Out of Whack

by Jeff Strand

  “So, would you like to get together?” I asked.

  “Yes!” Travis shouted, trying to be heard by Laura. “Get him out of here!”

  “Let’s meet at the student union,” said Laura. “I think we need to talk.”

  My heart fell. “I think we need to talk” was not the kind of thing I wanted to hear from her. “I think we need to talk” is the same as “I think last night was a terrible mistake and should never happen again” with more suspense.

  “Sure,” I said, managing to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “What time?”

  “It’s almost five, right? Are you busy now?”

  “No, I’m not busy. I’ll meet you there.”

  * * *

  I was going to be cool. No matter what she said, I was going to be cool. This was within my capabilities, and even if she said “Seth, upon reconsideration I’ve decided that kissing you is about as much fun as kissing a cold turd,” I was going to react in a mature fashion.

  She walked into the student union, and I waved her over to the table in the back where I was seated. “Hello,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me.

  “Hi.”

  “You sound kind of down. Is something wrong?”

  “Nope, everything’s fine.”

  “You don’t look like everything’s fine. Listen, I didn’t ask you to meet me so I could say we should just be friends. Some risks are worth taking, and I’m going to let whatever happens between us happen, and we’ll just have to make sure we’re absolutely professional when it comes to Out of Whack.”

  I was incredulous. And I was doing everything I could to maintain my vow of maturity instead of letting loose with a loud “Whoopie!”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well, I’m...pleased!”

  She grinned. “I need to explain something, though. Last night was fantastic, but it was also a moment of weakness on my part, not something I’d planned. I don’t want to offend you by having you think that because the kissing was so incredible I’ve decided to throw myself at you.”

  I tried to figure out how something like that would be offensive, and came up blank.

  “Like I said, I’ve seen you as possible boyfriend material ever since you came to my room with the roses. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re really creative. And you’ve got this thing about you that I can’t quite define.”

  “Thingie,” I corrected.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Continue with my virtues, please.”

  “But I really love the idea of working on Out of Whack. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but never took the initiative to start myself. And I didn’t want to let a relationship between us mess it up. But I was attracted to you, and last night I let it get the better of me. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it since then, and if you want a girlfriend, I’d like to be her.”

  Cue happy music.

  No, no, the really, really, REALLY happy music.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Out of Whack Performs (Take II)”

  I’m going to sort of skim through the next week’s events, because as the all-powerful writer of this book, I can.

  Laura talked to the manager of Laugh Attack on Monday, and got us a spot performing on the following Tuesday. Her promotion of us didn’t amount to a whole lot more than saying “We’ve got a comedy troupe and we’d like to perform on amateur night” and getting a response of “‘Kay.”

  We went to Laugh Attack the next day to see what amateur night was really like. Two of the comedians were decent, though the first took a bathroom break in the middle of his routine, while the third, Angry Quincy, based his act on the fact that he hated each and every member of the audience with a passion. I personally got the finger from him three times, and our seats were the furthest from the stage. The people in the front row had to deal with him backwashing into their drinks.

  We rehearsed every night. Well, Laura and Travis rehearsed, and I offered my opinions, most of which related to Travis being a wanker. Laura knew her lines perfectly by the second rehearsal. Travis had his down by the fifth. There was no doubt, however, that both of them were immensely talented.

  This was going to work.

  Laura was determined to not let our being officially boyfriend and girlfriend interfere with her duties as a student and a comedy troupe member. I swear, she spent more time studying and doing homework than I spent exhaling. When she wasn’t attending classes or doing other school stuff, she was either sleeping, rehearsing, or eating. I hadn’t been invited to join her in the process of sleeping, and while rehearsing we were all business—not so much as a one-lipped peck on the cheek. But we ate most of our meals together, and we did reserve short blocks of time for testing the resistance of our mouths to high-powered suction.

  It was a good thing I didn’t have any lines to remember, because they would have come out “I Laura am Laura saying Laura my Laura lines Laura Laura Laura Laura I love Laura.” She was constantly in my thoughts. I didn’t think about classes. I didn’t think about making new friends. I didn’t think about traffic when I crossed the street. I just thought about Laura.

  However, I did get three new skits done that week. I’d like to say that Laura didn’t affect my professionalism when it came to writing them, but I have to admit that I cut two really good jokes because she would have had to kiss Travis.

  Monday night we ran through the act until it was perfect. Then we got a group of about ten girls in Laura’s dorm to gather in the study room and watch us perform it, to test their reactions.

  They laughed.

  No, none of them gave birth or choked to death from excessive guffawing, but they laughed in most of the right places, though for some reason the very sight of Laura in a wedding veil sent them into hysterics that took a full two minutes to subside.

  * * *

  “Oh, sure,” began the comedian, “on the commercials you see this D-cup brunette stretched out on a sofa, sucking on the telephone cord. Her name is Loleena and she’s waiting at 1-900-DO-ME-NOW just for someone like you! Because, as we all know, women like that are turned on by guys who have nothing better to do on Saturday night than watch lousy movies on TV. So you think, what a deal! For slightly more than the price of a hooker and a VD shot this babe will tell you what she’s wearing. Of course, in real life you’re talking to Helga the Ape Woman, who has back hair and a butt so big she can sit down without bending her knees.”

