help you?

Allison took a good look at me.

ALLISON: You seem familiar.

ME: You interviewed me a few months ago and never called back, so you'll have to excuse me but this is awkward for me. Just being back in here is weird for me.

I lingered, wondering when they were going to start up their conversation again.

KEITH: What can we do for you? We're in the middle of an important meeting here.

ME: Don't mind me. I won't snicker or do fart noises or do something stupid like that.

A man in his sixties spoke up.

SUIT IN HIS SIXTIES: We're from head office in Seattle, traveling the world to all the largest Starbucks, and talking to managers about developing our new logo coming out this Spring.

ME: New logo? This is the first I've heard…

KEITH: This isn't the time…

ME: My entire life I have been craving something. I don't know what it's been. It's just that an emptiness lives inside me. I know I felt it from the minute I was born because I don't ever remember not feeling it: the emptiness. I don't ever remember what it felt like not to have it, deep down in the pit of me. Just this big, vast vat of empty. And nothing could fill it up. Lord knows my mother and father tried. With love, with toys, with outfits and hats. In school, my teachers were at a lost as to how to proceed. I was despondent, depressed, the colors of my pants and tops rarely matched. I had no interests. I didn't love anything. My entire life, I just didn't care. Christmas meant nothing to me. Birthdays meant nothing to me. My first kiss, who cares? I didn't even know what Chanukah was. Nothing ever meant anything to me. Then in the nineties, something happened…

WOMAN SUIT: You filled the emptiness…

SUIT IN HIS SIXTIES: With a cup of Starbucks…

ME: No, I saw the Starbucks logo and I laughed my head off. Who the hell wants a coffee from Battlestar Galatica? That's so tacky.

SUIT IN HIS SIXTIES: What are you suggesting?

ME: Lose the name Starbucks. It sucks, but leave the mermaid. She speaks to me.

WOMAN SUIT: In what way?

ME: She literally talks to me. Especially after fourteen double-shot espressos. She sings to me like Lady Gaga and then I wake up beside a sewer grate at four in the morning.

WOMAN SUIT (as an epiphany): That's it. Just the siren. We just need the siren. It's bolder. Iconic. Why didn't we think of that?

ME: You mean that crazy, opera singing, fish chick, right? The one who lies to me with promises of spiritual salvation? She brings me back here every time.

The suit in his sixties slammed his hand on the table.

SUIT IN HIS SIXTIES: The search is finally over.

He turned to me.

SUIT IN HIS SIXTIES: Son, you've just made yourself a whole lot of money.

ME: Can someone buy me a coffee?

This Christmas, Hug

Dear Diary,

A few days after Lorraine and I got fired from our gift wrapping gig, we were sitting across Paulie Johnson's desk. Paulie is our rep at the 'Good Enough For You' People temporary placement agency. He's balding, his tie and top shirt button are always undone, and he has ever-growing sweat stains below his armpits.

PAULIE: Guys, the mall threatened never to use the 'Good Enough For You' People agency ever again.

Lorraine, who's four feet nothing, petite as a child and in her mid-thirties, spoke up.

LORRAINE: Paulie, as far as I'm concerned, we are all better off if you never mention that mall in this room ever again.

Paulie shook his head, incredulous.

PAULIE: They are a huge client of mine.

LORRAINE: They're also a huge pain in the "sun don't shine" area. Move on Paulie. I say move on.

PAULIE: Don't tell me to move on. Lorraine, you lost me the mall. The mall.

LORRAINE: I hate it when people repeat themselves. Move on.

PAULIE: And this new kid...

Paulie pointed at me.

PAULIE: I don't like the look of him. He's too quiet. He's like a little hamster in a cage waiting for just the right moment to snap a chunk off my finger.

LORRAINE: Just keep your fingers out of his cage and you'll be fine.

Lorraine and I were sent to another mall to work a T-shirt booth specializing in Justin Bieber T-shirts and bath towels. The booth's owner was an elderly Russian man named Kaspov and he smelled of cigarettes. The three of us were swamped all day.

Late in the afternoon, our customers began shoving one another, jockeying for better position. There no longer was a coherent line-up of people. Everyone was grabbing at the merchandise. The three of us couldn't work fast enough; folks wanted their Bieber and there was nothing we could do about it.

I couldn't keep up with the hectic pace. Our booth was rocking back and forth. I began chucking T-shirts and towels and people flung money back at me. I fell over the counter and tumbled into the crowd.

I screamed.

Lorraine reached out but she couldn't get to me. She climbed to the roof of the booth.

LORRAINE: Stop! People stop! Justin Bieber wants you to stop!

Everyone calmed down.

ONE CUSTOMER: Is that true? He really wants us to stop?

LORRAINE: Yes...

Lorraine raised her mobile phone up high.

LORRAINE: I have him on my cell phone.

People screamed, wailed and reached for Lorraine, trying to pull her down to snatch her mobile phone.

LORRAINE: So help me Paul McCartney, I will stuff your Silly Bandz into your nostrils and yank them out your bum.

Everyone froze, not sure what was more important: Justin Bieber or Silly Bandz.

LORRAINE (panting): We are doing our best over here and I haven't heard one 'thank you' or a 'you're welcome'. What is wrong with you people? It's Christmas! These are just T-shirts. First it was Kenny Rogers, then Boy George and now it's Justin Bieber. What I find unsettling is not your taste in music, it's your taste in men.

I climbed up beside Lorraine.

ME: Folks, Christmas is a time of sharing. And caring. If you're with someone you love, give them a hug. Do it right now. They're what's important.

Everyone was hugging.

LORRAINE: And I'm sorry but giving someone a Justin Bieber towel is no way to show love. Trust me.

People were talking with one another, laughing and really caring.

KASPOV: And folks, we are sold out.

The crowd erupted. I saw a flame go up one side of the booth. Lorraine grabbed my hand and pulled me away. We were running for our lives as everyone trashed the mall around us.

LORRAINE: Every Christmas, this town loses a mall.

Gift Wrap Your Life

Dear Diary,

I'm getting work through a temp agency I read about in the want ads. They're called 'Good Enough For You' People. I like that name. I like it a whole lot. That's why I called them.

The first thing my rep at the agency wanted to do was test my typing skills. His name is Paulie. Paulie told me their average temp worker can type 50 words per minute. During my timed minute, I was able to type half a word, but it wasn't spelled right.

Yesterday, they found me a position wrapping gifts in a mall for the Holidays.

I was one of only two males at our wrapping booth. All eight of us 'gift wrappers' wore red aprons and Santa elf hats. I loved it! Lorraine, the only other temp worker (also from 'Good Enough For You' People), was positioned beside me so we were kind of like a team. Lorraine is Italian-Canadian, just over four feet tall, with tiny hands, skinny legs and a child-like face which is odd since she is in her thirties. She also looks like she's wearing kids' clothes – she's that tiny (in fact, yesterday, her sweater sported a picture of The Wiggles). When she first arrived at the gift wrapping table, she asked the regular, full-time, mall employees a battalion of questions.

LORRAINE: Okay, so where should I allow everyone to place their gifts? Are there some people we should refuse service to? Like people going to weddings, birthdays or funerals? Does anyone have any allergies I should know about? Can everyone let the customers know that even though I'm single, I'm not available – my apologies, everyone. I have a small bladder and I need to pee every ten minutes so I may need one of you to stand behind me as backup as the need arises, and also to hold my 2 liter bottle of water. I don't know about you but I need constant hydration. Do you mind not standing so close to me? When I get focused and I get wrapping, there's no telling what I'll wrap.

All the gift wrappers were sighing and rolling their eyes at her. Our boss was the other male at the table.

OUR BOSS: Okay, everyone from the temp agency, just follow the mall employees on how to wrap gifts. Remember, time is of the essence.

LORRAINE: Amen to that! Everyone, you can also follow me! I don't usually give anyone anything this time of year, but I know my way around paper and a big pair of scissors!

