by Kim Cayer
Knocking on the door, I was told to come in. I burst through the door, leaving it wide open for others to eventually come and see what the hullabaloo was about. “Monica Schwinn?” I trilled. “I’ve come to deliver a very important message from…”
“Close the door, please,” Monica interrupted.
My performance stalled for just a brief second. “Oh…oh…well, it’s not important in the way you have to shut a door for! This is a SINGING TELEGRAM! Monica, your big sister…”
She got up and moved around me, causing me to stop my over-the-top performance once again as she reached for the door. “That’s great,” she said with a smile. “Just let me shut this so we’re not bothering the employees. Management kind of frowns on lost time.” With the door closed and the blinds pulled, she went back to her seat. “Ok, you may resume,” she said.
With an audience of one, the usual ten-, fifteen-minute show gets reduced to half its length. Audience participation is so key to a show’s success. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve done amazing shows when there’s just one person. Top-hat-and-tails classy ‘grams where the bereaved widow had the amazing frame of mind to call my agent and bless his soul for having such a touching performance delivered to her. Or the Marilyn Monroe telegram to the gent who turned 100. When he passed away a month later, a story was written about him in the paper. It said his last fond memory was of a visit from a blonde bombshell.
But those jobs, because of the small audience, still didn’t last the usual time. With this in mind, I still tried to get some laughs. I kept portraying my backside, hoping Monica would notice I had my dress tucked into my panties. She kept her attention mainly on what she was hearing, as her eyes were drawn onto the computer screen and her fingers occasionally clicked a few words onto the keyboard.
Giving up on getting a laugh from the physical comedy, I reverted to the song I’d written. I was given a lot of information to work with and thought I’d managed to cram a bunch of telling points into the song. She simply nodded at the end of each line, almost like a silent command to keep going.
At the end of each singing telegram, if I’m not doing Marilyn, I still sing ‘Happy Birthday’ (or a version of it – Happy Anniversary, Happy Retirement, etc.) and manage to turn it into a comical dance with the recipient. At the end of it, with the victim usually managing to hold up my extended leg, I always freeze, enabling all cameras and iPhones to capture the moment forever.
Today, the show was about to get shorter. I was about to ask her to step away from the desk so I could sing her a second song, as well as include her in a dance. Usually, with a crowd watching, this request is always allowed. Something told me she would refuse…maybe she didn’t want to get too up close with a perfect stranger. So I wrapped up the song, sent from her sister in Calgary.
“Thank you,” she responded. “I’ll give her a call later tonight. You know your way back to the elevator?” I assumed she was okaying that I could leave now, after what was no more than four minutes. I nodded my head and exited her office, closing the door behind me. My veil got caught as I tried to walk away.
Reeling myself back in, I opened the door quickly to pull the veil out. I whispered, “Sorry to bother you again,” and making sure all of my tacky-bride apparel was out of her office, closed her door again. The walk back to the elevator was even more quiet than before, as now I wasn’t calling out for my Monica. Now I was making a quick getaway.
I couldn’t wait for the elevator to arrive fast enough. Worse than being stared at because you look ridiculous was not being stared at. That meant the general population figured this was my normal appearance. If I was doing a bag lady or a police officer, sometimes I took a simple pleasure in fooling Joe Public. But come on, today I was wearing a wedding dress!
As I got off on the ground floor, I blew by the guard, who was giving directions to three women in identical lab jackets, holding identical binders. Each also had a pull-along briefcase in tow. They didn’t give me a second glance. As I exited the building, I was reminded of the weather.
My dress was so voluminous, it was blowing a hard sideways now with the wind’s force. Every three feet I had to stop and disengage it from bushes and tree branches. Grateful I wasn’t carrying much, I clutched my veil and car keys in one hand and used the other to wrench myself free of car mirrors and bumpers.
Finally finding myself at the back of the building, I looked towards the dumpsters, another big walk. From here I couldn’t see my car; it was probably blocked by the red minivan next to it, but I was sure it was waiting for me.
