Just Make A Choice!

A NOTE ON BEING IN YOUR THIRTIES AND HAVING ACCOMPLISHED VERY LITTLE

2008-03-01T23:59:00.000-08:00

In this story, YOU get to be the main character in an exciting kidnapping adventure that YOU WANT NO PART OF.

You’re a thirty-three year old struggling actor with VERY LITTLE HOPE of ever being successful, and you feel like time is running out for you to make something of yourself. Your friends have all settled into lucrative careers that you resent and fruitful marriages that you envy, while you’ve done everything you can to commit to nothing for fear of limiting your options. With every passing day you are that much closer to giving up, and every choice feels weighted with the possibility that it will send you down a path to FAILURE. So you’ve been doing your best to make no decisions whatsoever. For YOU, as long as you choose to do nothing, ANYTHING is possible.

Enter JULIA! She’s the pretty girl you went out with last night and she’s been KIDNAPPED! It’s up to you and you alone to rescue her. The ensuing adventure will force you to make a series of choices that will not only determine the life or death of an innocent girl, but will force you to ADD FOCUS to your career and your love life in ways that you’ve been avoiding ever since you got out of college.

BE VERY CAREFUL! You’re DIRECTING THE STORY and the CHOICES you make can result in MURDER, GRADUATE SCHOOL ENROLLMENT, TORTURE, MARRIAGE, POST-APOCALYPTIC SLAVERY, UNWANTED PREGNANCY, even TEMPING! It’s YOUR STORY and YOUR LIFE. All you’ve got to do is decide which page you want to turn to. JUST MAKE A CHOICE!!!

CLICK TO START

WRITE “PRE-APOCALYPSE” ON YOUR TIMESHEET

2008-03-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

Ten years later, you bump into Julia when you end up temping for her at an ad agency. It doesn’t feel good to be temping at age 43, but you don’t want to take full-time work as it will keep you from working on your documentary monologue collection Where YOU Were On 9-11. Even though 9-11 will have occurred over a decade and a half ago, you still think your piece will be relevant (if you can just manage to get some dickhead who was in the towers to finally talk to you).

“Oh dear,” Julia says when you arrive. “You’re my temp?”

“I knew your name was kind of familiar for some reason,” you say. “So…you lived?”

“Can you tell from there?”

You laugh a little too hard. Then you go to your desk.

The day isn’t too bad. There aren’t too many awkward moments, except for around three PM when you come back from a long bathroom break and she says, “I was calling for you but you never came.”

At the end of the day, she invites you for a coffee at Starbucks. There she tells you that when the kidnappers tried to cash the check you gave them, the police swooped in and eventually she was saved. You explain to her that you only left her to live or die at the kidnappers’ mercy because you were pretty down on the state of current events and you figured, what’s the point.

Things are awkward after that. You make a joke that you think is really funny about how many Starbucks there are in the city, the punchline involving a proctologist and a freshly made venti Frappucino being pulled from an anus, but Julia doesn’t laugh. You try to relate to her about both of you being in your forties, but Julia reminds you that she is three years younger than you, and her 40th birthday isn’t for two months.

“We established that on our only date together.”

You say, “Oh.”

“You’re the only one here who is in his forties,” Julia says.

You take a sip of your blended beverage.

“Just like you’re the only one here who’s still temping,” Julia adds.

You say, “I thought about you, you know.”

“Did you?” she says.

“Yeah,” you say. “I used to think that maybe if I had stuck it out and saved you, like really saved you, then things might have turned out a little better for me.”

Julia says, “I made you my hero. When I gave them your phone number, you became my hero in that moment. I really built you up in my mind. You blew it.”

When she gets up, you say, “Wait. Can I still temp for you tomorrow?”

She’s thrown and doesn’t answer immediately.

“I need the money,” you say.

She looks confused, then says, “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

You sit for a while after she leaves, trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner that night. You browse the pre-wrapped sandwiches at the counter, but ultimately, you decide to order a pizza when you get home. You’re going to have some work this week, so it’s okay.

the end

GO BACK ONE

GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING

HELL IN A HANDBASKET

2008-03-01T13:34:00.000-08:00

“How do I know she’s safe?” you say to Chet.

Chet shows you a Polaroid of Julia holding that day’s newspaper. You note the fear in her eyes, then you look closely at the newspaper. The headlines all scream about environmental catastrophe and growing hostility from the Middle East and there’s a big picture of the winner of a hot new reality show where people have to stay in a room that smells like piss for a really long time.

“Jesus this world’s going to shit,” you say. “What’s the point of saving a girl from kidnappers when I’m just gonna make her endure a coming apocalypse.”

“Now’s not the time to be a doomsayer,” Chet says. “If you don’t get us the cash, we will murder her today and we will make sure it hurts.”