The gift wrapping table was hectic with a long line going through the entire mall. Lorraine and I rushed to get all our presents wrapped.

WEALTHY LOOKING MALE CUSTOMER: Excuse me, I don't think this is the present I came here with.

LORRAINE: How am I supposed to know? It's all wrapped up now.

CUSTOMER: Well, it was an iPhone 4 for my daughter and this box is way too big for an iPhone 4.

LORRAINE: Well, someone did bring a big box from the dollar store. Some cheap paper model toy, I think.

CUSTOMER: So where's my iPhone?

LORRAINE: It might still be in this box. No one knows right now; it's all wrapped up.

CUSTOMER: This is unacceptable.

LORRAINE: Well, just give your daughter this box and find out on Christmas morning if it's an iPhone or a paper piece of crap.

CUSTOMER: I want to talk to your boss.

LORRAINE: Listen, your iPhone is long gone, and we're busy. I suggest you scram; I've got a lot of nice gifts here to wrap, not like the paper model garbage your daughter's getting.

OUR BOSS: What seems to be the problem here?

LORRAINE: Oh, nothing. This customer was just leaving with the junk he's giving his daughter for Christmas. What a dead beat.

OUR BOSS (unemotional and efficient): Lorraine, you need to go. I'll call the agency to send someone else.

Lorraine stared up at our boss' name tag.

LORRAINE: Is your name really Valerie?

VALERIE (OUR MALE BOSS): Yes.

LORRAINE: Is it okay if I just call you Val?

VALERIE (with sarcasm): Is it okay if I just call you Lor?

All the red-apron-ed, full-time, mall employees chuckled at his comment.

LORRAINE: Not if you want me to strangle you...

Valerie's face went red. Everyone was quiet.

LORRAINE: With your pantyhose.

VALERIE: Get out. Both of you.

LORRAINE: That's fine. Staring at you all day and thinking about how unhappy everyone in your life must be was starting to depress me.

Lorraine and I made our way to the staff room to gather our belongings.

LORRAINE: Eric, stick with me. You'll learn a few things.

I couldn't help but worry as I put on my coat.

ME: Will the agency still get us work? Are we done at 'Good Enough For You' People?

Lorraine didn't answer me. I looked up and discovered her piling everyone's winter coats into her Popsicle stick-like arms.

ME: What are you doing?

LORRAINE: Let's go!

I raced after the itsy-bitsy Lorraine as she spirited down the hall with a mountain of winter gear. Once we were on the top floor of the mall, Lorraine looked down the wide open atrium at the gift wrapping booth on the first floor.

Lorraine lobbed the pile of coats into the open space, and the coats glided down like glorious, giant, puffy snowflakes.

LORRAINE (in a deep, jolly boom): Merry Christmas! Ho! Ho! Ho!

Everyone in the mall looked up as Lorraine and I stepped away.

Lorraine was beaming, on top of the world. She winked up at me.

LORRAINE: Welcome to the winner's circle.

My Job Interview at Starbucks

Dear Diary,

Here's how my job interview with Starbucks went down on October 21^st at 11:30am.

I sat at a table at the King Street location across from Keith, the young manager, and Allison, the even younger assistant manager.

MANAGER (KEITH): How would you define good customer service?

ME: Well, first, let me start by saying this: I think Starbucks should get out of the coffee business.

MANAGER: Pardon me?

ME: If your baristas didn't have all these complicated coffee requests from your lunatic customers, employee morale would go through the roof.

ASSISTANT MANAGER (ALLISON): And what should our employees do if they're not making coffee.

ME: Well, let's say you have a customer who goes on vacation and they lose something in the water, like an earring, and their pair of earrings is ruined because they're missing one earring. You'd fly out your barista across the ocean and your barista would deep sea dive and find the earring that the customer lost. It'd be exactly like that old lady on Titanic. Another business I can see Starbucks exceeding at is rotating the wheels on trains.

Allison, the assistant manager, looked at me with incredulity in her eyes.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: That's interesting...

MANAGER: Eric, let's just pretend that Starbucks stays in the coffee business for the foreseeable future.

ME: Okay, I'm all for pretending...

MANAGER: Good. How would you react if a customer returned a cup of coffee to you, saying that they didn't like it?

ME: Well, that's a good question. Good question. Well, let me see... I think I'd take the cup and taste it myself. I'd have everyone behind the counter taste it, and then everyone in the staff room. I'd have all our customers at the tables taste it, and then I'd go out on the street and have everyone there taste it. Then I'd have everyone fill out a questionnaire about it, answering questions like: what kind of finish did the coffee have? Did the flavor linger on your tongue? Did it taste like Encore? Then I'd bring it to a vote: is this a good cup of coffee or not? Should it be awarded a medal? Then I'd have our customers at tables draw medals on paper and cut them out and color them gold, silver, bronze and then we'd award the medals to different coffees.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: What would the customer who returned the coffee be doing during all this?

ME: What was the question again... about the coffees and the medals? I forget.

MANAGER: Maybe we should ask a whole new question.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: Great idea.

MANAGER: Eric, what would you do if you believed another team member wasn't pulling their own weight?

ME: Mmmm, what would I do?... I would call them out on it, and say, "You're not pulling your own weight... in fact, starting tomorrow, I think you should do my job and everybody else's job and all the customers' jobs." Like, let's say we have a customer named Joe who's dancing in the Nutcracker – I would make that team member who isn't pulling their own weight go to the Nutcracker show and dance for a few hours, see how they like being in those shoes. I'm sorry, what was the question again?

MANAGER: Eric, if I could be candid, I really don't think we have something to offer you here. I'm sorry, it's just that you're not what we look for in a Starbucks team player. You come across as eccentric... and disturbed, and possibly dangerous.

ME: Well, would you consider hiring a friend of mine, and then maybe I could collect a finder's fee from them?

MANAGER: Let's just say I would not hire anyone who knew you, ever. Eric... if you could leave this table... right now... it would make this less awkward... for all of us.

ME: All right... no problem.

I took my paper cup of coffee and began moving away.

ME: Thank you. Thank you for this opportunity.

The two managers just nodded and smiled, with an unsmiling look in their eyes. I sat at the table next to theirs. I stayed there from 11:30 in the morning until closing at 11:00 in the evening, just nursing the same cup of coffee, allowing myself a tiny sip now and then. As they moved about their busy day, I just stared at the managers and their employees. I never even got up to go to the washroom. So, please, if you visit the Starbucks on King Street, don't sit at the table by the newspaper stand.

Other People’s Job Interviews

Dear Diary,

This afternoon, I entered the Starbucks where I'm supposed to be interviewed tomorrow. I saw a young man and a young woman in Starbucks uniforms talking to one another at one of the tables.

ME: Hi, my name is Eric. I have an interview here tomorrow.

They both looked up at me, eyes wide.

YOUNG MAN: Hi, I'm Keith, the manager and this is Allison.

YOUNG WOMAN: I'm the assistant manager.

I shook their hands.

ME: So pleased to meet you both.

MANAGER (KEITH): Eric, we have one of our candidates waiting to be interviewed right now, so I guess we'll see you tomorrow.

ME: Yes, yes, you will. And you'll also see me today because I'm in here hanging out, enjoying myself with some delicious coffee.

MANAGER: Okay, you do that. Bye for now.

ME: Not really bye because I'll be over there, having fun with my drink.

I walked toward the counter and lined up to order coffee.

Moments later, paper cup in hand, I was searching the room for a place to sit. I saw that the two managers were still at the same table, interviewing a girl who looked seventeen.

I approached the table next to them where a middle-aged woman was sitting. I asked her if I could sit with her. She looked over at the empty tables, appearing annoyed but saying nothing back to me.

Once seated, I listened to the interview taking place between the manager, the assistant manager and the seventeen-year-old girl.

MANAGER (to the seventeen-year-old girl): How would you define good customer service?

SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL: I would define it as being a good listener...

