#58 Vignettes
Happy new year my literary friends!! We’re starting this year with a double bill. I’ve written two very short ‘vignettes’, fictional snapshots, to kick us into motion with some energy for the year.
Enjoy!
Your paired listening to start the year is House of Woodcock, composed by Jonny Greenwood, for the film Phantom Thread from 2017. Here it is as part of the opening scene from the movie, an excellent work from my favourite director, Paul Thomas Anderson.
If you have a voracious appetite, eat the baked goods of the archives.
#58 Vignettes
A Living Nightmare
Please don’t call my name. Please. Please. Please. Please.
‘And the winner of this year’s award is…’
This is the moment he’s dreaded for so long. Getting up on stage with hundreds of eyes staring at him. Having to, God forbid, “say a few words”. A few words? A few goddamn words? And for what, for some industry award he didn’t know existed two weeks ago.
I’d like to dedicate this award to my mother and father who, despite not understanding exactly what it is I do for a living, indeed, not actually knowing who my employer is, inspired me to get here every single day. Without them this would not have been possible, for, naturally, I would not have existed in the world had they not… you know… well… We don’t need to go there. And my fantastic team who… complain about their holiday allowance all the time and… leave their mugs piled in the sink rather than washing them up and… clock off at five minutes to five every day despite what the leadership team decree…
No, thank you.
‘David!’
Oh my God. It’s me. It’s me. He panics. His legs are standing but they feel like jelly. He’s successfully slid out the chair from under him. He nods at the people on his table and does up one button on his jacket so he look marginally smarter.
Wow, an award. Maybe it is quite exciting. Maybe it is kind of cool. As he makes his way to the stage he thinks, I can put it on the mantelpiece where the birthday cards from two months ago are, the ones I haven’t yet taken down.
He climbs the steps up onto the stage and approaches Ralph, the host. They shake hands.
‘Congratulations, David, here’s your award.’ I take the trophy and look it over once. ‘Let’s take a few photos. Tell me, David, do you enjoy your work?’
‘David… No, no, my name is Michael.’
‘Michael?’
‘Well, why the hell did you come up then?’
‘What? You called my name.’
‘We called David’s name.’
He looks out to the room, hundreds of blank, pale faces staring at him.
‘But I won the trophy.’
‘I don’t think you did.’ Ralph snatches the trophy back out of his hands.
‘B-’
‘Are you David?’ Ralph looks over Michael’s shoulder. There’s another man standing by the steps awkwardly. He nods.
‘Right, come on up here. You,’ he points at me, ‘you keen bean, get back to your seat…’ He turns to the audience. ‘There’s always one,’ and he rolls his eyes.
‘I was sure you said my name.’
‘Well, go take your seat, old man,’ the host laughs, and the room joins in too.
Michael goes and sits down at his table, takes a gulp of wine.
Sarah, next to him, leans over and says, ‘Just think, at least you were fully clothed. It could have been a lot worse.’
Michael sinks into his chair and wishes everyone would die.
A Situational Comedy
‘Have you ever been here before?’ he says.
Oh god, he’s not… flirting with me… is he?
‘Where?’
‘To Mexico. Where this flight is headed?’
‘Oh… sorry. No.’
‘I have,’ he nods reflectively.
‘Ok.’
‘Beautiful beaches.’
‘Sure.’
‘Where are you headed once we land?’
Do I have to tell him? What if he follows me and knocks on my hotel door at night. Just lie. ‘Staying in Mexico City.’
‘Ah, me too!’ Sure you are.
I nod in a way, intentionally, to suggest this conversation is over.
‘You’re a very beautiful woman,’ he says. Christ, no. It’s happening. ‘Would you like to go for a drink with me in the city?’
‘Listen Casanova, I’m not really much of a talker. I’m trying to read my book here. And anyway, even if I were a talker, and interested, I’m not going for a drink with anyone whose opener is have you ever been here before?’
His back straightens and he puts both hands up. ‘There’s no need to be rude about it.’
I pull a face at him like, yeah, sure, you can have your higher ground, you bastard.