  Seated in the rear of Laugh Attack, I was almost as nervous as I was before the Saul Rawlins Comedy Competition. Which didn’t make any sense, considering that all I had to do was walk up on stage and hit Travis. Laura sat next to me, being so unprofessional as to have her hand on my shoulder. She didn’t seem nervous at all, even though the second comedian of the night was finishing up his routine and Out of Whack would be on in less than five minutes.

  Travis wasn’t nervous, either. What was the matter with those two? Here I was, as uncomfortable as a Mafia boss whose closest informant had just been blown away in a drug deal gone sour, and they were just as calm as can be, la-de-da, we do this kind of thing every single day, maybe we’ll step out and rescue some children from a burning orphanage while we wait, la-da-de. But, that’s why they were the actors, and I was the writer.

  The comedian finished his routine with the single funniest squished amoeba joke I’ve ever heard, then hurried off-stage as the Master of Ceremonies took his place. The M.C. proceeded to do a three-minute routine about earwax that was word-for-word what he’d done last week, right down to the comments about the nose hair of the unsightly woman to the far left of the stage. Personally, I don’t think there was any nose hair.

  “Next up for your listening ecstasy, having made the entire half-mile trip from Trade Point University, put your hands together for the sketch comedy of Out of Whack!”

  The audience applauded. Travis and Laura zipped over to the stage and set up the
chairs and coffee table for the “Drawing With Daddy” sketch. Then they began to perform.

  This next part is going to be difficult to describe, because I don’t want to sound overly full of myself. I mean, it would be tacky to be here in my own book saying how great I am, how brilliant, how ingenious, how awesome, how fantastic, and how amazingly unbelievably stupendously incredible I am. I’d really hate to turn this chapter into a brag session. It just wouldn’t be cool.

  However, let me tell you that Out of Whack blew the audience away!

  Sure, by this time they were all thoroughly drunk. But that doesn’t detract (too much) from the fact that they were laughing! A lot! More than they did at the squished amoeba joke! We were a hit!

  As Travis and Laura moved into “Volkswagen Honeymoon,” the audience continued its laughter. The skits were working exactly the way I’d hoped, and Travis and Laura seemed to be feeding off the audience’s responses like comedy leeches, bringing them to an energy level they’d never possessed before.

  I was thrilled. I was astounded. I was in shock.

  I was jealous as hell.

  I wasn’t up there getting the laughs, they were. Nobody in the audience was thinking “Ha-ha, I’m sure enjoying this, and it’s all thanks to the goofy-looking guy seated near the back.” It’s not that I was determined to get full credit for my contributions, it’s just that, well, all our work came down to this moment, and at this moment Travis and Laura were the ones up there receiving delicious helpings of laughter while I sat and watched.

  I wanted to be a performer.

  I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me, I should have been satisfied with what I had. Laura was mine, Out of Whack was a hit, and everything was coming up roses. If I were up on stage, I’d probably have been on the floor in the fetal position trembling. And I suppose—

  Shit! I’d missed my cue again!

  I stood up. No, wait, that wasn’t it. I sat back down, hoping nobody had noticed. Travis and Laura continued with “The Stupidest Person in the World,” performing it wonderfully.

  Could I have done it that well? Would they ever let me try?

  When my cue did come, I forced my spaghetti legs into motion and rushed up on stage. I smacked Travis with the plastic club, getting a loud audience response, and dragged him to the side while Laura said her closing lines.

  The audience applauded with great enthusiasm as the M.C. joined us on stage. “Let’s hear it for Out of Whack!” he said. “And especially for the Oscar-caliber performance of the guy with the club!”

  The audience chuckled and applauded some more. Okay, I knew it was a joke—it just wasn’t the kind of joke I was in the mood for right then. As the M.C. told the audience to be sure to generously tip their waitresses, we left the stage and returned to our table.

  “That was great!” said Laura, out of breath. “That was the best feeling I’ve ever had!”

  Travis wiped some sweat from his brow. “I want to be a comedian when I grow up.”

  They continued to talk about what a rush it had been as the audience filed toward the exit. Several of them paused to say “Good job.” Nobody said anything to me. Why should they? As far as the audience knew, I was just some annoying wiener who begged to be in the show and was given a sympathy role. Though I knew I was far from a non-participating member of the troupe, I sure felt like one.

  A couple of minutes later, the M.C., who I guess was also the manager of the place, sat down at our table. “You guys didn’t suck,” he said. “You didn’t suck at all.”

  We all thanked him.

  “I want you guys back this weekend,” he said. “I want you to open for the guy who’s opening for the headliner. Add three more skits to your act. You’ll do six shows for fifty bucks a pop. We have a deal, right?”

  We all glanced at each other. “Sure,” said Laura.

  “Great. Call me tomorrow.” The M.C. left.

  “We did it!” exclaimed Travis, incredulous. “We really did it.”

  “Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” Laura cautioned, “but holy shit we did it!”