As the seventeen-year-old continued, I spoke out loud to the lady across from me, speaking over the interviewee.

ME: I think good customer service is when people listen to one another. Share experiences. I believe good customer service is rare in this world and that it should be cherished, and it should be relished, and it should be worshipped. I think we should build shrines where we worship some being which represents customer service. And we could sing, "Ahh ahh, customer service. Ahh ahh, I pray to thee." We could start a collection for this deity and give it all kinds of sacrifices. On payday, we could even give it ten percent of our wages. People have forgotten the God of Customer Service. If there was a name I could give to this God, it would be Custy.

MANAGER: I think we should move this interview across the room.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: I think that's a great idea.

The two managers and the candidate moved toward a table on the other side of the room.

I excused myself to the middle-aged woman and walked over to the milk/napkin station next to the table where the interview was moved to.

ASSISTANT MANAGER (to the seventeen-year-old girl): What would you do if someone wanted to return their coffee because they didn't like it?

SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL: Well, I would ask them...

As I stirred my coffee, I talked over her, shouting to a male stranger standing in line across the room.

ME: Well, I would ask them...

The male stranger across the room looked at me, scared, like I was about to hurt him.

ME: I would say, "How dare you even suggest that the coffee here doesn't taste good. We are Starbucks"...

Everyone in the store was now staring at me.

ME: "We are the best company that's ever existed. And you know what, you can take this coffee and you can pour it down your pants because you're not getting another one. Not from me, you aren't."

Both managers were staring up at me from their chairs.

MANAGER: Eric, would you mind leaving us alone?

ME: No problem. I was just fixing my coffee. I've got to go to the washroom anyway.

I slipped through the washroom door beside them.

MANAGER (to the seventeen-year-old): How would you respond to a situation where another team member wasn't making coffee the way they should be or just not performing in the manner you believe is up to Starbucks standards?

SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL: I consider myself a team player. Before approaching the manager regarding this issue, I would first approach the team member in question...

As the seventeen-year-old continued, the door to the washroom opened just a crack.

MY VOICE (from the washroom): Sir, you've got quite the healthy pee stream. Let me just say, first off, I consider myself a team player all the way. So if anyone was not working up to standard or was making bad coffee, I would help them hide the evidence. No one would ever find out that the bad coffee had been served. If they were taking money from the till, or skimming off the top, or embezzling, I would help them fudge the numbers in the books. I'm a team player. If I found out they were running an illegal drug operation in the back room, I would help dismantle the security cameras back there. If someone killed a customer, I'd help them bury the body. I'm a team player. I'll murder someone for you.

A Telephone Call for an Interview

Dear Diary,

Someone from Starbucks called today. I've applied to various Starbucks locations around the city. This is how our telephone conversation went:

ME: Hello?

WOMAN FROM STARBUCKS: Hi, I'm Lucinda from Starbucks. I'm calling about an application you submitted at one of our stores. We'd like to grant you an interview. Are you still available?

ME: Of course, I'm still available. I've wanted to work for Starbucks my whole, entire life.

STARBUCKS: Would you be available to come into our King Street store for an interview?

ME: Yes!

STARBUCKS: Wonderful. We have a few interview spots open. We've got Tuesday at three, Wednesday is wide open, and Thursday, we're wide open in the morning. What would work for you?

ME: Oh, well, umm... Tuesday at three... yeah, I don't know if that would work for me. I do have an appointment with a comic book collector. We're just going to see if I'd like to collect comic books as a hobby. I'm not that crazy about comic books. I don't see the point, really. So yeah, Tuesday at three doesn't work for me.

STARBUCKS: What about Wednesday? We're wide open all day.

ME: What time on Wednesday do you think I should come in?

STARBUCKS: When are you available?

ME: Well, umm... I'm available, I think... maybe... well, what do you have available?

STARBUCKS: We have nine o'clock available.

ME: Mmmm... in the morning?

STARBUCKS: Yes, in the morning.

ME: Whoa, yeah... That might be a little early. I plan on spending all night Tuesday night watching the entire DVD set of the second season of Gilmore Girls. I'm really looking forward to that. That'll take all night and most of the morning. So no, I can't come in for an interview then.

STARBUCKS: How about later in the day?

ME: Yeah, later in the day would be so much better for me because, you know, I'm really looking forward to those Gilmore Girls. Sorry...

STARBUCKS: What about one in the afternoon on Wednesday?

ME: Yeah, well, that's right in the middle of my lunch.

STARBUCKS: Oh, I'm sorry. Are you working at another job right now?

ME: No, no, I'll just be at home eating my lunch. And yeah, that won't work.

STARBUCKS: What time are you done your lunch?

ME: Oh, well, I don't really have a schedule for my lunch. I pretty much just have it when I'm hungry and right now, I just don't want to take the chance that I might be on my lunch, 'cause then I'll be eating my lunch, I'll be rushing, or I'll have to cut my lunch short. I don't think that's fair. I mean... it's not fair to me.

STARBUCKS: Okay, what about later in the day, like Wednesday at four?

ME: Yeah, Wednesday at four would work. Hold on! Ummm... Wednesday at four... you see, I like to end to my day at four o'clock, three-thirty. Yeah, at three-thirty, I'm usually done for the day. I usually just quit and wait for my wife, so that wouldn't be good for me because my wife comes home from her long day after my ninety minute wait. She makes dinner for me, she cleans up and I'm just done. I'm not doing anything past three-thirty. It's just not fair for me to go to an interview at all hours. So yeah, is there anything else available? You were saying maybe Thursday in the morning, maybe in the afternoon?

STARBUCKS: We do have something Thursday morning at eleven thirty. That's the last spot available.

ME: Okay... which Starbucks is this for?

STARBUCKS: This would be for our King Street location.

ME: Yeah, that's kind of far for me. I really want to work for Starbucks, don't get me wrong, but do you think that maybe another Starbucks might call me? Like one closer to my apartment?

STARBUCKS: No. Right now, this is the only Starbucks location that is hiring.

ME: Okay. Can I call you, like, five minutes before I have to come in for the interview? Like maybe I can let you know by eleven twenty-five whether I'm coming or not.

STARBUCKS: We do require more warning than five minutes ahead of time if you aren't able to make it to an interview.

ME: It's just that I don't want to put all my eggs into one basket. And I feel that maybe if there's another job opening at another Starbucks, I'd rather have an interview for that. Or if a different company calls me. I haven't applied yet but I'd really like to work as a cashier at Walmart because they're just so cheerful and it's just so much fun to shop there.

STARBUCKS: I'm sorry, you either have to confirm for eleven thirty on Thursday or I think we'll have to forgo you as a possible candidate.

ME: All right. Can you guys maybe come to my home? And maybe we can do the interview inside my apartment 'cause then I'd be totally available. I'd be more available, even though I'm quite busy right now. On Thursday, if you guys come between... umm... 11:22 and 11:37, I think I might be able to give you guys an interview.

Lucinda from Starbucks said nothing as I continued.

ME: And when you guys come, I'll still be asleep, so I'll leave the key to the front door under the mat, and if you can just wake me up and maybe bring some of your Starbucks coffee and put the coffee on, and prepare bagels with cream cheese. Not the light stuff 'cause I can barely taste it, so don't use my wife's light cream cheese. Use my regular cream cheese. And my bagels need to be toasted, but just on the inside. That would really work for me. And also, if you guys can just whisper during the interview because I may not be able to take it if you guys are talking really loud. It's just really early in the morning.

STARBUCKS: Eric, to be honest with you, you seem like you have a lot on your plate at the moment, and I'm not sure if a career at Starbucks would be a good fit right now.

ME: Really? No, please, don't snatch this opportunity from me. You know what? I'll come over to the King Street store. Heck, why not? I love you guys. But just to let you know, I'll have to run some errands beforehand, so I might have to bring all our groceries in with me during the interview, and all of our recycling, including all our compostable waste. And I might bring my Irish cousin who has the thickest accent and he's been trying to tell me something for the past week and I have no idea what he's saying so I might need your help translating. It could take hours.