“Will it hurt more than if she’s enslaved by lawless tribes who maraud the scorched earth for gasoline so they can make the journey to a mythic water source that hasn’t been poisoned? Should I let her live so that she can watch the oceans turn to fire like in that Al Gore movie?”

“Liberal horseshit,” Chet says. “You’re just trying to duck your responsibility by embracing anti-big business rhetoric. A life is in the balance.”

You endorse the back of the check. “Here’s your ransom money. If you can cash the check, fine. If not, it’s on you. I won’t be held responsible for making that girl live another day on this miserable, plague-ridden planet.” Then you turn your back on Chet and walk away.

DO YOU WANT TO BUMP INTO JULIA TEN YEARS FROM NOW, BEFORE THE APOCALYPSE?

DO YOU WANT TO BUMP INTO JULIA FIFTEEN YEARS FROM NOW, AFTER THE APOCALYPSE?

GO BACK ONE

THE FINISH LINE IS JUST THE BEGINNING

2008-03-01T13:18:00.000-08:00

You've been to the finish line of a marathon before. It always looks like the scene of an international incident. Everyone is emaciated, covered in their own waste, their thighs ripped open from the chafing with blood pooling at the lips of their shoes, all of them writhing on the ground in pain while volunteers force water and citrus down their throats to keep them from dying or succumbing to madness. For charity.

Today is no different. Women and men are all over the street, writhing and hugging and holding up poster size pictures of mothers and sisters they've lost. You're careful to position yourself away from the path of the runners, afraid that one might come flailing into you and scream for any salt tablets you might have on your person.

"PSSSST!"

It's very loud and pronounced and you turn around to find its source.

"PSSSST!"

Loud as a bullet whizzing past your ear.

"PSSSST!"

Finally you spot a man with his face hidden under a black hood standing behind a water kiosk, impatiently shooting air between his teeth at you. You go to him.

"Chet," you say.

"Stop calling me that," he says through the hood.

You notice the "Hi, My Name Is Chet" sticker on his tee-shirt but you refrain from calling his attention to it.

“You don’t exactly blend in with the hood on,” you say.

“The black hoods represent the dead claimed by the disease,” Chet says. “Look around.”

You scan the crowd and find dozens of people wearing black hoods. You see a volunteer handing them out to new arrivals.

“And yes,” Chet says. “Some of those hoods are my associates. They are watching us closely.”

You are frightened when a runner flails herself against the plywood of Chet’s kiosk with enough force that he has to steady himself to keep the whole structure from tipping over. He quickly unscrews a bottle of vitamin water and thrusts it into the runner's writhing hands.

When the runner leaves, you say to Chet, "So this is just a convenient cover for the drop-off? Pretty cold-hearted."

By the look in his eyes, Chet is personally offended. He says he volunteers at the marathon every year. He starts barking statistics at you, how many die of breast cancer each year, how little funding is being allocated.

"Maybe you should think a little more about others for a change,” Chet says. “Now, do you have the money or are we going to have to kill your girlfriend."

You show Chet your father's check for $50,000.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?" Chet asks.

"I could sign it over to you," you say.

"Cash," Chet says. "Go to the bank and come back here with 50 grand in green or your girlfriend gets it."

DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE BANK AND TRY TO CASH YOUR FATHER'S CHECK?

DO YOU WANT TO DEMAND THAT CHET SHOW YOU THAT JULIA IS ALL RIGHT FIRST?

GO BACK ONE

WORST. BOOTY CALL. EVER.

2008-03-01T12:57:00.000-08:00

At around 11:40 you get bored waiting for the kidnappers to call, so you dial your ex-girlfriend Kim to try and make sure you’re the last person she talks to before bed. You’re glad to be out of the relationship, but you don’t want her to move on with her life either.

“This is the fifth night this week,” she says groggily. She was asleep. “You know this doesn’t work right? I’m not going to dream about you just because you’re the last person I speak to before I fall asleep.” Kim’s getting a master’s in Psychology. She spent eight years after college trying to get steady work as a theatrical costume designer and temping to pay rent, but she got sick of being poor and listening to actors whine about chafing.

“This isn’t like when I called because I saw that shooting star or when I couldn’t find my Veruca Salt CD,” you say. “I really have something to tell you this time. I’ve had a big day.”

You tell her about the kidnapping, and about Lenny coming back from the dead to convince you to give up on acting. Kim asks if you were seeing Julia before you and she broke up. She finds it hard to believe that you went on one date and you’re already rescuing her from kidnappers and giving up on your dreams for her.

“She’s from out of town,” you say. “And Lenny came back from the dead. He was still fifteen and still wet and nude. How could I not do what he says?”

“I don’t want you to call me anymore,” Kim says. “This is hurting me. I need us to cut off all communication.”

