A brief introduction to the first ever guest blogger here at the Vinyl Village. The author below, who we will call S, has been a friend of mine since elementary school, and has therefore had the fortunate (or is it unfortunate) pleasure of witnessing first hand many of the characters and stories you might encounter here. I asked him to do a guest spot here, and he came up with this classic from our teen years–one that still brings peals of laughter when I think about it. Enjoy! And if anyone else out there wants to guest blog, hit the contact me button–there are some days the Vinyl Villager is just too damn lazy to write, and he appreciates your help!
Often, I awaken from a dream and wonder, “When’s my ‘Flatliners’ moment coming?” For those of you who are too young, or too sheltered, I am referring to the late 80’s film, “Flatliners”. (Insert link) The plot of the movie is about a group of 20-something medical students who’ve found a way to “die” long enough to see the other side and be brought back. No harm, no foul right? WRONG! Each person that take the trip to the other side, is then haunted by something horrible from their past. It follows them through their waking life, until they find a way to make amends. Sometimes in life, one cannot resist to punish the less fortunate, especially if the person doing the punishing 15 years old. Among the varied and horrific things our Vinyl Villager and I have perpetuated on the innocent, the first one that came to mind was our rouse to shame one of his mother’s many, and I mean MANY, boyfriends.
Gene was a nice enough fellow. He was tall, just south of 400 lbs. with red hair. An addiction to nasal spray notwithstanding, he was a gentle, affable and kind man. Of course, to us he was easy prey. One night, The VV, J and I were sitting in The VV’s living room. Tireless and bored, lacking cable television to suspend our thoughts; we decided to play a little joke on Gene. The VV’s mother was out catting about town with one of her other boyfriends and instructed us to tell Gene, should he call or come over, that she was out shopping, washing her hair, or out of the country. (His mama always assumed the men in her life had no brains about them; in most cases she was correct) Despite her instructions, (we never heeded them anyway), The VV, J and I decided to exact our particular brand of theatre on the poor man. It’s difficult to say who thought it up, but we all decided when he called we would tell him Mama was in the shower. “Come on over, Gene. She will be out of the shower by the time you get here.” I heard the villager tell him. Now, for a large man, he sure was quick. Within five minutes of his call, Gene’s dilapidated Oldsmobile ushered into the gravel driveway. By this point, I had dashed into mama’s closet, extricated her finest lace-riddled, fanny flossing lingerie and threw it on. Realizing my kibbles and bits were hanging out of the side, I threw her satin, “Come f*ck me robe” on my shoulders and waited in the tiny master bath.
Surrounded by Dial soap bars, Kenya hair products and stacks of Maybelline and Estee Lauder make-up, I heard Gene enter the house and ask the VV, “Where’s your mother?” Gene was a well-spoken man, with a voice for the stage. His booming voice told me my big debut was moments away, as I tried in vain not to giggle to myself. He plodded through the kitchen, with the weight of a baby elephant underfoot. Down the hallway, into her bedroom he came. His voice took on the tones of Barry White as he turned the corner into the bedroom. “Mama?” he spoke, his voice full of romantic intention. “In here!”, I squeaked, trying to sound like a woman’s voice, devastated by years of Marlboro Lights and Pepsi’s carbonation. “It worked!” I thought to myself as he shuffled sideways between the bed and dresser, trying to get to his lady love. As I looked up into his eyes, I noticed his shock at what he saw before him. “Hey big fella, what’s shakin’?” I spoke in my giggly woman’s voice. He froze.
By this point, I am in hysterics and I can hear the VV and J in the living room, laughing as I’d never heard before. Poor Gene. He turned in disgust and headed for the door and in that moment I remember thinking, “I never knew he could move that fast.” I tried to run after him, to assuage my guilt and his hurt feelings, but through my laughter and tight-fitting ensemble, I ended up bowled over onto mama’s bed in tears, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
Gene made it to the front door and looking at the VV and J bent over with the pains of laughter he simply said, “I feel as though I ‘ve been made the brunt of a joke. Exit stage left.”