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PREVIOUSLY:
- The Department of Regulated Industries vs. Everything good and decent in the world. Plus: how Jill overcame a phobia (hint: it was by passing out.)
- In which Jill gets in trouble with a temporary staffing service. PLUS: Chico gets hired. ALSO: Paintings of the walking dead.
- A Season of Baby Ashley
- Terminal Fatigue
- Sexxxy
- Andee is a Genius
(I composed the following diary of the Cup and Saucer junket to the Midwest Food Expo in the pages of a Tom Clancy’s Young Assassins Strike Force spiral notebook, a licensed tie-in with Tom Clancy’s Young Assassins Strike Force series of novels for young people.)
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2001
8:15 a.m.
Mark and I arrive via shuttle bus at Kansas City International Airport. Neither one of us owns a car and Jill has refused to let us ride in the limousine. She is now in the Executive Lounge drinking mimosas with the high-rollers and business travelers. National Guardsmen in close-combat gear patrol the airport with assault rifles and generally look uncomfortable and out-of-place. I recognize Two Skymall representatives by their laminated ID tags. They keep looking over at me, and I try to avoid their glances.
Jill has made it abundantly clear that the only reason she brought us along is because she’s annoyed with Ira, her accountant, and she thinks expensing two extraneous coach-class tickets to Chicago will make his life more difficult. At first, she’d planned to take Jen and Diana, but then realized that would entail leaving me at the Cup and Saucer unsupervised for three days.
“But — I want to come,” Diana had said.
“Diana, if I leave Chris in charge for three days, then I guess the terrorists really have flown their airplanes into the World Trade Center.” Jill unconsciously absorbs new rhetoric, and equally unconsciously forces it through a literalistic filter in her head.
At the security gate, the metal detector starts beeping before Mark even gets close. When he does, the beeping increases to a frantic pitch. “This must be the guy,” says one of the security guards. “Sir, we think the detectors started picking something up while you were still in the parking lot. Please empty your pockets.” Mark draws himself up to his full 5′6″, and says, “I. Beg. Your. Pardon.” Mark is capable of a high degree of outrage, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this offended.
Two National Guardsmen become interested in the exchange and wander over, and Mark is convinced to empty his pockets into a plastic tray, which he fills with metal flatware, a cheese grater, three box knives, a Zippo lighter, two corkscrews, a Leatherman multi-tool, a package of loose razor blades, kitchen scissors, and a Japanese meat cleaver.
“Sir,” says the security guard. “I have to ask: Have you ever heard of a thing called ‘watching broadcast news on the television?’”
“Ha ha, you’re Harpo Marx,” I say to Mark. “Lend me some of your sharp plane-hijacking implements before you start the long, boring harp solo, so I can jam them into my eardrums.”
I start to saunter through the security gate, when I’m lifted forcibly off the ground and dragged aside by the Skymall reps. “If you pick up your seat-back phone,” one of them tells me through gritted teeth, “You’d better be prepared to order some high-quality merchandise.” He twists my arm, and I try not to shout “OWIE,” which attempt fails miserably.
“I think he’s serious,” says the other Skymall rep. “You want a cigarette?”
“Sure!” I say.
He gives me a Marlboro, and lights it for me. Then, the first rep Dynasty-slaps me across the face, open-handed, knocking the cigarette out of my mouth.
“All areas inside the airport are designated non-smoking, pal,” he says. He rolls up a Skymall catalog and shoves it into the front pocket of my jeans. “Here you go. For the flight.”
After a rigorous search and interrogation, airport security lets us board the plane, which is the first time all morning that we actually lay eyes on Jill. On our way to Coach, we have to walk through First Class, where she has an aisle seat. She’s got the SkyMall catalog open in her lap, and she’s on the seat-back phone, ordering many expensive items in the hope that they will be difficult for Ira the accountant to explain to the IRS. She pretends not to see us as we walk by. “The deep-plunge maillot swimsuit in black,” she says. “Size 1. I’ve been putting on some weight. Of COURSE I want it waiting at the gate.”
We arrive in Chicago around noon. We’re met at the arrival gate by a chauffeur and two representatives of SkyMall. Jill’s SkyMall purchases are stacked on two dollies, which they wheel out to the limo. They manage to fit most of the boxes in the trunk, but Mark and I are tasked with transporting an Inversion Stretch Station ($249.95) on an airport shuttle bus, which garners the iciest Lake Michigan glares from passengers and driver.
1:30 p.m.