You get a call-waiting but you don’t answer because you don’t want to hang up on Kim. Her declaration has sent you into a panic that you never would have predicted. You try to convince her that the two of you can stay friends and you’ll respect her boundaries, but she interrupts you.

“It’s 12:02,” she says. “Wasn’t the kidnapper supposed to call at midnight?”

Another call-waiting comes in.

“You have to take that. That girl could die,” Kim says. Then she hangs up.

Your stomach is in knots when you click over to the other line.

"Hey, it's Chet," you hear. “What the fuck?

"Chet?"

"The kidnapper, idiot. I called at midnight but you didn’t answer."

"The kidnapper?”

Chet sounds annoyed. "Yes. The kidnapper. What did you fucking forget?"

"I just didn't think you'd offer your name like that," you say. "Since kidnapping is illegal and all."

Chet takes a second. "Maybe it's a fake name."

"Is it?"

"Look, do you have the money or are we gonna have to kill your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend," you say. "Yes, I have the money. Where should I bring it?"

Chet says, "Tomorrow at noon. The 10K Marathon for Breast Cancer Research. The finish line. And remember, no police. I repeat, do not call the police."

DO YOU WANT TO CALL THE POLICE AND LET THEM HANDLE IT SO THAT YOU CAN GO TO KIM AND CONVINCE HER TO KEEP YOU IN HER LIFE, EVEN THOUGH YOU DON’T WANT TO GET BACK TOGETHER OR ANYTHING, YOU JUST DON’T WANT TO TRY TO LIVE WITHOUT HER YET?

DO YOU WANT TO SHOW UP AT THE FINISH LINE TOMORROW?

GO BACK ONE

THE GHOST OF YOUR DEAD BEST FRIEND HAS SOME CAREER ADVICE

2008-03-01T12:43:00.000-08:00

Your dead best friend Lenny has something he wants to say to you. Lenny was your best friend from middle school through the beginning of high school. He used to tell you how he wanted to be an Olympic diver, and you used to tell him how you wanted to be a world famous actor.

Lenny was as good at diving as you are at acting, which is why he’s dead now. He cracked his head open after jumping from a thirty-foot cliff into the swimming hole at the bottom of the old quarry you used to swim at. You dragged him from the water and held him in your arms as he took his last breaths.

“Live your dream for both of us,” he rasped. “Never give up on acting.”

You’ve always remembered Lenny’s dying words. He is one of the reasons you’ve managed to stick it out all of these years, despite the constant rejection and seemingly limitless discouragement. No matter how hard it gets, you’re always able to buckle down and keep going. For Lenny.

Just before you make your decision about whether you want to give up on acting so that you can save Julia’s life, a cold wind comes blowing through the room. Your vision seems to go black except for a bright white tunnel of light, from which the translucent image of Lenny floats toward you. He is the same age he was on the day he died, except there is no wound where he hit his head. Also, he’s naked.

“Lenny?” you ask the spirit.

“It is me,” he says. “Your friend. Do not be afraid to look upon me. You need not avert your eyes.”

“I’m not afraid. It’s just that you’re naked,” you say. “And you still look fifteen. It’s kind of uncomfortable to look at a naked fifteen year old boy.”

“I come to you as I was on the day that I died,” he says.

“You were naked when you died?” you ask.

“We both were,” he says.

“We used to swim naked?” you ask. “Really?”

“Really,” he says. “Those summer days swimming naked with you are the fondest memories of my corporeal life.”

“It was great swimming with you,” you say. “I must have just blotted the naked part out.”

“It’s understandable old friend,” Lenny says. “Now then, I come to you today to tell you something that is of the greatest import.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just you that was naked?” you ask.

Lenny’s ghost takes a deep breath. He is growing impatient.

“It really isn’t what I wanted to talk about. But yes, I’m sure. What I need to tell you is—“

“It’s just that the memory of my best friend dying in my arms,” you say, interrupting. “And me begging you not to go, to hold on and be strong for me, and me kissing your forehead and crying into your hair, it’s the most vivid memory from my childhood. I just think us both being naked at the time would be a detail that I wouldn’t forget.”

Lenny takes another deep breath. You’re not sure, since he’s floating, but it looks like he might be tapping his foot impatiently.

“Okay,” he says. “If it’s such a vivid memory, what color swimsuit were you wearing?”

You think for a second. Nothing comes. “Holy shit!” you shout. “We used to swim naked!”

“Yes, quite a surprise, I’m sure,” Lenny says. “Anyway, I’ve come here today all the way from the afterlife, which is not a short trek, to tell you it’s perfectly fine if you give up on acting.”

You feel like he just punched you in the ribs. “But your dying words,” you say.

