BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I hear that a lot.

And no, it’s not EKay’s way of saying “Are you through yet?” Sheesh, you people and your dirty minds…

Now, the truth is, I’m fairly certain I have waxed poetic, nostalgic, pedantic, and various other -ic sort of adjectives, on this particular subject in the past. However, I am far too lazy to go looking for that blog entry. And, since I am personally too lazy to look for it I can’t really blame anyone else for not chasing it down either. So, since I still get this comment tossed at me on a regular basis, I figure it’s time for a refresher answer.

So, here we go…

The “You Oughta Come” in question here is the countless number of times I am told by well-meaning folks, “You oughta come to XYZ festival/convention just to hang out,  have a good time, and relax.”

Now, before anyone gets their BVD’s lodged in the darkened recesses of their gluteus maximus, let me point out that I am NOT ranting, nor am I upset / angry / or in any way pissing and moaning at you about this. The truth is I sincerely appreciate the sentiment. I really do. The only point at which I become upset about this is when the person making the comment becomes upset with me because I won’t comply with their heartfelt advice.

So, allow me to explain so that maybe this makes sense…

As an author, yes, my “job” involves sitting behind a keyboard and typing. But, it also involves something else – promotion. This means I hit the road and travel across the country doing book signings and lectures. Many of these occur at the very events, or similar events, to the places I am being invited to come and relax. See where I’m going here? If not, please allow me to cite the following example:

I tried to go to an event one time, just to hang out and relax. True story. I arrived and wandered around as incognito as possible without going so far as to  disguise myself like Carmen San Diego in a trench coat and floppy hat. I bought a couple of things from merchants and chatted with folks about innocuous nothingness. Fifteen minutes into this endeavor I heard frantic whispering behind me. Then, I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned to face a person I had never seen before who said, “You’re M. R. Sellars!”

I lied and said, “You must have me confused with someone else.”

A nearby merchant picked up one of my books from her table, flipped to the author photo and held it up while laughing. “Nice try! But, you ARE him…”

I ended up doing a book signing and presenting two seminars, mainly because the organizers went around touting the fact that I was at the festival and was suddenly a special guest.

I went there to relax and hang out. Instead, I ended up working. Not that I don’t enjoy my work, mind you, but let’s think about it – I went there to hang out and NOT work… See the rub?

But, that wasn’t the worst part – Down the road, some other events heard about this. Then, I started being asked “Why” they had to pay my travel expenses and provide room & board for me to  headline at their event if that one didn’t. Obviously I was playing favorites and being an unfair, stuck up a$$hole… I’m here to tell you, it was kind of ugly for a bit.

And, yes… This really happened.

So, here’s my thing – There are a few basic reasons I can’t show up when folks say “You Oughta Come…”

1. As shown in the example above, it’s not very likely that I will be able to just hang out and relax, unless I spend all of my time hiding in my cabin / hotel room.
2. As amazing as it may sound, I don’t make that much money. So, I can’t just hop on a plane at a moment’s notice and fly halfway across the country to hang out.
3. If I show up at an event that didn’t pay for me to be there, then I torque off other events.
4. And last, but definitely not least, let’s look at the big picture – I go to countless of these events every year. They are more or less the equivalent of my “workplace”… So, me going there to relax is sort of like some guy who works at XYZ Widget Company taking his vacation and spending it in his office at, yes, you guessed it, XYZ Widget Company.

Now, this is not to say that I wouldn’t love to do some of these things. Believe me, I would. I have made some very good friends across the country and would dearly love to go hang out with them because they are a blast and I miss them.

I know. Sucks, doesn’t it?

More to (oughta) come…

Murv

Someone is about to get a serious head stomping from The Evil Redhead, and for a change it’s not me.

Were I the impending “stompee” I’d be pretty concerned, because I’m willing to bet hard cash that no safe word known to man or E K will make her stop until she’s completely satisfied her blood lust.