My car was gone. Surely this was the place I’d parked it! But come to think of it, I didn’t recall that red van there earlier. Maybe I was in the wrong place? Instead of retracing my steps, I went around the building the opposite way. “This is new,” I thought, as I saw sights I hadn’t seen earlier. Immediately around the corner was an employee’s entrance/smoking area. A few hardy souls were still attempting to get their cigarettes lit when I blew around the corner. “Is there another dumpster around here?” I asked as an opener.
They just stared at me so I decided to elaborate. “I parked my car by a dumpster, and now I can’t find it. Are there more dumpsters around here?” One guy pointed to the back, from the way I’d just come, so I shook my head. “No, that’s the wrong dumpster. There’s got to be another one.” They all shrugged, so I moved along, only to observe more new details.
Didn’t see all these picnic benches…didn’t see the windows with fake birds painted on them…didn’t see the parking lot marked for Executives Only. I turned the corner again and encountered a little parade. An airport taxi-bus was disengaging a group of people. Obviously three of these men were rock stars or famous scientists, as they walked forward imperiously, carrying nothing. Each man had two minions following, one carrying briefcases and the other working on iPads or Playbooks.
When the first man saw me, he slowed his pace and lowered his glasses. This caused a minor traffic jam, almost a pile-up, with the other eight people behind him. He spoke sharply to his personal secretary and the secretary instantly began to press and slide his iPad. With all of us frozen in place for a micro-minute, I saw the guy finally raise his electronic gizmo and snap a photo of me. The other lifted his Playbook and said, “Over here!” and I obeyed his command.
After I’d posed for a few shots, I backed up. “Sorry, I have to go!” and disappeared around the corner. I gathered my gown to myself and waited a moment, nodding solemnly to a Vice-President of Accounting driving into his marked spot in the lot. He pulled out a batch of paperwork and without paying me much notice, he quickly walked past. As I stepped away from my corner, I almost bumped into the same guy returning to his car. He merely snarled as he veered around me. He went into his car and retrieved a large lunch box. As I peeked around the corner to make sure the photo-snappers had gone, the Vice-President sped-walked past me again.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for a big dump…” I began as he hurried past. I could see he wasn’t willing to be of assistance.
I wound up back at the entrance and decided to simply try it again. Maybe I’d looked on the wrong side of the dumpster? Buffeted by the wind, simply letting my dress fly where it pleased, I click-clacked my way over the pavement back to the garbage container. That was another part of the tacky-bride’s ensemble – white high-heeled shoes with the heels eroding so badly that the exposed nails made that telling sound.
I searched all four sides of the dumpster but could plainly see my Swift had disappeared. How could that be…unless it was stolen! But how, when I had the keys on me? Well, I was sure criminals had their ways. I hiked my dress up over my knees and ran back to my precious security guard.
This time I wasn’t so patient when I found him with a customer. I barged into their conversation with, “I think my car has been stolen!” Apparently this was enough of a conversation-starter to grant me the floor. “I parked it at the back, since there was no room in visitors’ parking…” I began.
“I had to park in the excess parking lot,” the stranger at the desk said. I glanced at his fit form, his comfy loafers.
“It doesn’t matter where I parked!” I shouted. “What matters is my car is gone!” I turned to the security guard, seeing his name for the first time on the pin clipped to his chest. “Vishran…Veeshran? Listen, it was parked right next to the dumpster…”
“Oh!” Vishran’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I saw it happen! On my video monitors.”
“Saw what happen?” I asked. “You saw the people who took it?”
“Yes, I saw them,” he confirmed.
“I should call the cops,” I stated.
“Maybe you should,” he agreed.
“May I use your phone?” I asked, as he turned it towards me. “Did you happen to get a description of the guys who made off with my car?” I asked him. Maybe the camera’s footage would help as well.
“Oh, yes, I did,” he announced. “Peel Region Towing Services.”
I stopped dialling and looked Vishran in the eye. The stranger next to me started giggling, and it wasn’t at my outfit. “Are you telling me my car did NOT get stolen?” I asked the guard.