  “This calls for a celebration,” said Travis. “Let’s go tip some cows!”

  “No, no,” I said. “Let’s see how many people we can squeeze in a telephone booth!”

  “Let’s see if we can twirl a hula hoop on each extremity at the same time!” Travis suggested.

  “I have an even better idea,” said Laura. “Travis, may I have the pleasure of speaking to you for a minute? Excuse us, Seth.” Laura got up and walked into the lobby. Travis gave me a confused look then followed her.

  I sat there for a minute, wondering if they were planning a super-special surprise for me. I had written the damn scripts, after all. They wouldn’t have been up there if it weren’t for me.

  Oops, getting bitter. Knock it off. You’re a liability to the troupe if you perform, so kwitcherbitchin.

  When Laura returned, Travis wasn’t with her. She sat down across from me. “Do you mind if I’m extremely forward?” she asked.

  “Not at all. Forward is good.”

  “Being up there on stage was absolutely incredible. I’m tingling all over. You can’t imagine how much the adrenaline is pumping. I mean, there’s only one other thing that even comes close to giving me this feeling.”

  “Electroshock therapy?”

  She smiled. “You’re sure you won’t mind if I’m forward?”

  “I won’t mind.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “Positive?”

  “Positive.”

  “Seth, I’m so horny right now that I’m ready to have a seizure. How would you like to get a hotel room and take the next logical step in our relationship of screwing like bunnies for the rest of the night?”

  I got over the shock astonishingly fast. “I think I’d approve.”

  “Are you sure? You have an early class tomorrow. I probably won’t let you get much sleep.”

  “In select cases, sleep deprivation is worth it.”

  “Good. Travis thought you’d feel that way. Let’s go. Quickly.”

  Note From Your Caring Narrator:

  Ladies and gentlemen, we have now reached the official Out of Whack sex scene. Though it is not a gratuitous sex scene thrown in just to give kids a chance to get out their highlighters, giggle, and share selected passages with friends, I do feel it is my duty as a patriotic American to warn you in advance that the material presented will be of an explicit, adult nature. Yes, there will be insertion.

  It’s entirely possible that some of you may be uncomfortable with this type of material. You may be thinking to yourself, “The Burger Bordello scene was kind of raunchy, but it didn’t involve actual penetration. I’m not certain I want to expose myself or my children to this, yet I’m also concerned about not getting my money’s worth out of this book. What am I to do?”

  Well, you need not worry because, absolutely free of charge, I have written an alternate version of chapter twenty-eight. This precedes the smutty version, and will ensure that everyone gets to enjoy the book to the fullest extent.

  Whichever version you choose to read, I thank you.

  —Seth Trexler, Your Friend

  Chapter Twenty-Eight, Version A

  “A Fun-Filled Festival of [CENSORED]”

  “Look both ways before you cross the street,” Laura warned. “Looking just one way may cause you to be hit by a car half as often as not looking at all, but that’s still half too many.”

  We looked both ways and crossed the street, pausing to give a cheerful wave to our friend Chip the bus driver. Upon reaching the other side, we played a cooperative game of hopscotch, because we both knew that cooperation is more enjoyable than competition. Not that we were commies, of course—just people who liked to play as a team.

  We skipped along the sidewalk until we saw our friend Skip the mailman. “Hi, Skip!” we said. “You’re sure working late tonight.”

&
nbsp; Skip gave us a wide smile. “Yes, I am. But that’s because I’m a worker for the United States Postal Service, the best postal service in the whole wide world, and there’s nothing that will stop me from getting good citizens like yourself their mail on time.”

  “Not even rain?” Laura asked.

  “Not even rain.”

  “Not even snow?” I asked.

  “Not even snow.”

  “Not even dead fish falling from the sky?” Laura asked.

  “Not even dead fish falling from the sky.”

  “I feel a song coming on,” I said.

  “No time for a song,” Skip told me. “I’ve got to get people their mail. I can’t wait to see the look on Ms. Cipolla’s face when she finds out that her alimony check came with postage due. See you two later, and remember, U.S. savings bonds make a great gift for a loved one!”

  We waved good-bye to Skip, then continued skipping down the sidewalk until we saw our friend Flip the fast food restaurant employee. He looked sad.

  “Flip, why is your smile upside-down?” asked Laura.

  “Oh, I’m having problems,” said Flip. “I made some new friends last week.”

  “That’s no reason to be blue!” I told him. “There’s nothing better than making new friends, as long as you keep the old ones!”

  “But they want me to smoke a cigarette!”

  Laura and I shook our heads knowingly. “Now, Flip,” Laura said, “you know that cigarettes are bad for you. If a pregnant woman smokes, the fetus inside her can shrivel up like a raisin. And the tobacco companies are ruled by inhuman profit-obsessed white Anglo-Saxon males who kick crippled puppies in their spare time.”

  “I know,” said Flip. “But I don’t want the guys to think I’m a square or something.”

  “What you’re experiencing is called peer pressure,” I said. “And it’s a bad thing. Peer pressure causes good kids like yourself to smoke, to steal candy bars from the local grocer, and even to snort paste.”