“I know what I said, but we were children at the time,” Lenny says. “Since then I’ve kept tabs on your career and, well, I think if you turn your back on acting the craft will survive.”

“All these years,” you say. “It was your dying wish that kept me going.”

“Oh please,” Benny shouts, causing his sparsely haired scrotum to rise and tighten. “You used my dying wish as an excuse. You’ve been stuck at the same place for over a decade, going on pointless auditions that were open to anyone with a copy of backstage, while just barely pursuing workshops or theater collectives that might help you develop. Any time the idea of going into some other field presented itself, you’d use my dying wish as an excuse to avoid making a scary decision about your life.”

You’re sulking now. “You don’t think I’ll make it?”

“I know you won’t make it. You were supposed to figure it out on your own about three years from now, but there’s a girl’s life at stake and believe me, you giving it a go for a little while longer is so not worth a girl losing her life.”

“But Lenny,” you say.

Lenny starts to float back up the tunnel of white. “Give up on acting. Save the girl and eventually go to grad school,” he calls out. “Oh and by the way,” he adds. “We once watched each other jerk off. Behind your parents' garage.”

“I remember that Lenny,” you shout, waving goodbye to your old friend, your eyes filling with tears. “Of course I could never forget that day, old friend. And forget it I never will.”

DO YOU WANT TO TAKE LENNY'S ADVICE AND GIVE UP ON ACTING?

ON SECOND THOUGHT, DO YOU WANT TO GO INTO WORK BECAUSE YOU FIGURE MAYBE LENNY IS JUST TRYING TO MAKE YOU GIVE UP BECAUSE HE'S JEALOUS THAT YOU GOT TO LIVE ON AND BECOME A MAN WHILE HE DIED IN A QUARRY FULL OF STAGNANT WATER?

GO BACK ONE

THERE’S ALWAYS GRADUATE SCHOOL

2008-03-01T12:33:00.000-08:00

You have a rather inconvenient scheduling conflict. You’ve got the dinner shift at your waitering job and the kitchen doesn’t stop serving until after midnight. If you want to stay home and wait for the kidnapper’s midnight call, you’ll first have to call in sick. Not as easy as it sounds.

You wait tables at a place called Lunch Counter, the magical new restaurant where the Turkey Clubs, Pork Chops, and Omelettes of the traditional American lunch counter are updated with wasabi mayo spreads and cranberry chutney. It’s another in a long line of way-too-high concept restaurants that take everyday slop and upgrade it with pricey ingredients to create a kitschy gourmet dining experience. They all fail within three years, but while they’re hot you make a lot of money waiting their tables.

You’ve been feeling like Lunch Counter is going to be your last restaurant job for a little while now. You used to think your big break was right around the corner and you just had to wait a few more tables before you would be a successful and very well respected actor who would pick his parts based on how they exercise your craft and not how much they pay, and also you would date Kirsten Dunst briefly but it wouldn’t be serious.

Years have passed with very little encouragement from casting directors and the tables in need of waiting have multiplied. An audition feels more like a chore than an opportunity. You’ve tried to forge your own path to success by writing a one-person show. It’s called, Where YOU Were On 9-11 and it’s an Anna Deveare-Smith style documentary monologue piece in which you interview people about where they were on September 11th and then you perform their stories word-for-word. You’ve been developing it for three and a half years now. Unfortunately, you can’t find anyone who was in or even near the towers who’ll talk to you, and you don’t feel like it’ll be ready until you do.

You don’t dream about overnight success anymore. What you dream of now is getting hit by a city vehicle, like a Parks Department truck or a street sweeper, and losing the use of your legs. The city would pay you a big settlement that would take care of you for life and your friends would gather around your bed shaking their heads in lament for the hugely successful acting career you would most certainly have had if only fate hadn’t robbed you of your legs.

You know when you either quit or get fired from your current waitering job you won’t have it in you to go find work at another restaurant. Which is why when you call in sick to Lunch Counter tonight and your boss tells you to either show up or you’re fired, it’s clear to you that saving Julia means finally giving up on your dream of becoming an actor. Stick it out just a little longer -- and just a little longer is all it might take for that big break to finally come around the corner -- and Julia dies.

DO YOU WANT TO GIVE UP ON ACTING SO THAT YOU CAN SAVE JULIA'S LIFE?

DO YOU THINK THAT JULIA REALLY DOESN'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO EXPECT YOU TO GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS LIKE THIS, THOUGH SHE SURELY DIDN'T ASK TO BE KIDNAPPED AND OF COURSE SHE COULDN'T HAVE KNOW YOU CIRCUMSTANCES OR THE STATE OF YOUR RESOLVE, BUT STILL...?

GO BACK ONE

YOU ARE A MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A HERO

2008-03-01T10:30:00.000-08:00

You awake to the sound of the phone ringing.

"Hello?"

