Thursday, January 07, 2010

ThePeach is Truman; Scared

Do you ever feel like your life is some kind of ridiculous television sitcom, and everyone is in on the joke but you?

Wow, that makes me sound like a schizo.

Seriously, though. Sometimes my life plays out in such perfect irony, such timely hilarious misfortunes, such metaphoric events, that I can’t help but wonder if someone is scripting it.

Take yesterday. If I were the sitcom writer, I could call yesterday “Better luck next time!”

Team B:
The day started with my 8:30am full day radio workshop. It’s a fun class, despite the workload. The first thing that happened is that we got assigned into production teams. There are three teams and about 24 students.

All week, MC had been giving me a hard time (in a loving way…I think) about how our class schedules worked out this year. Because our class is divided into print versus broadcast streams now, and because we each choose 2 out of 4 workshops to take in varying semesters, and because we take different electives and TAships, it works out that it’s possible to have zero classes together with some of our classmates. Like HotMess, for instance. I have barely seen her this year, and it hurts my heart. Liver is functioning better, though.

But this semester I somehow have every single class with MC. Every single one, including our elective and our TAship. It’s some kind of fluke mishap, and she jokes (jokes?) that she’s going to kill me after about two weeks. There’s only so many times she can lead me blindly to our classroom, tell me when things are due, and hold my hand throughout assignments. And listen to me whine on our walk to school. Oh yes, I’m going to be punched. For sure.

But in our radio class, since we work mostly in our teams, I reassured her that we would just be on different teams and it would be like we don’t have the class together because we wouldn’t see each other all day. This seemed to mollify her.

Until we got put on the same team.

Our names were picked out of the hat one after the other, so for a brief moment we both thought she would go on the next team. It’s what would have made sense.

Instead the prof thought for a moment, and then added her name under mine on team B.

I looked at her cautiously.

She had the wide MC rage eyes. She shook her head, teeth clenched, and said she was going to fucking kill me.

I giggled nervously.

Sources, part 1:
I’m working on two freelance stories for the major newspaper chain right now. I have a ton of interviews to do, and I used all my breaks yesterday to attempt to call my sources.

First, a word on sources: some of them are lovely, charming people to talk to, and go out of their way to get you the interview (and get their name in the paper).

Some of them are goddamn jackasses who make you jump through hoops and kiss their asses just to get a 5 minute phone interview about parenting styles. PARENTING STYLES, you stuck up asshole!! YOU ARE NOT STEPHEN HARPER, YOU ARE NOT EVEN IMPORTANT, JUST ANSWER MY GODDAMN QUESTIONS AND GET BACK TO MASTURBATING. God! Jesus!

Guess which kind I was dealing with yesterday?

Actually, no. First I had a lovely interview with a child psychologist in Montreal. It was quick, to the point, she was clear and friendly, and she agreed to have her photo taken. Cut. Print.

And then I started trying to get a hold of the family counsellor in Vancouver. I needed this specific family counsellor, otherwise I would have called someone less, oh, pedophilic sounding. Seriously, I have never felt more uncomfortable just from hearing someone’s tone of voice. In the three minutes that we briefly talked, he made me feel like I needed a bleach and brillo shower.

Here’s our convo:

ThePeach: Hello, Mr. Counsellor. I’m a reporter with the major newspaper chain. I’m writing a story on parenting. Is now a good time to ask you a few quick questions?
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* I used to be a journalist.
ThePeach: Oh, wow. With who?
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* …what?
ThePeach: Um, with who? Who were you a journalist with?
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* oh…just…things. Print things. In English.
ThePeach: Oh…kay. So, can I just have five minutes of your time to quickly ask you some questions?
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* Yes. But not now.
ThePeach: Oh. Would you like to set up a time, then?
Mr. Counsellor: How about 5pm my time?
ThePeach: Sure. I’ll call you at 5pm, pacific time.
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* Bye.

Ok, so I had an interview set for 8pm. It would be a bit of a rush to get home in time for it, but I would do it.

I also tried to set up an interview with this major hotel. I talked to two PR people (bless their helpful hearts), and they assured me the director would call me asap. I kept my phone glued to my side.

Spaz, MC and I were super excited for our first cardio kickboxing class of the new year. I stayed on campus after my class got out at 3 so that I could just walk over to the gym later. I milled around in the journalism building, calling sources, checking facebook, and wondering if the cat had pooped in my bed.

At 5 we walked over to the gym, lugging our running shoes and stretchy pants.

Then we found out the class actually starts next week.

Like, jesus. Fine. FINE.

So instead we just worked out in the cardio room. I rowed and stairmastered. I hoped my ass was shrinking.

In the 40 minutes that I was separated from my phone, the major hotel called back.

By the time I got the message, the director had already gone home for the day.


Sources, part 2:
I rushed home after the gym to make my 8pm interview. I didn’t even shower off the stairmaster sweat, opting instead to just throw on a baggy sweatshirt and marinate. I scarfed down the tiniest and quickest dinner so that I wouldn’t hallucinate while I was on the phone. At 8 on the nose, I called Mr. Counsellor and got the world’s creepiest answering machine.


I left a message. Tried again 5 minutes later.

World’s creepiest answering machine.

15 minutes later.

30 minutes later.

By 9:30 I realized that the fucker had blown me off. Jesus H Christ.

So I quickly ran downstairs to watch an episode of Cougar Town with MC.

In the 30 minutes that I was away from my landline, Mr. Counsellor called me back.


I immediately called him and got the world’s creepiest answering machine. I left another message. Called three more times. Swore.

By this time I was exhausted. I spent the next two hours trying to start writing one of my articles, and intermittently calling Mr. Counsellor like a crazed ex-girlfriend.

At midnight I gave up and passed out. I set my alarm for 6am so I would be productive before I had to go spend the day TAing with MC.

Sources, part 3.
At 2am my phone rang.

I woke up with a start. So did the cat, who flew off my stomach in a fear-fit and galloped out the door.

I don’t even remember picking up the phone. All I remember is waking up at 2am to the creepiest voice in the world.

Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* Hi, Peach.
ThePeach: What? Huh? Mom?
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* is this a good time?
ThePeach: What? Um? *looks at call display* Oh. Hello.
Mr. Counsellor: Your message said I could call you anytime. Your message said you’d be at your desk late.
ThePeach: …yes. But now is not the best time, as it is 2am.
Mr. Counsellor: *breathes* are you in…bed?
ThePeach:…perhaps we can schedule an interview for tomorrow?

I was actually seriously disturbed when I got off the phone. First of all, I had been in the deepest of sleeps when he called, so I was still confused. Then, in my semi-conscious state, I decided he was probably a sociopathic killer and was stalking me. I got up to make sure the chain was on the door. I hid in bed, convinced I was about to be ass-raped.

Just when my heart rate came back down, the cat dove back onto the bed, still enraged.

He flew at me like a rabid bat, biting any exposed flesh until 3am.

Eventually we both passed out and slept fitfully.

I woke up at 9am, the morning news blaring for the past 3 hours.

Fuck fuck fuck.

So, that was “Better Luck Next Time!”

Tune in later for “Ass-rape is no laughing matter” and tomorrow for “MC punches ThePeach in the face.”


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Keep posting stuff like this i really like it