Back on the Job Market

Dear Diary,

I went looking for a job this morning, just pounding the pavement. My wife told me that if I want to stay at her mother's one-bedroom apartment with our eighteen-month-old daughter, I need to contribute. I have lots to offer if you're looking for someone who can repeat everything you say seconds after you've said it (I call this skill the robot parrot). If you're not looking for the robot parrot, then I can offer you absolutely zero. My resume is a legal size sheet of paper with my e-mail address printed at the top (EricLikesCuddlingHamsters@gmail.com) and then nothing else.

My list of references consists of some of the hamsters I know at various pet stores around the city. My wife told me that was stupid; hamsters aren't people – they can't talk. I argued that I'm not about to lie on my resume and I know for a fact that hamsters have feelings because when I hug them in pet stores, I swear I can feel their little arms hugging me back. Those hamsters are the best character references I know and I'm thinking maybe when prospective employers call the pet stores I've listed under every hamster's name, the pet store employee answering the phone can vouch for me in lieu of the hamster and confirm how much I care for said hamster, how often I visit, and how long I stay (usually from opening to closing, and sometimes even after that). That's commitment. Some days I visit stores dressed up as a hamster.

I decided that the best place to stop on my way to pounding the pavement was Starbucks. I could spend all day in a Starbucks and not do much else. In fact I once did, hiding behind the washroom door as they were closing, and making myself espresso all night. They found me on the seventh night, hiding by squeezing my entire body behind a trembling toilet (I had the shakes). When they asked me what I was doing back there, I told them (through chattering teeth) that I was holding a pipe that was leaking. It took eight firefighters to pull me out by sawing the toilet in half; I was stuck that good. One of the best nights of my life.

This morning when it was my turn to order, I looked straight into the young female cashier's eyes.

ME: Hi. Listen - in all the Starbucks I patronize, I usually deal with the manager, not some low level employee. Please don't take this personally, but because of who you are, I just don't think very much of you as a person.

A male manager in his twenties walked up behind the counter.

MANAGER: Sir, how may I help you today?

ME: I want you to make my beverage for me special. I don't want any scum touching what I'm about to drink.

MANAGER: Sir, our baristas are well-trained. They can make your beverage for you.

ME: I don't want anyone but you making my beverage. You're the manager, you're better than them. You're just a better human being. Compared to you, these baristas are worm poo. Don't you dare allow them near what I'm about to drink.

MANAGER: What can I make for you?

ME: I'd like a cup of tap water. Not the bottled crap that you have to pay for. Fool me once... you know what I'm saying?

MANAGER: All right, let me get that for you.

The manager turned on the tap, filled a plastic cup with water, and handed it to me.

I took a sip, and then spit it onto the counter, and the manager.

ME: I'd like to make a complaint.

The manager was red in the face, as backwash dripped off his face, but he remained standing still.

MANAGER: Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.

ME: Just because I'd like to make a complaint. I need a comment card and marker, please.

MANAGER: I'm giving you ten seconds...

ME: Don't you dare try to give me one of those free coffee cards. Don't you dare throw free coffee at the problem.

MANAGER: I'm calling the police.

ME: You're trying to shut me up. Sorry folks, no one's got any rights up in this here coffee joint. You just don't want me telling the world your tap water isn't any better than the one in the Tim Horton's toilet, after your mom's used it.

MANAGER: I just called the police. They'll be here in five minutes.

ME: Everyone, the tap water is caca in here. Don't order it! Don't order it!

A broad-shouldered male barista stepped up to me.

BROAD-SHOULDERED BARISTA: Why don't you leave, before I break your face.

MANAGER: Just go...

ME (to the manager): You know what? You're not better than any of this garbage around you. You're much worse. You're vomit.

MANAGER: Get out, or we'll throw you out.

ME: Well, before I leave, I need to do what I came here to do. And since you're the manager, then, sorry for being so nervous over here but... may I have an application? You're number one on my list today. I've wanted to work here for years.

Divorcing a Friend

Dear Diary,

My best pal Todd Hubb, only thirty-three, used to be a famous motivational speaker and writer, making millions cheering people up, and then he felt kind of down and then his wife took everything. He's my best friend in the entire galaxy, and for the past eight months, Todd and I have been living in my wife's mother's one-bedroom apartment, eating everything and doing nothing. Two weeks ago, my wife made me choose between Todd and a pie. I went with the pie.

Yesterday, I thought of a million things I'd say to Todd if I ever saw him again. I also thought of things he'd say back to me and then what I'd say back to him. Things like: "Oh no, you di'nt" and then "Oh yeah I did" and then "Oh no, you di'nt" and then "Oh yeah I did". I played our future conversation inside my head for ten hours.

In some mental playbacks, I was wearing a black mask like Zorro, or Robin from Batman, and Todd couldn't tell just what friend was breaking things off with him, and I could tell him terrible things about him to his face without feeling bad about what I was saying because he wouldn't be able to trace the comments back to me.

This morning, after making an appointment to meet with Todd, I walked into a café with two men in suits, each carrying briefcases. I saw Todd waiting for me at a table. I was surprised to see that he was wearing a suit, was clean-shaven, and had his hair cut so that he no longer sported his overgrown mop top.

TODD: Hi.

I sat across from him. A suit sat on either side of me.

TODD: Who are these guys?

ME: They're high-priced lawyers. I'm officially divorcing you as a friend.

TODD: You don't have money for lawyers. You're hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.

ME: I took out another line of credit.

TODD: Oh my God...

ME: Okay, we have tons of documents for you to sign, and this pile of paperwork makes War and Peace look like a pamphlet.

TODD: Eric, I have some news. This will get you out debt.

I turned to the lawyers.

ME: Get your papers out. He needs to sign them pronto.

TODD: I just received a three million dollar advance on the book I've been writing these past two years. Two Years with a Bottom Feeder. The book is about you... so I want you to take the entire advance.

ME: These papers state that you are never to approach me, or try to have any dealings, transactions, nothing...

LAWYER #1: Eric, I think you should hear him out.

ME: No I shouldn't. I got my own problems, like how much debt I'm in. It's hundreds of thousands of dollars, you know.

Todd reached into his breast pocket.

ME: Whoa!

A dozen burly bikers in leather jackets stormed the café.

BURLY BIKER #1 (to Todd): Sir, do not make another move.

Todd stood there, frozen, his hand still in his inside breast pocket.

TODD (to me): Did you hire these guys too?

ME (nodding): I took out a second line of credit. These guys aren't cheap.

TODD: Jesus... I'm just trying to give you a cheque.

BURLY BIKER #1: Sir, kindly and slowly remove your hand from your jacket. Slowly...

Todd did as he was told.

ME (to Todd): I had to make sure you'd let me go as a friend without trying something stupid.

TODD: All right, but first just let me give you...

I interrupted him.

ME: Sign all the papers first, and then we'll talk.

TODD: All right.

Todd signed all the papers.

LAWYER #2: Eric, under these circumstances, I'm not sure if this is the right thing...

ME: Just hang a sec...

TODD: There... I signed them.

ME: Don't talk to me. You can't talk to me. You signed all the papers.

Todd reached into his jacket again.

TODD: Just let me give you the three million.

ME: He's going to kill me! He likes me so much as a friend that he's going to kill me!

The bikers all reached for Todd to hold him away. Once he was immobilized, I charged at him myself.

ME: Just let me go as a friend, you bastard! You friend-loving bastard!

The two lawyers seized my arms.

TODD (to the bikers): Let me go!

ME (to the lawyers): Let me at him!

I turned to Todd.

ME: I hate you! I hate you!

TODD: I tried, Eric. I tried to give you back everything you gave me ever since you found me, two years ago, when I lost everything. Your friendship saved me.

ME: You're not supposed to talk to me. You signed the papers, stupid.