We hit the floor at the convention center. Jill rightly determines that the Segway Transporter ($4,950.00) she ordered from SkyMall is way too dorky to consider using, so we let Mark ride it. As he disappears into the crowd at 15 miles per hour, we can hear the distant sounds of collisions with booth walls, appliance displays, and people. We will not see him again until Sunday.
“Chris, find Mark,” Jill says. She’s distracted, here, by an episode of The View playing on her Hammacher Schlemmer wristwatch TV (SkyMall: $199.95). She adds, vaguely, “And bring me a bulleted list of restaurant trends by the end of the day, or you’re, like, fired, or something.” Then she phones for a car to pick her up and take her shopping.
By the end of the day, I have not found Mark, and I’ve plagiarized a bulleted list called “Top Trends in Restaurants 2001″ from a PowerPoint presentation at an exotic foods seminar. Jill looks at it distractedly, and says, “Oh. Pan-searing is a hot trend? Very 1993, Chris.”
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2001
7:30 a.m.
Rumours of Mark abound. Tales circulate among the expo attendees and convention center staff of a mysterious cargo shorts-wearing man who rides up to cooking demonstrations on a Segway, gorges himself on free samples, and rides away. “Some say he’s from a restaurant/coffee house in Kansas City,” a security guard tells Jill.
She says, “Really? That’s so interesting! I run a Tex-Mex cafe in New Rochelle!” And meanwhile, shoving her laminated 3-day MRFSE pass in her Fendi Brown Zucca Baguette Handbag (SkyMall: $540.00).
The guard looks at me, then squints at MY laminated pass. “Hey,” he says. Then, “HEY!” Jill looks at me, looks at my pass, and pretends to be astonished. “Officer!” she says. “Arrest this man!” I take off running. Thanks to my daily 5-mile run, and the copious amounts of creatine I consume, I easily outpace him. Unfortunately, he has a radio, and he sends out the rent-a-cop version of an APB with my description. Great. He’s got a whole team of doughy, GED-holding securi-temps. Who have I got in my corner? I think quickly, whip out my phone, and call SkyMall.
I manage to dodge security for about an hour, when, thanks to Jill’s SkyMall Preferred Customer status, I receive free delivery of my Bausch & Lomb yellow-tinted shooting range protective glasses ($199.00) and a U.S.S. Constitution Navy ball cap. ($12.95)
Disguised as Tom Clancy, I go back into the Convention Center to search for Mark. I don’t have any luck, but I’m constantly approached by autograph-seeking technothriller aficionados. I tell them I’m doing research for a novel about a restaurant employee whose overbearing female employer is totally unaware that he’s actually a covert operative for a military anti-terrorism unit. Note: this is actually a genius idea for a novel.
As the crowd of my fans disperses, I notice a cluster of unbathed, needle-tracked street trash, from whence wafts the pleasant fragrance of CK One. “Excuse me,” says a voice behind me. “But can I possibly interest you in the purchase of any of a variety of ‘Designer’ fragrances at rock-bottom prices?”
When I turn around to say the word “No,” followed by a participle that once got me interred in detention, followed by “way,” I am confronted with Amy, the world’s most beautiful designer impostor perfume peddler, and instead, I say, “I’ll take the Acqua de Gio, Sean John, Hugo, L’Eau d’Issey, Armani Black Code, and also Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds if you have any.”
“Are you Tom Clancy?” she says. “Because I once saw The Hunt for Red October on an airplane.”
I take off my disguise. “No, it’s me, Chris,” I say. “From the Cup and Saucer. What are you doing here?”
“Chris! It’s wonderful to see you,” she says, which is so unbelievably awesome that I am totally writing it a second time: “Chris! It’s wonderful to see you. Unfortunately, our current road trip did not reach its apogee at the Missouri state border, as was our intended itinerary; rather, we continued driving until reaching Chicago, and I am unsure about when we will return to Kansas City.”
“You’ve been kidnapped by a designer impostor perfume company?” I ask.
“It does seem a bit shady, lately,” she says.
“Amy!” shouts Two-Fry Johnson, entering suddenly through the convention center’s sliding glass doors. “Get your ass in the Dodge Caravan. We’re headed to Michigan!” One of her smack-addicted coworkers grabs her by the arm, pulling her toward the door.
“Chris!” she shouts. “I think I would rather stay with you!” But they pull her out the door, and she’s hustled into the idling minivan.
“There he is!” shouts a security guard, and I remember I’ve removed my Tom Clancy disguise. I turn and run, and manage to blend into a passing group of Benihana chefs. I’m supposed to be looking for Mark, but now I know I have to save Amy from Two-Fry Limited Designer Fragrances.
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