But, allow me to back up just a second and explain…

You see, while her supreme evilness is perfectly willing to hand out a sound beating at the drop of a hat, there are certain times when she’s not just willing, she’s flat out chomping at the bit to hurt someone. Whenever this occurs it’s not just some random someone either. She usually has a target in mind. In point of fact, the target is always he who angered her to the point of the bloodlust in the first place. (I should point out that I said “he” because it always seems to be a male who pushes her over the edge.)

So, there we were the other day, getting ready to head out to the grocery store. It just so happened that it was a Friday. The O-spring was off from school due to teacher conferences so E K took one of her closely guarded and carefully doled out vacation days in order to spend time with family – that being the O-spring and me.

She had no more stuck her key into the ignition of the Evil Mobile than her cell phone began to chirp. She pulled it from her belt, perused the screen, then her face twisted into a perplexed mask. She flipped open the device and placed it against her ear.

“This is Kat,” she said.

After a brief pause she replied, “Oh, Hi Customer X, how are you?”

She listened for a moment and exchanged a few more pleasantries before getting down to business.

Now, I need to point out to you that E K takes her job as a Field Service Engineer very seriously. Her accounts and pet clients are extremely important to her and she is probably one of the most conscientious technicians out there, not to mention one of the best in the whole country, period. So, if anyone does anything to screw up one of her accounts, she turns into a redheaded Terminatrix.

I’ll be back… Faster pussycat, kill, kill! Hasta la vista, asshole… Yeah, the whole nine yards… Further proof that one should never piss off the E K unless a death wish is involved.

So, back to the story…

I watched her face as she listened to the customer on the other end of the line. With each passing second her expression became more and more drawn with a mix of incredulity and anger.

Finally she yelped, “He WHAT?”

Before I knew it she was snapping her fingers in front of my face and pointing to what she calls her “tin can” – a metal clipboard with a storage compartment for service tickets and the like.

Of course, not wanting to get beaten to death myself on this particular afternoon, I scrambled to hand it to her. She flipped it open, dug around, then provided the customer on the other end of the line with a phone number, all while apologizing profusely for someone else’s massive screwup. When all was done and she had bid the customer farewell, she sat in the driver’s seat with a frown on her face and fiery glare in her ice blue eyes.

Taking my life into my own hands I asked in a near whisper, “Something wrong?”

“When you pack my lunch on Monday morning,” she instructed with a hot grumble in her voice. “Make sure you also pack my black stiletto pumps – the really sharp ones. Also, a pair of vise grips, a baseball bat, a gag, a roll of duct tape, and a propane torch. Is that understood, lackey?”

“Yes ma’am,” I replied. “Mind if I ask why?”

Her anger seemed to be turning into a cold rage and I could see in her eyes that she was plotting someone’s demise.

My wife replied in a cold, even tone. “Apparently going-to-wish-he-were-dead-coworker gave one of my pet accounts a number for XYZ Printer Tech Support.”

“That’s a problem?” I asked sheepishly.

She growled. “It is when the number he gave them turns out to be a Phone Sex Service!“

All I could think of to say was, “Oh.”

She sat in silence for another minute, then started the Evil Mobile and backed out of the driveway. We were halfway to our intended destination when the Redhead turned to me and asked, “Lackey! Do you happen to know where the closest farm supply store is around here?”

“I think so, why?”

“Because I’ve decided the vise grips aren’t going to be quite enough for what I have planned. I’m going to need a sheep castrator too.”

Yep… Someone is gonna be havin’ a realllllly bad day, and it ain’t me… Just to make things easier for her, I think I’ll pack her stun gun too. And an extra roll of duct tape, just in case.

Oh, and if you are looking for a tech job, you might want to check the want ads the next day. E K is probably going to need a new co-worker…

A note of caution though – Make sure you don’t screw up, because she not only bought a sheep castrator at the farm supply, she also picked up the biggest damn cattle prod I’ve ever seen, and an entire case of batteries…

More to come…

Murv