“Moo Moo,” the stranger inexplicably called me, “You got towed!”
Vishran spoke up. “That was your car? I saw the garbage truck pull up but his crane could not reach the dumpster. Your car was blocking it. Then two minutes later, the tow truck pulled up and took you away.”
Great. All this while I was doing a five-minute show. Suddenly a realization dawned on me and the tacky bride turned wacky. “OH MY GOD, oh fuck me!!!” I yelled, causing the stranger to stop laughing with a final bleat. “All my stuff is in my car! My LIFE is in that car!”
Without thinking, I ran behind the guard’s desk, tripping over the front of my gown. The stranger caught me as I fell out of my heels. I left them on the lobby floor as I sidled next to Vishran.
“Give me the number to Peel Towing!” I commanded. As he looked it up, the phone began to ring. He looked at me apologetically and picked up the phone.
“Bio-Medicinal Industries, this is Front Desk Security, Vishran speaking, how may I help you?” He listened for a moment and then asked, “Where do you remember leaving your iPad?”
I made an ‘oh, COME ON!’ face, causing Vishran to frown. “OK, I will check with the cafeteria as well as the Conference Hall. I will get back to you as soon as I can.” At this, I rolled my heavily blue-eye-shadowed eyes. The guard took down more information and made plans with the caller to keep in touch.
As soon as he hung up the phone, I whined, “Can we get back to MY problem now?”
Vishran held the phone away from me. “That may be unimportant to you, but to Dr. Shania Thishnamnam, that iPad is HER life. She does very intelligent work here. Who knows what formulas for curing cold sores she has on that iPad?” He pulled out his list of contacts. “I have to make some calls on her behalf.”
FINE. Leave me standing here, shivering in the cool lobby, my back open to the elements with nothing but a veil to warm me. I waited a few minutes until Vishran got a call that made him smile. “I am so very glad, Doctor,” he said. “Thank you for letting me know. I do not know if I would have checked the ladies’ washroom.” They shared a giggle and he hung up.
I pounced on that phone immediately. “I’ll dial, just give me the number,” I ordered.
Vishran began. “905…” and stopped when he could see another number lighting up. I tried to shield it with my ripped glove but Vishran moved my hand aside as he took the phone out of my other gloved hand. “Bio-Medicinal Industries, this is Vishran speaking…” I blocked my ears…did he really have to go through that spiel? “It’s a Maserati, you say? And no handicapped sticker? okay, you wait right there, sir, you’ll have a space in no time. I’ll call for a tow truck.”
He hung up and reached again for his contact list. I could see five towing companies listed. “Just finish giving me Peel’s number,” I begged. “You can get them to tow it away.”
Vishran looked hesitant. “My sister-in-law’s brother works for Fast and Friendly Towing. I have an arrangement with him. I help him when it is possible for me to do so.”
I gave him a pleading look. “Vishran, give him the next job, I won’t tell on you, just please, PLEASE get Peel Towing here!”
Vishran reluctantly made the call. He was muttering. “It wouldn’t hurt him to make a tow once in a while. Does he pay for his room? Doesn’t even help with the chores…” Now in a surly mood, Vishran ordered me to wait on a chair in the reception area. It was low to the floor, and the cushions soft and welcoming. I sat with my dress all pouffed up around me.
About three minutes later, I sensed Vishran had left his post. I moved aside a few layers of taffeta and saw the guard standing outside. He was talking to a burly guy wearing a backwards-facing baseball cap. The big guy hooked up the Maserati as easily as if he were making a ham sandwich. I heaved myself out of the chair, squeezed my aching feet back into the not-so-funny-anymore stilettos, and ran outside.
“Hey! Hey!” I shouted to the tow truck driver. “I think you took my car!” I teetered on over as he gave me a startled look. Finally somebody who could appreciate a person in costume.
“Oh, shit,” said the guy who had the name Burt stitched onto his overalls. “Was it last Saturday? Saturday nights are when I tow at the banquet halls. Wow, I bet this is a first! I never towed a bride and groom’s car before!”