You hear a man's voice. It is muffled. "We've got Julia."

Your head is cloudy with a dream. "Who?"

"Julia, the girl you went out with last night."

Julia, yes, the girl you met at the restaurant the other day. Pretty Julia, with whom just last night you had a delightful first date, followed by a promising first kiss.

"Julia. Yeah. She's great."

"We have her."

"Okay." The dream recedes. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"We have kidnapped your girlfriend," the voice says. "If you ever want to see her again—"

"Whoah, she's not my girlfriend," you say. "I just met her. I mean, I had a good time with her and all, but I wanna take it slow with this one I think."

"We understand," the voice says. "But she's new to the city, and presently, you're all she has. If you ever want to see her again, I suggest you do as we say."

She'd mentioned over drinks that she had just moved from Chicago, but it didn't hit home then that she probably has nothing going on for herself yet. Which means she'll be counting on you to be her tour guide and the whole thing will probably get way too serious way too fast. And now you're expected to save her from kidnappers? You might as well just move her into your place and be done with it.

"Look," you say. "Have you told her that you called me?"

The voice asks, "What difference does it make?"

"Well," you say. "If I were to pass on saving her and someone else took care of it, or if your plot was foiled by the cops, then I might still be able to see her again without us having this whole you saved me from kidnappers thing forcing us into something really serious."

The voice sighs. "She gave us your number."

Fuck!

"Do you want to talk to her to prove that she's all right?"

"No!" you shout.

The voice speaks more softly. "Look, she heard me ask that. Don't be a dick. I'm gonna put her on."

Your spirit plummets as you listen to the phone change hands.

"Julia?"

She's crying. "I'm so sorry about this. I know it's weird. But honestly, they called everyone else and I had to get them in touch with somebody."

"It's okay," you say. "I understand."

"I just don't want you to think I'm rushing things," she pants. "I like you and all. But I've let things get too serious in past relationships and I really wanted to take it slow with you. It's just that they’ve got guns."

There's a rustling as the phone changes hands again.

"Do you want to see Julia again or not?"

It was a good kiss. "What do you want me to do?"

"Give us fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow or we'll blow her head off," the voice says. "We'll call again at midnight with further instructions."

Click.

DO YOU WANT TO GO AND ASK YOUR PARENTS IF YOU CAN BORROW FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FROM THEM?

DO YOU WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND, CONSIDER GETTING BACK TOGETHER WITH HER, BUT THEN THINK BETTER OF IT?

CHILD OF A BROKEN HOME

2008-03-01T09:20:00.000-08:00

Your parents announced their decision to divorce a month ago, and visits home have been hell ever since. They eat lunch silently, attempting a semblance of civility for your benefit, until one of them inevitably erupts at a thinly veiled swipe and storms from the table. At least today you have something to send the conversation down a different path.

"I need fifty thousand dollars," you say.

Your mother drops her cutlery to her plate. Your father keeps chewing.

"This for a girl?" he asks through his mouthful of tuna salad.

"Yeah," you say. "She's been kidnapped. They're gonna kill her."

"Why haven’t we heard about this girl if it's so serious," your mother asks.

"It's not serious!" That came out louder than you'd intended.

"Fifty thousand dollars sounds pretty serious to me," your mother says.

"Will you leave him alone?" your father says. "Sooo, she pretty?"

Your mother jumps up from the table. "I am trying to be a mother to him. You're just trying to score points."

Your father stands up to meet her stare. "I am trying to help him to live his life without being tainted by all the shit you're putting him through."

"What I'm putting him through?" She looks like she's about to cry for a second. But she swallows her sobs and her eyes freeze over. "You black-hearted little man. Go on, give your son fifty thousand dollars to blow on some girl he barely knows. You always rescue him before he has a chance to try to do anything on his own. That’s why he’s already 33 and amounted to so little.”

To you she says, “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” you say. Your mom has been making it clear to you since you were twenty-five that she is completely and utterly disappointed in you. You got used to it after not too long.

“He can't be making a bigger mistake with this girl than I made by marrying such a miserable bore," your mother shouts as she runs from the table.

Your father yells at her back, "Hey you owe the kid. Getting pregnant with him got me to marry you didn't it?!"

Your father sits back down. "Sorry about that," he says.

"No problem." You were nine when you first learned that your conception forced your parents into marriage, and you long ago came to grips with this knowledge.

Your Dad drops his knife and fork on the plate. “This divorce must be hard on you, but it’s for the best. She just can’t get it out of her head that she could have done better than me. Of course she could have! So could I, if I’d bothered, but it doesn’t keep me up at night. With her, though, it really pisses her off. Like there’s someone in particular she thinks she missed her chance on.”

"So can I have the fifty thousand dollars?"

"Lemme write you a check." He takes out his checkbook and begins scribbling.

