I could not feel my ass cheeks. I mean I could touch them, and my hand registered that I was indeed touching ass cheeks, but my ass cheeks were not registering that there was a hand touching them. I also had a winceworthy crick in my neck. Having imbibed considerably, it took me a few seconds to realize that I had left my adequately comfortable bed and fallen asleep on the toilet. I had been asleep on the toilet for a little over two hours. With the bed only a couple dozen feet away, the toilet didn’t seem like a valid option; however, I could easily ascertain how it came to be. I knew that I would never allow myself to urinate in bed. My bladder speaks; I listen. I’ve used sinks and trash cans, but I haven’t pissed in bed since college. Urinating in a standing position would have been nearly impossible in my condition hours earlier. At the most inopportune time, seated on the commode, I had passed out. It took my ass over two hours to tell my brain, “Hey, you drunk fuck, we’re shutting down these crushed nerves until you get this limp body to move.” I was a little impressed that I had somehow remained seated the entire time without falling over.
Usually I try to drink just enough to set me right without impairing my ability to make it back to bed and take in a little porno, but the cumulative effect of drinks at the Wisconsin Club, followed by drinks at the hotel bar, followed by drinks from the honor bar in my room pushed me well beyond my targeted level of intoxication. I would discover later that the honor bar was sentient enough not to trust me. Each bottle removed from the miniature fridge instantly became a line item on my hotel bill. Cami must have seen me at my finest when she stopped by earlier. As I forced myself to move back to where I should have been sleeping, slipped under the covers, and gave thanks to my pillow, I was not nearly as upset about missing on demand hotel porn as I thought I should be.
The true reckoning came five or six hours later with a phone call from Cami waking me from my deep tortured slumber. I was in the middle of a horrifying dream at the bowling alley where I couldn’t keep a single ball out of the gutter and everyone’s faces were lifeless masks. I could tell the faces were animated at some point in the past, but they had slowly petrified over time. The faces had become shells to protect the new faces that were forming underneath. No one wanted to show me his or her new face. I kept pleading with one woman in a provocative bowling shirt to remove her mask. Any face that hid beneath would be an improvement over the stoic façade she was wearing. I finally convinced her to take it off, and when she did pull off the mask, I’m pretty sure my neighbors and anyone in the hall outside my room would have heard me scream. Cami’s call saved me from having to continue to look at that unfathomably hideous face.
“Thank you.”
“Most people say, ‘Hello,’ Sheldon. Are you alive?”
“I’ll tell you about it later, but right now, I’m grateful for your call.”
“I thought maybe in your condition, you wouldn’t be picking up the phone. I was going to leave a message.”
“Well, I can hang up, you can call me back, and I’ll let it go to voicemail if that’s what you’d prefer.”
I could tell by the pause, she was considering it.
“Ian wanted to see if you’d be interested in meeting up for breakfast or lunch maybe since your flight doesn’t leave until this evening. He feels a little weird about bombarding you with all those people yesterday.”
“That’s the last thing I expected to hear. Thanks, but I don’t want to be a fifth wheel for you guys. I think I’ll just hang out with myself.”
“Fifth wheel? You’re talking like he’s my boyfriend.”
“If he wipes that dirt off his upper lip and settles down, he could be. It’s not every day that you meet a wealthy philanthropist.”
“Now, you’re talking like you think you know what I want.”
“Yes, you want to be a network anchor and then president of the United States. A wealthy philanthropist will just slow you down. What am I thinking.”
“Wow. You bounce back fast.”
“Quickly.”
“So you coming, or what?”
I’d ruined a lot of things by opening my mouth. I figured I would take the day off and attempt to create as little mayhem for others as possible.
“You kids, have a ball. I’m going to get in touch with my inner Shel. If I find out y’all went to Elsa’s though…”
“If we did, would you come?”
“Nope.”
“Sheldon, you’re missing another opportunity.”
“It was destined to be missed.”
The next few hours were filled with room service and daytime television. What at first appears to be a pathetic situation is in fact a golden research opportunity. A lot of what happens on daytime television could end up on Another Fifteen Minutes in a decade or so. Dozens of people gather behind a jovial man with a microphone on a glorious morning. Only a thin cord separates the fanatics from the on-air personality. They crush each other to make it into the frame, hoping their loved ones back home will notice. They hold crudely made signs to be more obtrusive. The man devours the attention and the power. Before shooting begins, he chats up the crowd. He decides which of the faithful he will bring into his world—who will get a voice.