“Oh come on!” I barely held in my contempt. “This is Friday! You think a bride wears her dress all week?”
“Maybe…I hear they can cost a fortune,” the burly Burt replied.
Vishran added to the conversation. “My cousin Prajash is marrying a white girl and they say her dress is costing as much as the rental of the hall.”
Burt nodded. “I’m telling my daughter it’s an elopement or nothing. She’s been….”
“CAN WE DISCUSS MY CAR?!” I screeched. That shut them up. “It was towed from this location…well…in back of here, about thirty minutes ago. Did you take it?” I accused Burt.
“Thirty minutes ago?” Burt repeated. “Nope, not me. I’ve spent the whole morning towing student’s cars out of the teacher’s spots over at the Philip Pocock High School. Man, those kids can swear like an X-rated movie!”
I turned to Vishran, almost clutching him by the lapels before stopping myself. “You said Peel Towing took it!?”
Burt piped up. “Hey, Missy, or is it Mrs? Maybe it was one of the other guys? We got a bunch of trucks on the road.”
“Can you find out?” I implored.
The tow-truck driver looked at the car he’d hoisted, all ready to go. “I could radio it in, but I’d kind of like to get a move on before this guy gets back. Owners of cars like these…they’re usually not very pleasant.”
I thought fast. Even if my car wasn’t there, what was the use of waiting in this Mississauga wasteland? I decided to move along. “Can I ride with you? I’m sure I’ll find it in your lot.” I was already clopping my way to the tow truck.
Burt opened the passenger door, steadied me as I got in and then tucked my dress in with me. He hustled over to his door and with an easy move, swung his large frame behind the wheel. “Hang on,” he said.
The speed bumps in the lot sent me flying to the roof of the truck and I buckled myself in. As soon as we were out of the lot, Burt picked up his radio. He called in his co-ordinates and his expected time of arrival at the lot. He asked if there were any more tows, or if he could take his lunch. I finally gave him a prod in his ribcage. With a glance at me, he asked about my car.
“Oh, by the way, did anybody else make a tow at Bio-Medicinal today? It was a….” he looked at me. “What kind of car was it?”
“A blue Suzuki Swift,” I quickly answered. He radioed that information, then put down the radio and turned on its loudspeaker. He was making his entrance onto a highway.
“Safety first,” Burt said.
Burt looked over at me. I nodded forcefully. Yes, please check! The urge to be reunited with Suzie grew strong. Surely she would be missing her driver by now!
Burt pressed a button. “We’re almost there but you can tell Tom to radio me.”
The exits rolled by. We were getting farther from my next gig. I watched the faces on other drivers when they saw a Maserati was being towed. Nothing but sympathy. Finally, as we exited off the highway and pulled onto a service road just south of it, the radio came to life.
“Burt! Tom here. You called about that Suzuki?” it asked.
“Yeah, you towed it?” Burt inquired. “It’s in the yard?”
“Nah, I never brought it here,” was Tom’s reply.
“What? Why not?” I bugged out. Burt radioed that in.
“What?” he said. “Why not?”
“Ya shouldda seen it,” Tom snorted derisively. “Full of junk, covered in graffiti…I think there was a dead fox on the dashboard…”
“That’s a clown wig,” I retorted. “And there’s one piece of graffiti!”
Tom continued. “And they think they can just leave it by a dumpster and that the garbage guys are gonna haul it away like it’s some couch?”
“Excuse me, can you tell Tom I’m sitting right here?” I asked Burt. “Just find out where it is now.”
By this time, Burt had pulled into the gated lot. He keyed in a code that raised the barriers. As we slowly drove through, Burt picked up the radio again. “If the car is not in our lot, where did you take it?”
I could hear papers riffling. “Region of Peel Waste Management Metal Shredding Station,” came the odd reply.
Burt and I just stared at one another. Again he spoke into the radio. “Tom, did you get my question? Where’s the Suzuki?”