TODD: This is the last time I try to give you this three million dollar cheque.

ME (fingers in my ears): La! La! La!

TODD: Eric, listen to me...

The bikers pulled Todd away toward the doors.

TODD: If you can take anything away from these past two years, it's this: You have something in you that no one else has. This energy... it's a gift. This big, bright energy lights up the Universe. No one has it, but you...

ME: I chose a slice of pie over you. Deal with it. Goodbye!

Todd was shoved out. I looked through the cafe's large windows as Todd was thrown into a cab. The cab drove off.

The lawyers straightened their ties and suit jackets.

ME: Did he just say something about three million dollars?

The lawyers each took a turn shaking my hand.

ME: I don't know... I couldn't hear over all the shouting and scuffling and such, but I thought I heard him mention something about three million dollars.

The lawyers walked out, and a male server came up to me.

SERVER: Sir, we are going to have to ask you to leave.

ME: A slice of pie; that just lasts two bites... if you're lucky and not that hungry... but friendship... I never had a friend like Todd. But am I imagining things? I could have sworn I heard him say three million dollars.

SERVER: I think he did.

ME: I'm hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, I now have two new maxed out lines of credit, I have no best friend, and I just lost three million dollars.

SERVER: And your friend, or should I say ex-friend, just left without paying his bill.

The server handed me Todd's bill. I stood there, with nothing to say, and nothing to pay with.

ME: Will you take this gold watch?

I removed the gold watch from my left wrist.

ME: It's been an heirloom in my family for five generations. It's all I have left...

The server stuck his open palm out for it. With regret, I dropped it into his hand. Tears welled up in my eyes.

ME (barely audible): Enjoy...

How to Get Closer to Your Wife

Dear Diary,

I came up with a plan the other day to get closer to my estranged wife by spending more time with her. I sat with her on the couch while she watched TV. I think she was watching Desperate Housewives or something that looked like it – all the women were desperate, backstabbing each other, lying to their husbands, and burying bodies in their backyards. One was even involved in a racist hate crime. I'm not sure but it could have also been The View.

I was so bored and antsy, I couldn't sit still. I even started rapping something from ODB. When my wife told me, "RELAX!", I decided to have a glass of wine. It worked. I began to see the show in a different way. I really got into it. I was laughing when my wife was laughing and crying during what I thought were the sad parts. It was an amazing TV watching experience. I found myself actually caring for the characters, saying things like, "I hope Lynnette can stop her killing spree. She's a good mother. She deserves better. Is Whoopie dead? "

I got to really enjoy watching TV with my wife. Every night, I looked forward to viewing our favorite shows, waiting eagerly for the episodes to begin, glass of wine in hand. At first, I'd just need one bottle to savor shows like Bachelor Pad, Kate Plus 8, and Giant Wives and their Little People Husbands. Our nights usually ended with my wife pulling on my arm where I passed out. I'd sometimes wake up the next morning, slumped over the coffee table. One night, while I placed my face just one inch from the television in an effort to appreciate the fine, detailed embroidery on a dress from Say Yes to the Dress, I puked all over the screen, and then lost consciousness, slamming my head against the wet, sloppy image.

My wife finally suggested that on some nights we might want to watch some of my shows (after the police called, demanding she pick me up at the liquor store where I was on the floor, out for the count). I asked if maybe we could start reconnecting in a class on how to make your own wine. We quit the class after I yelled at the teacher regarding having to wait for the wine to ferment. "But Joe Millionaire in on Dancing with the Stars tonight!" I exclaimed. "He's the closest they'll ever get to what they loosely deem a star. I can't watch that crap without not thinking rationally or not being able to see straight!"

So last night, my wife and I decided to try something new. She watches her shows while I sit beside her, typing away at my laptop, Facebooking, Googling, and laughing my head off at all the wonderful things on the Net that last no longer than thirty seconds. I even made a makeshift bathtub in the middle of the living room with a wheelbarrow, enjoying a luxurious bubble bath while eating cupcakes. I think our marriage might be back on track.

The Plight of Married Men

Dear Diary,

This past Saturday, my best pal Todd Hubb and I went on a hunger strike after my wife kicked us out of her mother's one bedroom apartment where we were all living (I thought happily). The news crews arrived at around 9am where we were striking in front of our apartment building.

FEMALE REPORTER: So what caused you to go on this hunger strike?

ME: I think I was treated unfairly so I'm going to starve myself until something gives.

FEMALE REPORTER: Does this have anything to do with the fact that your wife has been supporting you and your friend for nine months while you've been unemployed and doing nothing all day?

ME: It has to do with the fact that I'm a man.

MALE REPORTER: How do you figure?

ME: I'm expected to pitch in, pay for a few things, just because I'm male. That logic is from the stoned ages.

FEMALE REPORTER: What about your friend? Is your wife supposed to support him as well?

ME: He's male too, so she's against him too. So don't even go there. I tell you, this thing's just getting out of hand. You don't hate me because I'm a man, do you?

FEMALE REPORTER: No... just mainly because you're a little boy.

ME: Listen, it's only been a few minutes but we'll stay out here for as long as it takes.

FEMALE REPORTER: As long as what takes?

ME: The end, as we know it, of the plight of married men everywhere.

FEMALE REPORTER (confused): What?

ME: Just because married men want a life that doesn't necessarily jibe with the ladies, don't hate on us.

FEMALE REPORTER (annoyed): So what exactly is this so-called plight? Explain it to me.

ME: Three things...

I used my fingers to count them out.

ME: We don't want to work. We don't want to do dishes. We don't want to talk. What we want is to spend the rest of our marriage surfing the Net. I think it's only fair.

MALE REPORTER: How long are you willing to go without food?

ME: We'll be here for days if that's what it takes.

Todd, my BFF, turned to me.

TODD: Days?

ME: Weeks, months, whatever it takes. We might be here for years.

TODD: Eric, please... take it easy.

ME: Decades...

TODD: Eric, it's here.

I turned to find Todd with JC, one of the neighbourhood kids. JC, 12, was standing, straddling his bike, and wearing an army green colour backpack.

ME: Pardon me; one of our advisors is here. I'll be back in a moment.

I walked over to JC and Todd.

ME: Let's talk, boys.

The news cameras stayed on us as we huddled close and JC removed his backpack. They clearly taped JC handing us each a paper bag with the McDonald's golden arches logo. Todd and I both jammed our faces with burgers.

FEMALE REPORTER: Excuse me. What's happening here?

I straightened up, secret sauce dripping down my chin.

ME (mouth full): Nothing. JC is just advising us.

FEMALE REPORTER: Are you eating?

ME: No!

I was incensed, and I yelled, burger bits flying from my mouth.

ME: This is a hunger strike, what the hell!

MALE REPORTER: You're eating!

ME: Get out of here, all of you!

More burger bits flew from my mouth.

MY WIFE'S VOICE: Eric...

ME (annoyed): What?

I looked up to see my wife standing behind us.

MY WIFE (desperation in her voice): If you'll stop this nonsense, you can come back. My law career won't survive this publicity.

ME: You can't have me back that easy. I have some demands.

My wife sighed. This already had been a long day, and an even longer marriage.

MY WIFE: What?

ME: Can you bake a pie?

MY WIFE: All right... but Todd can no longer live with us.

ME: NO!

MY WIFE: I can't support two grown men.

ME: NO! Not Todd! He's my friend!

I clutched Todd, tears streaming down my cheeks.

ME: Oh God! Please! Not Todd! Not Todd!

MY WIFE: It's me and your baby daughter, or your dead-beat leech of a friend Todd. You choose.

ME: I choose Todd! I choose Todd!

I held Todd with the strength of an ox.

MY WIFE: And I'll bake you a pie.

I let go of Todd.

ME: Todd, you best be on your way now. Go on. Get a move on. I don't ever want to see your face again.