DO YOU WANT TO SIT DOWN AND THINK THINGS THROUGH WHILE WATCHING THE LATEST ZACH BRAFF MOVIE?

DO YOU WANT TO CALL IN SICK TO YOUR RESTAURANT JOB SO YOU CAN STAY HOME AND WAIT FOR THE KIDNAPPERS TO CALL?

WANNA GO BACK ONE?

THERE’S ALWAYS TIME FOR BREAK-UP SEX

2008-03-01T08:42:00.000-08:00

When you hang up the phone, you hear a key in the lock. You'd almost forgotten that Kim, your ex-girlfriend, had scheduled today to come by and pick up the bag of her stuff that she'd left behind. You weren’t supposed to be here.

"Oh for God's sake," Kim says when she sees you.

"I'm sorry. I got held up." You're still in bed. Under the sheets, you're naked.

"How did you get held up from getting the fuck out of bed and leaving the apartment?" she asks. She looks good. "That was all you had to do."

"The phone rang. This girl I…"

"Don't. Just tell me where the bag is."

You point to the kitchen. She's wearing her silver skirt, the one that's made of nothing at all, and a black tank top underneath her soft brown cardigan. You've never seen the cardigan before, but you've removed the tank top with your fingertips.

"How's your new place?" you shout in to her. She's looking in the refrigerator.

"Who's the girl?" she responds.

"What?"

"The girl who called you." She's standing in the doorway drinking a glass of juice. You look down to see if your erection is detectable from underneath the sheets. It isn't.

"No, she didn't call me. She was kidnapped. I have to…"

She slams her glass on the desk. "Jesus Christ were you seeing her while we were together?"
"No," you say. "We went on one date together."

"And you're saving her from kidnappers?"

"She's new in town," you shrug. "Sit with me."

Kim doesn't say anything for a second. Then, "Did you ever cheat on me?"

"No," you say. You look her in the eye. "I promise."

She sits on the edge of the bed. You don't move. She says, "I don't believe you. You know that right? Tell me you know that I think you cheated on me. I need you to know that."

You nod. "I know it. I didn't cheat on you, but I know you think I did." You put your hand on her thigh and slide your fingers up underneath her skirt. She closes her eyes, removes her sweater and her tank-top, then climbs on top of you.

The sex is the best the two of you have had in a long while, maybe better than when you first started going out. Afterwards, she crawls off of you without so much as a peck on the lips and begins to dress.

"You're just gonna leave?" you ask.

She laughs. "Why? Do you want me to stay?"

In that instant, yes, you want her to stay. But she’s not asking about that instant. You keep quiet.

When she's fully dressed, she picks up her bag and stands at the foot of the bed. "Go save your girlfriend," she says. The she walks out the front door.

You mutter aloud to the furniture, "She's not my girlfriend."

DO YOU WANT TO ASK YOUR WEB MILLIONAIRE FRIEND TO LOAN YOU THE RANSOM MONEY?

DO YOU WANT TO UNPLUG YOUR PHONE AND GET REALLY REALLY DRUNK?

WANNA GO BACK ONE?

A LITTLE “YOU-TIME”

2008-03-01T07:08:00.000-08:00

You spend the day making no effort whatsoever to gather the fifty thousand dollars. You think about Kim. You destroyed your relationship with Kim, kicked it in the knees at every turn. And this morning, you got to crawl inside the wreckage and draw from it bliss. You think about the sex you just had and why it was so much better than the sex you used to have when you were together. You know the thrill of the forbidden added some of the kick. But there was something perverse about it too.

What the fuck is wrong with me? you think. Who am I to save that girl? If she lives through the kidnapping I'll just be the one to end up hurting her. Fuck this.

You rip the phone cord from the wall and carry the phone into the kitchen to get your bottle of Maker’s Mark. Back in your chair, you begin drinking quietly while staring at the wall in front of you. You realize the phone is still in your hand. You take another sip from the bottle, and then you fling the phone across the room to crash into pieces against the wall.

the end

GO BACK ONE

GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING

WWZBD

2008-03-01T06:00:00.000-08:00

(what would zach braff do?)

With your mind reeling over all of the different concerns suddenly on your plate, you wander the streets for a while trying to sort stuff out. Eventually, you come upon a movie theater and buy a ticket for the next movie playing, a Zach Braff film called She’s Trying To Lock Me Up Inside A Little Tiny Box.

In the darkened theater, you begin to sort through all that’s at stake. Julia could very well die if you don’t go through with the rescue, no question. But for all you know the kidnapper is planning on murdering you both, in which case the only hope would be to involve the police and leave it to them. But wouldn’t that be just another in a long line of cop-outs on your part? With every dilemma in your life, you’ve always taken the shortest path to doing as little as possible. Maybe it’s time you finally did what you know is right, no matter how difficult.

