You may have heard of me from the staff at The Community Theater subsequent to casting sessions for their big season-ending production of The Terminator. I was angling for the role of Kyle Reese first but that went to a guy with feathered hair also named Kyle. Then I went for the Terminator but I am famously skinny and also I have it on good authority that the pumped-up chump who got it slept with the director. That was Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday was off. Now I am back to make a last-ditch play for Ed Traxler, every line learned, but when I pull up in my vehicle who do I see but Howie Reuss, who courted my sister, poorly, back in the oughts (his pickup line, “there is method in my mattress,” inexplicably successful to the tune of a six-month marriage), standing there on the front lawn with the set designer, no, not just standing there but handing her a brownie and if you know one thing about Howie you know that his brownies are the best in the world and then some, and I feel the Traxler of it slipping away. And then I’m blind with injustice, extravasating rage, wrenching the wheel to drive up onto the lawn where I figure I’ll kill them both but I miss by a while and no one even flinches. I settle for Detective Hal Vukovich. “Which you’re lucky to even get,” says the director. “How do you feel about that?” Like shit, boss. Like shit.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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