Hungry for Love

Dear Diary,

For the past eight months, I've been living with my wife, our seventeen-month-old baby daughter, and my mother-in-law in my mother-in-law's one bedroom apartment. I'm unemployed... but my wife is a successful corporate lawyer... but we have no money since I once put us in debt following a charade that some say went "off the rails" which I think is an exaggeration to say the least since they only yell out those kind of things because I'm fun to be with, especially at picnics, and they wish they were too – add to that: I know and sing all the hits from the '80s (Bananarama anyone? Hello?...) and my little "charade" cost my wife and I hundreds of thousands of dollars. So we live in this tiny one bedroom apartment and... oh yeah... my best friend Todd Hubb who is also unemployed lives with us against what my wife calls her "better judgement" and "wishes".

My wife also now claims that we are legally separated but she wants me around to build a relationship with our daughter since I missed the first eight months of her life because I once ran away from home to follow my dreams of living a life of no responsibility or accountability. No one can blame me for that.

This morning, my wife called me into the small kitchen area for what she called a "sit-down talk". Todd, my pal, was sitting a few feet away in the living room area, munching from a bucket of take-out chicken wings.

MY WIFE: Eric, we need to talk about our situation here.

ME: Okay. We have such a great life, don't we?

MY WIFE: Actually, that's what I want to talk to you about?

ME: How great our lives are?

MY WIFE: Our lives are not great.

ME: What do you mean? I eat every day, with a roof over my head... as much take-out as Todd and I can eat... and I don't even have to work.

Todd toasted us with a chicken wing, winked at my wife, and took another greasy bite.

ME: Our lives are fantastic!

MY WIFE: My mother and I are working our behinds to the bone. My life is terrible. You two are eating us out of house and home.

ME (distracted): Sorry hon... hold on a sec...

I shouted out to Todd.

ME: Hey, do you mind leaving me some, you pig!

MY WIFE: Can he... maybe go eat that outside? We need some privacy.

ME: I'd rather keep an eye on him and our wings...

MY WIFE: We need to talk in private, Eric.

ME: He's watching TV. He can't hear a thing.

My wife sighed, resigning herself to what I can only assume many wives do.

MY WIFE: All right...

Todd turned the TV off, and stared in our direction, sucking back a chicken wing.

ME (to my wife): So what's up?

MY WIFE: This really... this whole situation... it's really not working for me.

ME: It's working for me. It's working for Todd. Todd, isn't it working for you?

MY WIFE: Eric, you're taking advantage of me. You haven't worked since you got here over eight months ago.

ME: I put my cereal bowl in the sink when I'm done, just like you told me to. I don't know what you're talking about.

MY WIFE: I wanted you to stay here to get to know your daughter, and for her to get to know you. But you have barely paid her any attention since you came back.

ME: I know my daughter. I know her name. It's Jessie Lou.

MY WIFE: It's Jessalyn.

ME: What kind of name is that?

MY WIFE: I want you and Todd to leave. Tonight.

ME: What if me and Todd make a million dollars by the end of the day? Do we still have to leave?

MY WIFE: How are you going to make a million dollars?

I looked over at Todd, excitement spewing from my face.

ME: Todd, if we made a million dollars, what would we do? Oh my God! The freedom we'd have! To just sit around and do nothing. I think we'd leave this place though, don't you think? We'd leave this place, right? We wouldn`t be staying here. It's small here.

I turned back to my wife.

ME: But you'd have to stay here with the baby. I think this is a better place for the baby, really.

MY WIFE: You have one hour to get out.

ME: What if I decide not to leave and I go on a hunger strike?

MY WIFE: A hunger strike? Good, maybe I'll save some money around here.

ME: That's it! Todd, we are going on a hunger strike.

Todd opened his mouth which was jammed with munched-up chicken and barbeque sauce.

TODD: The hell we are!

ME (to Todd): Now you shut up and you listen to me!

My wife had a mobile phone up to her ear.

MY WIFE: The police are on their way.

ME: Come on, Todd, we are protesting. Put that bucket down.

TODD: Shut your mouth!

I lunged at Todd and we tussled, as I crammed as many barbeque wings as I could into my mouth.

TODD: Stop eating my chicken!

ME: I'm going on a hunger strike! I need to fill up!

When the police showed up, Todd and I were in the kitchen, shoving everything we could down our gullets, prepping for our hunger strike. The place was a mess with barbeque sauce on the walls, porridge on the furniture, and the oven seeping batter onto the floor caused by a failed attempt by Todd and I to bake three soufflés at once.

Ten minutes later, Todd and I were sitting on the street curb with nothing to do.

TODD: This hunger strike is boring.

I turned to my BFF, scratching my stomach.

ME: I'm feeling a little peckish.

Christmas Reunion

Dear Diary,

This morning, I stood at my wife's door. Todd, my tag along friend, found out she now lives with her mother and is penniless, the way I left her, eighteen months ago.

TODD: Ring the doorbell, Eric.

I hesitated.

ME: I can't do it. I put myself through the most wretched year of my life, and she stands there and looks at me that way.

TODD: Uh... Eric... you haven't even seen her yet.

I was livid.

ME: I'm a human being. Not a piece of dirt. I deserve better.

TODD: You haven't even rung the doorbell yet.

I didn't hear him as I slammed my fists and head against the door.

ME: How dare you! How dare you!

The door opened and I fell to my knees. I looked up to see my wife staring down at me, holding a tiny bundle in a pink blanket.

MY WIFE: What are you doing here?

Her eyes held back a rage, like the Hoover Dam about to bust loose a tsunami.

ME: I came to get my CDs.

She stepped back for a moment and then returned, dumping an armful of CDs on top of me and shutting the door behind her.

I stood and opened the door.

ME (shouting in the doorway): My Mr. Belvedere Christmas CD better be here, because Lord help me, I will make your holidays hell. I better not be coming here and you guys are all laughing, unwrapping presents, listening full blast to my Mr. Belvedere CD.

MOTHER-IN-LAW: Eric, is that you?

My mother-in-law came to the door.

ME: Yes, it is. I don't have time to chit chat, Mrs. Pattkins. I'm just here for my Mr. Belvedere.

MOTHER-IN-LAW: Don't you want to come inside to meet your child?

ME: Well, I could use a glass of water...

I stepped inside.

MY WIFE: Mom, he doesn't care about his child. He's been AWOL for over a year.

I followed my wife's voice, toward the kitchen. Todd was right behind me.

ME: Do I just help myself? I mean, I don't know. I haven't been here in a while.

Inside the kitchen, my wife stared up at me with the same rage, still holding her pink bundle.

MOTHER-IN-LAW: Who's your friend?

ME: Do you have any Perrier?

MY WIFE: I want you out of this house.

MOTHER-IN-LAW: Eric...

My mother-in-law took the bundle from my wife.

MOTHER-IN-LAW: This is your daughter, Jessalyn.

ME: If your Perrier's flat, then it's okay. I can do without. Do you remember how long it's been since you first opened the bottle, approximately?

My mother-in-law handed me the bundle, and I held it.

MY WIFE: Mother, no...

MOTHER-IN-LAW: He should know what he left behind.

I looked down. A tiny face stared up, with big eyes.

ME: She's so light...

I looked up at my wife. She glared back at me with a tired expression. I turned to Todd. He had tears in his eyes.

I held my daughter close to my chest.

MY WIFE: You'll hurt her...

My wife took the baby away.

ME: Can I move in?

MY WIFE: There's no room for you here.

ME: I can fix things around here, and do all the man stuff. And Todd can move in too and stay my best friend. He sleepwalks though, and sleeps in the nude, and wrestles people, but it's not offensive in any way 'cause he's still asleep, right, and he doesn't know what he's doing, even though it's like eight hours a night. You get use to it though, searching for alternative methods of catching up on your sleep throughout the day.

MY WIFE: You are not staying.

MOTHER-IN-LAW: Give him a chance. He is the father of your daughter.

ME: We are going to be so happy, the five of us together.

I hugged Todd.