All these divergent thoughts begin to collapse in together and you find yourself getting lost in the movie. Zach Braff’s character is about to marry his longtime girlfriend, but he has trouble with commitment so he gets this other girl pregnant who demands that he be a father to her child, but that scares him so he goes on a road trip with his buddies and falls for a girl he meets at a highway toll booth. She is adorably and irreparably schizophrenic and she just got fired from her job at the toll booth so she needs a ride back to the hospital. On the way, she gives him some dandelions and teaches him what’s really important (the rain, and good hot chocolate). Meanwhile, his rich father-in-law to be wants him to be a man and take the LSATs, and throughout all of this Zach Braff keeps repeating his catch phrase, “I just wanna watch TV and play my drums!”

“Comb your hair!” you shout at Zach Braff on the screen. You think you’re pretty funny but someone behind you tells you to shush.

Shhhh… It sweeps through your head like a gust of wind, clearing away all of the clutter and revealing what it is you have to do. You get up from your seat and walk out of the movie during a montage of Zach Braff and his friends doing cannonaballs at a pool where they’re trespassing.

DO YOU WANT TO HARNESS YOUR NEWFOUND RESOLVE TO DO THE UNSELFISH AND HEROIC THING AND GO HOME TO AWAIT THE KIDNAPPER'S INSTRUCTIONS?

DO YOU WANT TO JUST SPEND ALL THE RANSOM MONEY ON LOTTO TICKETS?

GO BACK ONE

SHOW US YOUR WIPE-FACE!

2008-02-29T04:58:00.000-08:00

You and Danny came up with the idea for Wipeface.com during one of your many late night drinking binges after a shift waiting tables at Tots, the briefly trendy restaurant (since shuttered) that featured high-end elementary school cafeteria food (menu specialties included mahi-mahi fish sticks, peppercorn encrusted salisbury steak, and their famous $44 plate of tater tots dusted with truffle shavings). Drunk on all the liquor each night’s tips could buy, you and Danny would spend hours slurring out URLs and concepts for what you each dreamed would be the hot new billion-dollar web property to lift you out of your jobs waiting tables and turn you both into moguls.

“Hypochondriac.com,” you’d bark while Danny wrote. “The place where hypochondriacs can go to describe their imagined symptoms and post their time-lapse photos of moles changing shape and color and stuff, and other hypochondriacs can rate on a scale of one to ten how much cancer they have based on the photos. And the home page would have big letters that read: NO LICENSED MEDICAL PHYSICIANS ALLOWED!!!”

“Okay, here’s one,” Danny would slur in turn. “Momfights.com. You post a photo of your Mom on the site, and then visitors vote on which mom looks more nurturing.”

And you’d go on like that until last call. It was during one of these nights that one of you mumbled over the rim of his glass the idea for Wipe-face.com, a place where users would post photos of the faces they make while wiping their asses. The slogan would be “Show Us Your Wipe-Face!”

It was sheer chance that Danny bothered to write the idea down, and even more of a miracle that he managed to hang onto the napkin he wrote on without blowing his nose or wiping the mysterious blood from his lip on the drunken bus-ride home.

Most miraculous of all, after countless nights of spewing these silly ideas at each other, Danny actually followed through on that one. He registered the domain for Wipeface and launched a rudimentary website. He had asked you early on if you wanted to be his partner and chip in $75 for the web hosting service. You hemmed and hawed on getting him the cash, and eventually you just started chastising him for wasting his time on a stupid website idea.

“That would just be a distraction,” you said, though you really had no projects from which to be distracted. You simply preferred to avoid failure by not trying in the first place, and you wanted your friends to take the same route so that you could all stay at the same level of non-success forever and ever. Maybe you could all open a bar together, or a boxing gym for inner city kids.

Wipeface became a viral web sensation and Danny became a multi-millionaire. You haven’t spoken to him ever since. You can’t think about him, or the website, without getting nauseous over how stupid you were. For quite some time you found even the act of wiping your ass would fill you with regret. Visiting him today will not be easy.

When you settle into Danny’s office, he invites you to take an iPod from the pile sitting in the corner. “I don’t even know where they come from. They just get sent to me and I run out of room,” he says. You decline the iPod.

“I need your help, Danny,” you say. “A girl’s been kidnapped and I need $50,000 for the ransom.”

Danny gets up from his desk and turns to watch the baby sharks swim around the embedded tank that composes the entire back wall of his office. Two of the sharks are eating a watersnake.

“I was hurt that you cut me off after my website got successful,” Danny says, his back still to you. “You were my friend. You were supposed to be happy for me.”

“I wanted to be,” you say.