In another part of the country, recorded days earlier, a woman paces the aisles of a studio audience. The audience hopes for that opportunity to speak into the microphone and ask a pertinent question of the panel of guests or maybe just contribute their little bit of wisdom. For that one little moment, millions of Americans are paying attention. They’re hanging on every word. And then it’s over.
Or so you think, until you get a call from us. It’s just one more piece of culture I dig into with Another Fifteen. We’ll track down guests of decades-old talk shows (difficult work), show them the footage of themselves speaking into the microphone, and put them on the spot again. We get to find out more about the angry woman who admonished a panelist for being immature and irresponsible for choosing not to wear age-appropriate clothing. We delve into the biographical relevance of an audience member who told the microphone what he would have done if he had caught someone masturbating on his furniture. Yes, we do follow up with the panelists as well, but it’s the audience members who are the real mysteries.
We get folks from court shows too. I was in the middle of watching a case about a man suing a neighbor for a borrowed surfboard that conveniently turned up stolen when I heard a knock on my door.
“Oh my god, you’re not even dressed.”
It was Cami and Ian. Surprise!
“I am not your god-- yet. But yes, I haven’t bothered to put any clothes on for the day.”
“Come on, Sheldon. Get dressed, and let’s get lunch.”
“I get the feeling you think I need cheering up.”
“Just pretend you do. I know you don’t. I know you don’t give a fuck.”
“Okay. Give me a sec to tidy up.”
It wasn’t going to be one of my prettier days. With a few splashes of water, some deodorant, multiple toothbrush stokes, a t-shirt, jeans, argyle socks, and sneakers, I was ready. My head was still a little foggy, so I picked up the packet of pills that everyone really wanted me to try and said, “What the heck.” I chugged the pills down with a glass of watered down o.j. and stepped through the door.
“Ta-da!”
“You look like a zombie, mate,” Ian smiled out.
“That means a lot to me, coming from a zombie like yourself. I hope I’ve captured all the little nuances that just scream out, ‘authentic zombie.’”
“It’s the eyes, Shel.”
“If you guys hang out with me enough, you’ll see that the zombie eyes aren’t all that uncommon. You’ll get used to ‘em after a while.”
I kept the two of them laughing most of the way to Bradford Beach. It was one of the days where the zingers just fall from the sky and the crowd is drinking everything up. Cami really wanted to go to the beach. She had moved out to Southern California, and immediately they shipped her out to the Midwest. She would not be denied the daily beach excursions she had been dreaming about. Ian’s chef had put together a little picnic with the basket and everything. I felt like I was a chaperone. I think the two of them were afraid to be left alone together for too long. Reality was setting in for the playboy and the ambitious career-minded woman.
“You know, for being as big of dick as I’ve been, I’m still not sure why I’m here with you guys. You were pretty pissed off at me last night, Cami. And I’m not entirely certain, Ian, but I think I may have offended a few of your guests.”
“The morning brings a new perspective to things. I’m not ready to write you off completely, Sheldon.”
“It’s all cool, Shel. I see that happen all the time. We’ve all been ‘That Guy’ at least once in our lives. Now if you’re ‘That Guy’ all the time, you’ve got a problem.”
“I think I might be ‘THEEE That Guy’. When I swing, I swing for the fences. When I shoot, I shoot the moon.”
Cami looked at Ian. “Maybe we’re ‘enabling’ him.”
I replied for Ian. “Without question, you are. So does everyone else. And that’s why you must continue. You’re all thinking like drug, alcohol, tobacco and fire arms dealers. ‘If we don’t do it; then someone else will.’”
“Sheldon, you’re about as dangerous as Tylenol.”
“Hey, you take enough Tylenol, and you can seriously fuck up your liver—no joke. Speaking of drugs, Ian, how deep into this Ephimria thing are you? Are you acquainted with my friend, Mason Burnett?”
“Ephimria is getting big for sure. They were a big sponsor for us this year. They’ve been trying to get me to hock for them, but I’m waiting it out. They don’t have enough of track record yet for me to make any kind of endorsement. I’ve met Mason maybe a couple times at some fundraisers when he was there with his dad. He seems like a good guy for being a trust fund baby.”
“Not as cool as you though.”