ME: We found a place to live! We finally have a place to live! I am so happy! Merry Christmas Todd! It's easy street from here on out!

I Don’t Know Me Anymore

Dear Diary,

Todd and I have finally arrived in my hometown of Toronto where I am to approach my wife whom I abandoned eighteen months ago, pregnant. As soon as we were off the bus, I bolted. I ran like the past was a tidal wave about to devour me. I could hear Todd trying to catch up.

TODD: Eric, please. Not like this. Not like this.

I couldn't hear him anymore. I couldn't hear anything anymore. I collapsed, passing out. When I awoke, a uniformed, female police officer with broad shoulders was shaking me.

FEMALE OFFICER: Sir... sir... are you okay?

I nodded, and looked up. I was in the middle of the city center's skating rink with children and adults skating around me, trying to avoid me.

FEMALE OFFICER: Do you know where you are?

I shook my head.

FEMALE OFFICER: Sir, can you talk?

I couldn't at the moment. I was remembering why I was back in the city and quite upset.

FEMALE OFFICER: What is your name?

I was so upset that I didn't know who I was anymore. Tears came to my eyes.

The female officer grabbed her CB radio clipped near her shoulder.

FEMALE OFFICER (into her radio): Bobby, we've got a John Doe at Nathan Phillips Square.

John Doe! What was she talking about?

FEMALE OFFICER (into her radio): He's responsive but appears to be mute.

I looked up at her, wide-eyed.

FEMALE OFFICER: Sir, don't be scared. I can help you.

She lifted me to my feet and helped me back to her police cruiser.

We were soon at her police station where I was given breakfast, an extra sweater, and patted on the back for the rest of the day. I became the station mascot, and Martha, the officer who rescued me, came to check in on me at regular intervals, bringing me treats like hot chocolate and pumpkin scones. As officers wrote reports at their desks, I made them laugh by performing pantomime and hugging them from behind when they were frustrated and angry. I performed cartwheels and somersaults and everyone applauded. It was a magnificent day.

One hour later, nausea overtook me from eating too many doughnuts and I threw up on everything: all the desks, all the reports, and some officers. Everyone took turns rubbing my back until I fell asleep in the corner. When I awoke, the entire station was staring down at me, with love in their eyes.

Martha found and brought Todd in at noon, and he pretended to be mute too. Everyone called him John Doe 2 and we piggybacked one another while running circles around the room. We shoved each other playfully into furniture, and everyone petted us and cuddled with us, and Martha asked the chief if they could keep us, and he said as long as no one came in to claim us.

But then Todd spoke.

TODD: Eric, we need to go. The time's come for you to see your wife and child.

ME: Shut up Todd!

But it was too late.

MARTHA: You can talk?

Martha had tears in her eyes. Everyone in the station grew quiet.

MARTHA: You betrayed us.

ME: Martha, I can explain.

MARTHA: We were going to build you guys a little house by my desk...

ME (disappointed): Frig!

MARTHA: and get you guys chew toys...

ME: This sucks!

MARTHA: Get out.

ME: Please Martha. We don't have to talk again.

MARTHA: Go.

All the officers now also had tears in their eyes, including the chief.

ANOTHER OFFICER: Just go!

THE CHIEF: Get out of here!

I walked out at a snail's pace, attempting to give everyone enough time to change their minds.

Soon everyone was telling us to leave, shouting things like, "scram", "just get out", and "my gun's pointed right at your head".

Outside, Todd turned to me.

TODD: You're ready. You're ready now to see your wife and child. You've grown so much.

ME: We had a good life in there and you blew it. You owe me a chew toy.

TODD: We couldn't live in a box with newspaper forever. I found your wife's new address. We're heading there now.

ME: Not before I get a bowl of water and some Alpo.

I’m Going Home

Dear Diary,

Todd and I boarded a bus bound for Toronto, my hometown, to see my wife for the first time in eighteen months after I abandoned her, penniless, in debt and pregnant. I wonder what the baby's favorite color is. Mine is magenta.

We would have left earlier but we had previous commitments in New York City where we perform as a comedy duo in clubs. Friday night, after the first few minutes, we were booed at with an overabundance of graphic profanities and had to end our show which was nice since it meant getting to the alleyway at a reasonable hour where we slept for the night. Saturday night, most of the audience clutched one another as they rushed the stage to mow us down. We rehearsed for the first time ever on Sunday so that our new audience wouldn't be so stand-offish, and it definitely paid off with what I thought was a fantastic show except that we were shot at, and someone threw an axe.

As the bus pulled out of the Port Authority Bus Terminal, I went to the washroom at the back of the bus and locked the door. I refused to come out, with many passengers banging at the door, needing to "go". I announced that I was not budging until the bus driver turned the bus around. There was no way I was going back home.

The driver, a tall, burly fellow, pulled the bus over, walked to the back, unlocked the washroom door with a key, yanked me out and proceeded to shove me down the aisle.

ME: Is this a new service on the bus: drivers make sure you get back safely from the washroom to your seat? It'd be even nicer if you weren't so rough, or if you let customers actually finish before you unlock the door yourself.

BUS DRIVER: You're getting off.

TODD: Please, bus driver, he won't do it again.

ME: I won't. I promise... on my grandmother's grave.

The bus driver stopped, pushed me down in the seat next to Todd and went back behind the wheel, driving off. And I was back in the washroom, locking the door.

ME: I'm not getting out until that lard-ass bastard turns this baby around. I don't care.

Within seconds, the driver was hauling me out of the washroom and jostling me down the aisle.

TODD: Please, bus driver, he won't do it again.

ME: Yes. I promise. I swear on my grandmother's grave, and this time it's the grandmother I really like. The other one, I wasn't so crazy about.

BUS DRIVER: I don't care. You're off. Now.

ME: Please, please, please.

TODD: Please, please, please.

ME: You can't abandon me on the highway. I'll be lost.

BUS DRIVER: You should have thought of that before you decided to stop passengers from using the washroom.

ME: People started peeing in the aisle at the back. You may not know it but I could smell it.

BUS DRIVER: Let's go.

ME: Those people back there peed in the aisle! They should get off too! This is outrageous!

The bus driver heaved me toward the front.

ME: I'm just going back to my wife whom I abandoned, pregnant, eighteen months ago with a debt in the mid six figures. I've never contacted her or bothered to find out if she had a boy or a girl. I'm just trying to make amends.

FEMALE PASSENGER IN HER FIFTIES: You should let him face the music. He needs to do this.

MALE PASSENGER: Yeah. Let him take responsibility for what he's done.

TODD: I implore you.

ME: Please, bus driver. Let me go.

I started a chant.

ME: Let him go! Let him go!

I looked around for others to join in.

ME: Let him go! Let him go!

Nobody did.

BUS DRIVER: All right, but no more locking yourself in the washroom.

ME: And no more peeing in the aisle at the back, okay everyone? Please use the washroom.

And with that I sat back down. Once the bus was back on the road, I was back in the washroom, locking the door and yelling that I wasn't coming out until the bus turned around.

But this time, the bus rolled on.

ME: Hello, is anybody listening to me?

I opened the door to take a peek out.

ME: Bus driver, there's people peeing in the aisle back here. It's the woman in the blue hat, and the man in the plaid pants.

The bus rolled on.

ME: Aren't you going to do something about it, you pee-wherever-you-want-lover? I hate you!

I slammed the door... over and over again.

ME: Turn this bus around! Turn this bus around!

I started signing like Aretha Franklin.

ME (singing): Turn this bus around! Turn the bus around before my heart hits the ground! Turn this pee-lovin' bus around!

No one paid attention.

I climbed out the washroom window and up to the metallic roof. I banged on the roof, screaming bloody murder. For an hour. Still the bus rolled on.

I swung from the roof and kicked a few windows, smashing one right through, and cracking the windshield, screeching like a banshee. Still the bus rolled on.

Todd was sitting alone in the middle of the bus when he heard me crying like a toddler as I walked back down the aisle from the washroom.

