The waiting room is sterile. There are no anvils, ACME products or any life-giving melodrama.
Some humans are full of inspiration. Not these humans. The producer is a full on J.E.R.K. who doesn’t understand the value of talent. I hate waiting. How do humans endure it? I need action, humor, drama, and excitement. Besides, that’s what the humans expect from me. My diaper is full again and it itches. Why in the world did they make me this way? They don’t pay me enough.
“Mr. Vanderloop will see you now.” The secretary behind the granite desk has oversized pearly teeth and her hair is so bleached it’s practically white.
Mr. Stinkypants glared at her. Yeah? Now, who’s the cartoon?
Mr. Vanderloop’s office isn’t that much more livable. There is a wall of impressive looking unread books. There is a trolley stocked with expensive liquors. The leather couch looks new but its been lumped here, untouched for years.
Mr. Vanderloop stands and puts his hands on his desk. His pinstripe suit gives him a used-car salesman appearance. “Mr. Stinkypants, come in. What can I do for you?”
I sit opposite his oversized desk in a chair with legs so low that I can barely see over the edge. “I think you know.” I grumble with as deep a voice as I can manage, given my naturally high-pitched resonance.
Mr. Vanderloop clears his voice, goes over to the alcohol cart and asks, “Can I offer you a vodka?”
I sneer, “Cute. You know what that would do to my colors?” One of my friends could only work in impressionist films after experimenting with that stuff. There were rumors that if properly applied; it could be used to help a guy reinvent himself into anyone he wanted to be.
“You seem upset Mr. Stinkypants. Do the shocks on your baby carriage need readjusting?” The man is smiling with insincerity. He knows why I’m here and is implying that I am just another insufferable actor with unrealistic expectations.
Deep breath. “I demand a raise.” Even now my diaper is leaking onto the pleather chair.
“You seem overly upset. The budget is tight right now. Your latest film was too indulgent and introspective. The kids seem to prefer your brand of scatological humor. Go back to what made you a success, and you can try renegotiating with me again then.” He sat down with finality. “Tell my secretary to send in the classical guitar player, Mr. Pickles.”
They need me more than I need them. I’m sticking to my guns. “I’m not leaving without a raise.”
Mr. Vanderloop shakes his head with a wry smile. “Is that your final decision?”
I put my baby fists on my hips. “It is!”
“Then Mr. Stinkypants, you are fired!” He stands up while pressing a button. Instantly two oversized weevils with machine guns enter, drag me from the room, toss me out the window. I fall for several hundred stories and land on a greyhound bus. It takes me into the sunset.
Life’s a lot like what’s in my diaper.