“Maybe. You know who is cool? That guy on Weather or Not—Hans Sumthinruther. I love that guy. He’s got a positive aura.”
“Hans Reitherman. Yes, he is very well-loved. I run into him all the time at work. He’s my nemesis.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“You’d think Hans would have a positive influence on you,” Cami said.
“You’d think. But the minute you try to be like Hans, you’re not. Hans doesn’t try; he just is. There is a magic there that you can’t bottle and sell to other people.”
“That’s bullshit, Sheldon. Hans makes choices every day, just like the rest of us. He just makes really good choices.”
“That’s true. He also had a hell of an awesome childhood.”
“So your childhood was too fucked up to allow you to be like Hans?”
“I don’t know. I can always start over I guess. Cami, Ian, you can be my mamma and papa. Through osmosis I’ll learn to be more ambitious and generous. I’ll learn how to treat a lady with respect.”
“This is sick, Sheldon.”
“Mamma, Papa, can I go swimming?”
Ian joined in on the pantomime. “I don’t know, Son. You just ate. You should really wait an hour.”
“Aw, Dad, you know that’s an old wives' tale. No offence, Mamma.”
“Okay, Son. But stay where we can see you.”
I think they were a little surprised when I stripped down to my chonies and sprinted towards the lake. As soon as I hit the water, even though I was in Lake Michigan, all I could think about was the old SNL commercial with Bill Murray as the spokesman for Swill mineral water dredged straight from Lake Erie. I got to chuckling.
---
I made sure to get a dry pair of underwear on before my flight back. I received an open invitation from Ian to return any time. I could tell, Cami, on the other hand, was very close to the point of begging Jeff to move her to another production. She could handle the candid conversation, but the embarrassing and uncharacteristic outbursts might have been too much for her. I was a little unsettled myself. I couldn’t tell if it was the drinking, the Ephimria, or swimming in Lake Michigan that knocked something loose. With Cami’s evaluation and the message I left, I was definitely looking forward to my next conversation with Jeff. To up the ante, maybe some paparazzi shots would turn up of a drunken Sheldon or Sheldon swimming in Lake Michigan. My star power would have to be a lot brighter though for that to happen.
On the plane, I pulled up some documents on my laptop related to another story in development. A number of years back a mother in Galveston had shot her son accidentally not once but on four separate occasions over a period of six years. If the son had died, it probably wouldn’t be as funny as it is. It still shouldn’t be funny, and it’s not to the mother. Everyone else can’t help but laugh. I’ve been in the same boat. My ex-wife laughed for a good five minutes when I showed her the third extension cord I had cut through with my electric hedger. I wasn’t laughing. I was furious with myself. I looked forward to talking with the mother in Galveston. I could relate.
Usually I try to drink just enough to set me right without impairing my ability to make it back to bed and take in a little porno, but the cumulative effect of drinks at the Wisconsin Club, followed by drinks at the hotel bar, followed by drinks from the honor bar in my room pushed me well beyond my targeted level of intoxication. I would discover later that the honor bar was sentient enough not to trust me. Each bottle removed from the miniature fridge instantly became a line item on my hotel bill. Cami must have seen me at my finest when she stopped by earlier. As I forced myself to move back to where I should have been sleeping, slipped under the covers, and gave thanks to my pillow, I was not nearly as upset about missing on demand hotel porn as I thought I should be.
The true reckoning came five or six hours later with a phone call from Cami waking me from my deep tortured slumber. I was in the middle of a horrifying dream at the bowling alley where I couldn’t keep a single ball out of the gutter and everyone’s faces were lifeless masks. I could tell the faces were animated at some point in the past, but they had slowly petrified over time. The faces had become shells to protect the new faces that were forming underneath. No one wanted to show me his or her new face. I kept pleading with one woman in a provocative bowling shirt to remove her mask. Any face that hid beneath would be an improvement over the stoic façade she was wearing. I finally convinced her to take it off, and when she did pull off the mask, I’m pretty sure my neighbors and anyone in the hall outside my room would have heard me scream. Cami’s call saved me from having to continue to look at that unfathomably hideous face.
“Thank you.”
“Most people say, ‘Hello,’ Sheldon. Are you alive?”
“I’ll tell you about it later, but right now, I’m grateful for your call.”
“I thought maybe in your condition, you wouldn’t be picking up the phone. I was going to leave a message.”
“Well, I can hang up, you can call me back, and I’ll let it go to voicemail if that’s what you’d prefer.”
I could tell by the pause, she was considering it.
“Ian wanted to see if you’d be interested in meeting up for breakfast or lunch maybe since your flight doesn’t leave until this evening. He feels a little weird about bombarding you with all those people yesterday.”
“That’s the last thing I expected to hear. Thanks, but I don’t want to be a fifth wheel for you guys. I think I’ll just hang out with myself.”
“Fifth wheel? You’re talking like he’s my boyfriend.”
“If he wipes that dirt off his upper lip and settles down, he could be. It’s not every day that you meet a wealthy philanthropist.”
“Now, you’re talking like you think you know what I want.”
“Yes, you want to be a network anchor and then president of the United States. A wealthy philanthropist will just slow you down. What am I thinking.”
“Wow. You bounce back fast.”
“Quickly.”
“So you coming, or what?”
I’d ruined a lot of things by opening my mouth. I figured I would take the day off and attempt to create as little mayhem for others as possible.
“You kids, have a ball. I’m going to get in touch with my inner Shel. If I find out y’all went to Elsa’s though…”
“If we did, would you come?”
“Nope.”
“Sheldon, you’re missing another opportunity.”
“It was destined to be missed.”
The next few hours were filled with room service and daytime television. What at first appears to be a pathetic situation is in fact a golden research opportunity. A lot of what happens on daytime television could end up on Another Fifteen Minutes in a decade or so. Dozens of people gather behind a jovial man with a microphone on a glorious morning. Only a thin cord separates the fanatics from the on-air personality. They crush each other to make it into the frame, hoping their loved ones back home will notice. They hold crudely made signs to be more obtrusive. The man devours the attention and the power. Before shooting begins, he chats up the crowd. He decides which of the faithful he will bring into his world—who will get a voice.
In another part of the country, recorded days earlier, a woman paces the aisles of a studio audience. The audience hopes for that opportunity to speak into the microphone and ask a pertinent question of the panel of guests or maybe just contribute their little bit of wisdom. For that one little moment, millions of Americans are paying attention. They’re hanging on every word. And then it’s over.
Or so you think, until you get a call from us. It’s just one more piece of culture I dig into with Another Fifteen. We’ll track down guests of decades-old talk shows (difficult work), show them the footage of themselves speaking into the microphone, and put them on the spot again. We get to find out more about the angry woman who admonished a panelist for being immature and irresponsible for choosing not to wear age-appropriate clothing. We delve into the biographical relevance of an audience member who told the microphone what he would have done if he had caught someone masturbating on his furniture. Yes, we do follow up with the panelists as well, but it’s the audience members who are the real mysteries.
We get folks from court shows too. I was in the middle of watching a case about a man suing a neighbor for a borrowed surfboard that conveniently turned up stolen when I heard a knock on my door.
“Oh my god, you’re not even dressed.”
It was Cami and Ian. Surprise!
“I am not your god-- yet. But yes, I haven’t bothered to put any clothes on for the day.”
“Come on, Sheldon. Get dressed, and let’s get lunch.”
“I get the feeling you think I need cheering up.”
“Just pretend you do. I know you don’t. I know you don’t give a fuck.”
“Okay. Give me a sec to tidy up.”
It wasn’t going to be one of my prettier days. With a few splashes of water, some deodorant, multiple toothbrush stokes, a t-shirt, jeans, argyle socks, and sneakers, I was ready. My head was still a little foggy, so I picked up the packet of pills that everyone really wanted me to try and said, “What the heck.” I chugged the pills down with a glass of watered down o.j. and stepped through the door.
“Ta-da!”
“You look like a zombie, mate,” Ian smiled out.
“That means a lot to me, coming from a zombie like yourself. I hope I’ve captured all the little nuances that just scream out, ‘authentic zombie.’”
“It’s the eyes, Shel.”
“If you guys hang out with me enough, you’ll see that the zombie eyes aren’t all that uncommon. You’ll get used to ‘em after a while.”
I kept the two of them laughing most of the way to Bradford Beach. It was one of the days where the zingers just fall from the sky and the crowd is drinking everything up. Cami really wanted to go to the beach. She had moved out to Southern California, and immediately they shipped her out to the Midwest. She would not be denied the daily beach excursions she had been dreaming about. Ian’s chef had put together a little picnic with the basket and everything. I felt like I was a chaperone. I think the two of them were afraid to be left alone together for too long. Reality was setting in for the playboy and the ambitious career-minded woman.