“Well, at least you have a girl in your life now,” Danny says. He pulls out his checkbook. “Success or no, it’s pretty great to see you throw all you have at something.”

He writes a check and holds it out to you. When you reach to take it, he yanks it back.

“I don’t want you to disappear from my life again. The conditions of me giving you this money are as follows. You never pay me back, as long as you come here and work for me. For one year. 9 to 5.”

Working 9 to 5 would require that you stop auditioning, and considering how old you are, it would be tantamount to finally giving up on acting. There’s a big part of you that is excited to have the excuse to finally give it up. The other part of you is pissed that Danny would ever put you in a position that requires that you give up on your dream in order to do what’s right, especially considering how hard it is for you to even be in this office. That part of you wants to tell Danny to go fuck himself.

“I still love you,” Danny says. “But I’m still real pissed that you stopped being my friend. I can’t just give you fifty grand and have you drop out of my life again. What’s it gonna be?”

DO YOU WANT TO ACCEPT THE MONEY AND COME WORK FOR DANNY?

DO YOU WANT TO TELL DANNY YOU'LL FIND THE MONEY SOMEPLACE ELSE?

WANNA GO BACK ONE?

WOMEN WHO LOVE MEN WHO AREN’T RICH

2008-02-29T03:05:00.000-08:00

The kidnappers call at midnight and order you to bring the money to the old abandoned ketchup factory on the outskirts of town. When you arrive in the vast, empy space, you find four men with guns surrounding Julia, who is tied to a chair. You give them the money and Julia is released. She runs into your embrace and promises her devotion to you.

While you hold her in your arms, their leader, who introduces himself only as “Chet,” asks you how you got the money so fast.

“My rich friend gave it to me,” you say.

“So you’re just the delivery boy,” Chet laughs. He says to Julia, “You’re hugging the wrong guy. It’s like someone just bought you a fancy dinner and you’re going to bed with the waiter. You make bad decisions.”

The kidnappers walk out cackling over what they perceive to be Julia’s poor decision to give herself to you, completely discounting the fact that you put yourself in harm’s way while all Danny did was supply the money, but whatever. As their laughter continues out in the parking lot, you feel Julia’s embrace of you slacken a bit, but she’s probably just tired.

Now that she’s free, Julia hastily proves her devotion to you by having sex with you and becoming pregnant with your child. It should be a joyful time, but as her pregnancy progresses you keep hearing those kidnappers laughing at Julia. You imagine them gathered behind you, trying to stifle their giggling while you learn to breathe at Lamaze class, or while you look at the baby’s little arm during the amniocentesis. Their laughter follows you everywhere, because deep down you think people are right to laugh at Julia. She really did choose the wrong guy.

You can’t help but feel as if Danny is somehow the real father of your child. The child was spawned from your seed, certainly, but Julia’s womb was available to you only because her life was spared through the benevolence of Danny. And now that you are in his employ, your child will be fed with Danny’s money. After all these years of viewing Danny from afar as the embodiment of the life you could have had, he is now in control of your life and everything it has to offer you. He hovers over you like a God, bestowing whatever happiness you may enjoy. This is all too much to bear and it brings you to the decision that Danny must be eliminated. You have a year in his employ to exact your vengeance. It will be just enough time.

Within just a few months of employment, you become a legend in the halls of Wipe-face.com. The staff members (“Facewipes,” they’re called) have heard the rumor that you helped Danny come up with the Wipe-face concept, and wanna know why you’re here. Why, if you are capable of the level of brilliance that could create a multi-million dollar online property devoted to pictures of people on toilets, have you not built your own Silicon Valley empire? Why are you working as an admin assistant at the company you helped found?

The mystery draws them to you. You represent the unexplainable ingredient that took a simple scatological concept and made them all millionaires. You manipulate their reverence and turn them against Danny, making them believe that you are the true creator of Wipe-Face.com, and Danny is nothing more than the grinning fraud at the helm.

On the eve of your one-year anniversary at the company, just hours before you are to be released from your agreement with Danny, you gather the Facewipes and lead them to Danny’s office. He is sitting behind his desk when you arrive, looking as if he’d summoned you.

“I’m sorry old friend,” you say. “I can’t have you controlling my fate any longer.”

“But who’s to say this isn’t my doing as well?” he says. “Perhaps I brought you on only because I knew you’d one day turn on me.”

You look into Danny’s eyes and you see no fear, only sadness. He wanted this. He planned even this. Clearly, as you’d always hoped, his vast wealth and unlimited power have only made him more miserable with every day (it happens!), and he craves only death. The only way to defy him is to let him live, but your fury takes control and you unleash his employees upon him.

The Facewipes club Danny and eat him, as is custom when power is transferred at a dot com. With Danny gone, the company is yours. You quickly run it into the ground because you don’t know how to run companies.

the end

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GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING