Monday, October 5, 2009

2. THE LAB ASSISTANT IS VERY NERVOUS

(The lab assistant is hunched in the corner, though he is not a hunchback. He is speaking into a phone, glancing over his shoulder.)

Yes-yes-hello? Hello? I cannot-no, I cannot- what? What? What? What if I just- no, but if I- what about-what about- how am I- no, no, no, no- okay, but- you might- I’m thinking- okay, but how about if I talk in complete sentences, do you understand me now? Yeah, I thought maybe that’d help.

I need to speak with Dr. Floyd Freud. Yes, he does have a very funny-sounding name, and the medical condition that requires him to wear a five-foot sombrero doesn’t help matters, particularly if you are his ace lab assistant. No, you aren’t, but I am. Yes, you have no idea how serious the man is about his work. Deadly serious, that’s right. So you have an idea. Yes, I apologize for underestimating you. Listen, I’m in a bit of a rush here. I’m going to need you to run and retrieve the deadly serious Dr. Floyd Freud for me. I understand I’m interrupting The Greatest Christmas Pageant in History, that may give you a sense of the gravity of the situation. It’s regarding a super-top secret confidential matter, a project involving pterodactyls you may have seen on the 6:17 News? Yes, I’ll hold. No, I wouldn’t panic, but I am unnaturally stoic. You might panic in this situation. A genetic disorder. My maternal grandfather was unnaturally stoic as well. But at least he wasn’t bald, so I’ve a full head of hair, but none of it has any feeling. Yes, I’ll hold.

Dr. Freud? It’s your ace lab assistant. No, not Larry, Frank. Larry took the night off. I’m not sure, something about a sick kitten or basketball cards or something. Listen, Doctor, you might recall your super-top secret confidential science project, the one from the 6:17 news? No, the pterodactyl one. The other pterodactyl one. It was going great. I added the hydro-chlorophyll to the nitrate prednisone, and I saw one of the wings flutter. Exciting, yes. Then I added another ingredient for a more immediate effect, and I saw the wings flutter again. Yes, on all of them. In fact, they all began moving all at once at the same time. I’m sorry? What happened when I finally gained control? Funny you should ask that… Not funny ha-ha, Dr. Freud, no. I don’t find you amusing in the slightest. Yes, the five-foot sombrero is very handsome, I particularly like the oversize novelty squirting flower.

No, I meant funny as in coincidental. You see, I never actually so much regained control. No. Where are they now? Best guess, Doctor, not far from where you- oh. Then I was right. Yes, Doctor, I was right for once. Yes, Doctor, I do feel obliged to repeat your questions. Why do I feel obliged to repeat your questions? I guess because that’s how I was taught to converse on the phone. By Bob Newhart, that’s right. He also taught me racquetball. I don’t play anymore, no. Listen, we can’t get into this now. As you can plainly see, the city is about to be overrun by pterodactyls. I’m not sure what we should do. I tried calling the military, but their line was busy. I left a voicemail but it’s the military. They do more in the morning than I do all day, and I have trouble finding time to check my own voicemail. I’ll try again, but you know, for the time being, what should we do? I tried that. I tried that, too. Yes, I said please. I also said pretty please, and pretty, pretty please with sugar on top. Highly emasculating, yes.

What was the extra ingredient? Actually, it was Triple-Sec. Yeah, I forgot we had it, too. I believe from that fondue party from two years ago? There was a good three-quarters of the bottle left. About half. Yeah, I put it back. I tried to take control, but Doctor, they were uncontrollable. Like a group of rowdy kindergartners or a punk-pop outfit of some modest acclaim, they wreaked havoc on the lab. Tearing holes in the Van-de-Graaf generators, using Bunsen burners to make grilled cheese sandwiches, and they poured two hundred pots of jam into my baby grand piano. No, I don’t know where they got the jam. It’s an unsolved mystery. Regardless, it’s useless jam now. Not to mention the damage done to my baby grand.

I did inform the sheriff and he has his top men on the job, he assured me. A committee of six or seven guys is working to put a positive spin on the catastrophe. So far, they have educational. I thought of photo opportunities and getting rid of unwanted pests like rabbits and abandoned flip-flops but they didn’t seem to care much for those suggestions. They seemed to think it would be a PR nightmare. Public Relations. Though I’m sure it’s a nightmare for Pete Rose as well. And listen, it doesn’t look good for the other studies. There are whispers of the school shutting down all of your Steven Spielberg-inspired experiments. I know research has halted on the Amistad one. I know, and we had such a breakthrough with the Hook study. Did you not hear about the invisible food turning into paint? Oh, right, you were sick that day.

Listen, I feel I should apologize. I can’t help but think in some small way this is my fault. I don’t know, it happened on my watch, it was my repeated insistence, that the Triple-Sec be added and I did call them prehistoric horse’s asses in order to get their ire up. It worked better than I thought. Yes, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I’m very, very sorry with sugar on top. Highly emasculating, yes. I know it doesn’t bring the pterodactyls back home. I swear I won’t screw up as bad next time. But if it’s any consolation, I do have some notes on ways we might be able to stop them. My first idea was an oversize jar, and we could fill it with- oh, is intermission ending? Okay, I’ll be at this number, probably cowering at my desk. Great, talk to you then. Enjoy the show!

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