Out of nowhere, the clumsiest man in the world appears, struggling to navigate the aisle. He’s like a praying mantis caught out of his natural habitat. ‘Oh, oh, sorry!’ he says, as he accidentally opens one of the overhead lockers with his elbow, and someone’s bags come launching out at him, drowning him on the floor. He fumbles them back into the locker as the surrounding spectators gawk at him.
He turns and knocks a little girl’s headphones off her head. ‘Oh, oh, oh so-so-sorry!’ He reaches down for the headphones and picks them up, replaces them on the girl’s head and the mother stares at him while he stares back, as they consider why his hands are on her daughter’s ears for an unnecessarily long time. He jumps back frightfully and lands in the lap of the person on the other side of the aisle.
‘Ah, what the hell?’
‘So-so-sorry.’
They push him off.
Finally, this man makes his way down to me. Of course he does. He stops, looks at me. And then points at the seat between me and Casanova.
‘I think a girl’s sitting there,’ I say.
‘Oh, oh, yes, we’re swapping.’
‘Why?’
‘She didn’t like the way he,’ he looks over at Casanova, his eyes wide, frightful, ‘stared at everyone.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ I say. I unbuckle my seat to stand and let him in but he stops me.
‘Ah, no, no, don’t worry. I-I-I don’t want to bother you.’ He lifts one long leg, the longest leg I’ve ever seen, and reaches it over me and into the space for the middle seat. When he leans in, he gets a blast of air from the fan which sends him into a frenzy. His head tilts forward and he loses his balance, landing on me face first.
‘What the hell!’ Now this man is sitting with one leg either side of me and he can’t control himself. He fumbles his way into the seat. ‘S-s-s-sorry!’
‘I’m going to the loo,’ I say.
When I get there, I lock myself in and stare at my facade in the mirror. Jesus Christ. How did I get here? How does this happen? There are millions of people who could be on this flight and I’ve got to sit next to these two… And I’ve barely slept. Had to get up at 4am. My eyes are so goddamn bloodshot. And… forget it…
I splash my face with water, take a deep breath, and reach for the door lock to let myself out. The door won’t open. The lock is jammed. I try it two, three, four times. And then I really tug it and the whole door makes this big clattering sound. No, nothing. Christ!
I bang on the door and shout. ‘Hey! Hey! I’m stuck in here! Can someone let me out?’ And of course, I get claustrophobic too. The air is so damn stale here.
A girl from the cabin crew finally arrives. ‘Hi, is it the lock that’s stuck?’
‘Yes!’
‘You have to give it a wiggle.’
‘No shit!’
‘So you’ve tried that?’
‘Of course I’ve tried that. What do you think I’ve been doing?’
‘Please, ma’am, calm down. We’ll get you out of there. There’s no need to be short with me.’
‘I’ll be short with whoever the hell I want. I’m the one stuck in here.’
‘Right.’
God, I can’t handle it. The heat. The exhaustion. My nerves feel electrified, like a vein or a blood vessel or something might burst. I run my fingers through my hair.
‘Ok, cabin crew girl? You there? Get out the way, please.’
I charge at the door with the whole two steps run-up I’m afforded. Nothing happens. I try again. To. Barge. Down. This. God. Damn. Door.
Nothing.
A fire rages, and I lift a foot and thrust it at the door with everything I have. One of the panels of the door cracks, and I do it again and again and again until there’s a hole. ‘Ahhhhhhhh,’ I scream throughout this whole episode.
‘Lady, calm down!’
‘No!’
I clamber out the hole, hyperventilating. ‘Thank God for that.’
‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
‘Oh yeah, I’m fine,’ I say sarcastically, huffing to catch my breath.
‘Would you like an upgrade to first class?’
‘Sure… That’ll do it.’
She nods.
‘Your door’s broken by the way.’ I point at the door with its massive hole.
‘Yes, it is.’ She nods.
I turn around to return to my seat, and the whole flight seems to be standing, staring at me, a hundred mouths agape.
There’s a great thump and movement at the back. The praying mantis has tripped over his shoelace and landed in the aisle. He turns his head towards me, smiles, and offers a Looney Tunes wave.
Get me off this goddamn flight.
