Mon 25 Aug 2008
[Knocking at the office door.]
Receptionist: Please come in.
[A strange older-looking gentlemen carrying a ’80’s ghetto blaster playing “Rock and Roll Part II” enters]
Receptionist: Can I…can I help you, sir?
Gentleman: ‘Ello, Gorgeous. You’re a right wee stunner. ‘Ow old are you exactly?
Receptionist: Twenty-three, sir, but I don’t see how…
Gentleman: Twenty-free? You don’t look a day over twelve. Christ, twenty-free. That’s no ‘elp. You Oriental girls are quite deceptive…(to self) and talkative. Can’t keep your damn mouffs shut.
Receptionist: Excuse me?
Gentleman: Nuffing, nuffing. And if I’m not going to speak to the Vietnamese police, I am certainly not going to speak wiff you, am I?
Receptionist: … I do not understand anything that you are saying.
Gentleman: Can’t ‘ear me, then? I’ll turn down this stereo.
Receptionist: Can I help you with something, sir?
Gentleman: Oh, yes. Right. You most certainly can. I am ‘ere about the job.
Receptionist: The job?
Gentleman: Yes, the job. Wiff the girls. The small ones. Really agile. Limber. Mmmm.
Gentleman: Mmmm. What? Oh, gymnastics. Ladies’ gymnastics.
Receptionist: Sir, all of our officials are currently attending the individual events at the arena.
Gentleman: Oh. Oh….Well, er, um, that’s no problem because I already ‘ave a job ‘ere. Umm, I got ‘ired last week.
Receptionist: You did?
Gentleman: Yes…er, um…as musical coordinator.
Receptionist: Really? That’s a job?
Gentleman: Really! I am very famous in England and parts of Soufeast Asia. Wait, no, forget I ever said that — I was never in Soufeast Asia.
Receptionist: I have no records of anyone here hiring a music coordinator. What did you say your name was?
Gentleman: Gary. Gary Gritter.
Receptionist: Hmm. Very easy to pronounce. Well, Mr. Gritter, I don’t know what to tell you. What was it again that you were supposedly hired for?
Gentleman: Er…musical coordinator for the Sexy Girls’, sorry, Women’s Gymnastic team.
Receptionist: Why would we need a musical coordinator?
Gentleman: Why? I don’t know why? I’m not the one who ‘ired me. It’s for the floor routine — I don’t know. All I want to know is, do all of those gymnasts have documentary identification that can prove that they are sixteen? It’s quite important to me.
Receptionist: Are you a reporter?
Gentleman: No, I am a pedophile. Is that better than being a reporter? Wait, no…(to himself) c’mon, Glitter, you’re blowing it…much like that angel-faced girl in Burma…as I said before, I am a musical coordinator. Never mind what I just admitted, and if you tell the Cambodian police I will ‘ave you killed. The important part is that I was distinctly told by your organization that I could ‘ave a job around twelve year olds that can pass as sixteen year olds. ‘Ow could I turn down a job like that?
Receptionist: Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.
Gentleman: Look, sweetie, I don’t know if you know this, but I wrote “I Love You Love Me Love”. I’m quite famous. I know people. Successful people. Dangerous people. I wouldn’t go making any rash decisions…(to himself) like I did that fateful night in a Vietnamese hotel room.
Receptionist: Security will be here immediately.
Gentleman: Oh, come on! Do you at least have a few photographs I could have? An old warmup suit from one of the girls? A clipping of hair?
Gentleman: Well, then. Back to the airport it is. [Turns on “Rock and Roll Part II” again]