I sat beside him, still bawling. Todd put his arm around me and pulled me in so that my soaked cheek fell against his shoulder.

TODD: I'm proud of you. You're finally growing up.

I sobbed some more.

ME: I don't have any strength left in me. I give up.

I pulled out a long, thick piece of gleaming metal I had broken off during my rooftop sojourn.

ME: You have to hit the bus driver over the head with this.

Forgive

Dear Diary,

My friend Todd Hubb who is a thirty-something, mop-haired, world famous motivational speaker called an emergency meeting this morning to discuss the future of our sketch comedy duo Silly Putty. We sat down in our regular McDonald's over coffee and muffins.

TODD: We stank last night.

ME: I know. I walked out along with everyone.

TODD: And I had to perform by myself for six hours in an empty room.

ME: I hate fundraisers.

TODD: We need to do something to make the experience better for our audience.

ME: One option could be us stopping performing comedy altogether.

TODD: And then what? What are we going to do with our lives?

ME: Why do we have to worry about our lives so much all the time?

TODD: I gave up being the number one, bestselling motivational speaker in America for this crap.

ME: Why are you worrying about that? Who cares?

TODD: I did this for you. To help you find your way in life.

ME: You could have tried a little harder. My life is in the toilet.

TODD: It's you.

ME: Me? What are you talking about?

TODD: You're the one ruining our shows.

ME: No, I'm not.

TODD: Yeah. You're an abomination. It's like watching a three-legged dog who can't bark or see up there on stage.

ME: What's that supposed to mean?

TODD: It's supposed to mean whatever you want to make of it.

ME: I just think you're being unfair to all the three-legged, blind, mute dogs out there. They don't deserve to be compared to me. Especially not when performing topical sketch comedy.

TODD: You know what the problem is with you? You despise yourself and the audience can sense it.

ME: And you know what the problem is with you? I hate you.

TODD: At the start of last night's show, you smashed twelve beer bottles against your head and it wasn't even in the script. You were supposed to be playing Mother Theresa. Where's the self respect?

ME: I was improvising.

TODD: Nobody was laughing, and it was painful to watch.

ME: It was painful to do.

TODD: There's only one way to fix this.

ME: We put in a bullet in Silly Putty like that kid did to Old Yeller.

TODD: Eric, you need to forgive yourself.

ME: What for?

TODD: For abandoning your wife...

I was quiet.

TODD: pregnant...

I said nothing.

TODD: homeless...

I stayed mum.

TODD: and hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.

I took a sip of my coffee. I put my paper cup down.

ME: What's there to forgive?

TODD: You son or daughter should be about ten months right now. You don't feel guilty about abandoning a baby? Your own baby?

ME: I have these daydreams where my kid is like eighteen and in college somewhere and he's been thinking about me his whole life, wondering what I'm like. Am I an adventurer like Indiana Jones or a philanthropist like Bill Gates or some speaker who changes the world like Gandhi or maybe I'm Barrack Obama.

Todd kept listening.

ME: And then I surprise him with a visit and my kid is all like "I knew you were special. I've always known you were someone of great importance to our world... to our history".

TODD: You are nothing like that, you moron.

ME: I have eighteen years to do something with my life. That's a lot of time. I'm not even going to start to try for another five.

TODD: What will happen is that in eighteen years, when you do meet up with your child, they are going to be sorely disappointed. And probably ashamed to be related to you.

Todd was a bit mouthy today.

TODD: Why don't you see your kid now? Be a father now.

ME: Yeah, but then I don't get to be that amazing dad when he's eighteen and old enough to recognize how awesome I am. I really want to be that cool dad who gets to hang out in his college dorm.

TODD: So you can mooch off him. Wow, in eighteen years, you are going to be an outstanding father.

ME: Shut up! You're totally raining on my parade. These are my goals in life.

TODD: Those aren't goals. They're all routes of avoidance. In eighteen years, you'll still be a horrible father because you'll have made a conscious decision to hide from your child for two decades. He or she will never forgive you. You will never forgive you.

ME: I can try. I've got two decades.

TODD: I'll never forgive you.

ME: I am never going back. Never! Do you hear me? I was exaggerating when I said I daydreamed about going back in eighteen years. I will run for the rest of my life. I don't care about no baby! So leave me alone!

TODD: If you agree to travel back to your hometown with me and meet with your wife and child, I'll make it worth your while.

ME: You don't have anything anymore. You've got nothing, like me.

Todd lifted a cheap, ripped, plastic lion mask with the rubber band snapped off. He gave me a smile weighted down with sadness and regret.

TODD: You're right. This is all I have. I've got nothing else. I found it the day after Halloween.

I reached for it.

ME: When do we leave?

We Gave Our Word

Dear Diary,

My friend Todd and I now live in alleyways in NYC and perform sketches at comedy clubs as a duo. We've been in a rut lately since we've been doing this for almost a year now and the last time we made someone laugh was each other and that was more than a year ago when we had the giggles, way before we started our comedy duo. Times are tough, and someone outside our troupe might suggest we do something else for a living but we made a decision long ago that we would see this comedy duo thing through and we're not about to give up now. I'm still not quite clear what we meant by "seeing this through" but I hope Todd will let me know when we have finally "seen this through" because this is a terrible life we're leading.

We had a breakfast meeting at McDonald's this morning.

TODD: That was a horrid show last night.

ME: We really suck at this. What do you think we should do?

I was hoping then that Todd would say that we had finally seen this through and that I could have my life back.

TODD: Well, we did say we would see this through and I'd hate to give up now after all we've put into this. After everything we've built.

ME: What did we build?

TODD: A following.

ME: The only time anyone ever followed us is when that audience at The Crab Hut chased us off the stage and down two blocks, threatening to kill us. And then calling the police to make sure we weren't still in the vicinity.

TODD: We said that we would see this through. Didn't we say that?

ME: Yes, we did say that... and we haven't seen this through, have we? I mean, have we by now... seen this through?

TODD: I don't know, have we?

ME: Did we already? I don't know?

TODD: You don't?

ME: I do, I mean... we haven't, right?

TODD: I don't know... I mean... what do you think?

ME: I think that we... I don't know... that we haven't... have we? I don't know...

TODD: You'd tell me if we did, right? If we've already seen this through?

ME: Of course, yeah. Totally. And you'd tell me too, right, if we've already seen this through?

TODD: Absolutely. Good. Then let's keep going, okay... I mean if this is something you really want to do.

ME: I just want to make sure that we see this through. That we get to that point where we know that we've seen this through, and whether or not we're getting closer to that point or we're just about to pass it or we already did pass it and one of us might not know.

TODD: This is for you. I'm just sticking around because I gave my word to see this through. For you.

ME: And I'm with you, even though I've never liked comedy and I enjoy performing it even less. I'd rather be murdered tonight than have to go back on stage but I said I'd see this through, and I'm not going back on that.

TODD: Let's just say that if it weren't for you, I would go back on my word and not see this through, but it's you and I have to see this through.

ME: I have had the worst year of my life. I struggle every day with whether I want to live or die because I'm hating my life right now, and every millimetre of my being loathes every second we waste on this comedy thing but I gave you my word. I gave it to you that we would see this through.

TODD: I have never been unhappier. Not even when my wife macerated my heart and filched everything I worked for since I was a fourteen-year-old orphan. Nothing I have ever gone through compares to the absolute garbage that has been these past eleven months, but we have to see this through.

ME: I guess we're on the same page. We're going to see this through.

TODD: As disappointed as I am, yes, let's drudge along in this dreck of an existence and see this through.

ME: How much longer do you think we have until we see this through?

TODD: As long as it takes.

ME: I might end my life before then, but I'll try not to, just so we can see this through.

TODD: I'll try not to as well.

We both had tears in our eyes as we got up from the table, and several times we had to alternate giving each other pep talks just so we could walk out of the McDonald's and face the stark reality that is our lives.