“You know, for being as big of dick as I’ve been, I’m still not sure why I’m here with you guys. You were pretty pissed off at me last night, Cami. And I’m not entirely certain, Ian, but I think I may have offended a few of your guests.”
“The morning brings a new perspective to things. I’m not ready to write you off completely, Sheldon.”
“It’s all cool, Shel. I see that happen all the time. We’ve all been ‘That Guy’ at least once in our lives. Now if you’re ‘That Guy’ all the time, you’ve got a problem.”
“I think I might be ‘THEEE That Guy’. When I swing, I swing for the fences. When I shoot, I shoot the moon.”
Cami looked at Ian. “Maybe we’re ‘enabling’ him.”
I replied for Ian. “Without question, you are. So does everyone else. And that’s why you must continue. You’re all thinking like drug, alcohol, tobacco and fire arms dealers. ‘If we don’t do it; then someone else will.’”
“Sheldon, you’re about as dangerous as Tylenol.”
“Hey, you take enough Tylenol, and you can seriously fuck up your liver—no joke. Speaking of drugs, Ian, how deep into this Ephimria thing are you? Are you acquainted with my friend, Mason Burnett?”
“Ephimria is getting big for sure. They were a big sponsor for us this year. They’ve been trying to get me to hock for them, but I’m waiting it out. They don’t have enough of track record yet for me to make any kind of endorsement. I’ve met Mason maybe a couple times at some fundraisers when he was there with his dad. He seems like a good guy for being a trust fund baby.”
“Not as cool as you though.”
“Maybe. You know who is cool? That guy on Weather or Not—Hans Sumthinruther. I love that guy. He’s got a positive aura.”
“Hans Reitherman. Yes, he is very well-loved. I run into him all the time at work. He’s my nemesis.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“You’d think Hans would have a positive influence on you,” Cami said.
“You’d think. But the minute you try to be like Hans, you’re not. Hans doesn’t try; he just is. There is a magic there that you can’t bottle and sell to other people.”
“That’s bullshit, Sheldon. Hans makes choices every day, just like the rest of us. He just makes really good choices.”
“That’s true. He also had a hell of an awesome childhood.”
“So your childhood was too fucked up to allow you to be like Hans?”
“I don’t know. I can always start over I guess. Cami, Ian, you can be my mamma and papa. Through osmosis I’ll learn to be more ambitious and generous. I’ll learn how to treat a lady with respect.”
“This is sick, Sheldon.”
“Mamma, Papa, can I go swimming?”
Ian joined in on the pantomime. “I don’t know, Son. You just ate. You should really wait an hour.”
“Aw, Dad, you know that’s an old wives' tale. No offence, Mamma.”
“Okay, Son. But stay where we can see you.”
I think they were a little surprised when I stripped down to my chonies and sprinted towards the lake. As soon as I hit the water, even though I was in Lake Michigan, all I could think about was the old SNL commercial with Bill Murray as the spokesman for Swill mineral water dredged straight from Lake Erie. I got to chuckling.
---
I made sure to get a dry pair of underwear on before my flight back. I received an open invitation from Ian to return any time. I could tell, Cami, on the other hand, was very close to the point of begging Jeff to move her to another production. She could handle the candid conversation, but the embarrassing and uncharacteristic outbursts might have been too much for her. I was a little unsettled myself. I couldn’t tell if it was the drinking, the Ephimria, or swimming in Lake Michigan that knocked something loose. With Cami’s evaluation and the message I left, I was definitely looking forward to my next conversation with Jeff. To up the ante, maybe some paparazzi shots would turn up of a drunken Sheldon or Sheldon swimming in Lake Michigan. My star power would have to be a lot brighter though for that to happen.
On the plane, I pulled up some documents on my laptop related to another story in development. A number of years back a mother in Galveston had shot her son accidentally not once but on four separate occasions over a period of six years. If the son had died, it probably wouldn’t be as funny as it is. It still shouldn’t be funny, and it’s not to the mother. Everyone else can’t help but laugh. I’ve been in the same boat. My ex-wife laughed for a good five minutes when I showed her the third extension cord I had cut through with my electric hedger. I wasn’t laughing. I was furious with myself. I looked forward to talking with the mother in Galveston. I could relate.
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