Well, alrighty then. A lot has happened recently.
Lemme see if I can whip it up in chronological order.
So, Monday. On Monday, we were supposed to get started on working out the details of the live sections of our broadcast. As such, it was also the official, stone-hard deadline for all non-live programs. Everything had to be finished, marked (write down total length, last image seen and last sound heard) and packed up before Monday morning.
I was actually surprised by the fact that we managed to do that. The first time we've ever actually managed to keep a deadline.
How Naïve. This was, of course, merely the period
between sketches, not the end. We started the filming of a new sketch Monday afternoon. Hey, all material started before the deadline was finished...
The fun thing is that, due to one of the FTV guys going through a depression that has lasted a couple weeks now (he is currently home, being useless), I got to be the lead role. I was to be a superhero, whose special power was...
Well, let's just figure out the minor details later. First, we need a costume. Oh, by the way, he's got square eyes (caused by playing video games too much as a child).
Later...
I am standing on a snow-covered roof, looking down at the waiting film crew. I can't see squat out of my left eye, because there is a camera viewfinder with red tape blocking the lens covering it. There is a similar device over my right eye, obscuring my vision even more.
But I do not need sight to know that I am wearing black combat boots, lime green tights, a funky purple-and-pink striped shirt, a hot pink cape, and a backwards gas mask with crazy eyes taped into the lenses. I am holding a blue round sled in my left hand. It is my trusty shield. Never leave home without it.
The Square is born.
And that's pretty much that. We created the greatest superhero the world has never known or even wanted to know about. A superhero who has devoted his life to fighting crime for reasons so obscure that nobody knows them. A superhero who evaporates criminals by zapping them with a TV remote. A superhero who has only one cheesy remark.
"I have beaten you fair and square!"
I am absolutely dreadful at providing an appropriate voice for such a character. However, I believe I was the only person who would have been willing to dress up in such a mind-boggling outfit. Did I mention it was cold and windy, and that green tights are not known for their insulation abilities? Did I also mention that wearing a gas mask backwards will compress your head to the point of getting a headache? Let us not forget the joy of having your vision reduced by 80%, thanks to a pair of rather uncomfortable thingies that have been taped on to your face.
But guess what? Totally worth it.
While we were sitting down in the basement and editing this fine piece of craftsmanship, I looked at the time (10:00, when rounds begin) and remembered something. This was Monday, the last day the current week slaves would go on the rounds.
No way I could let them go without saying goodbye...
I told John Smith (he was the one who actually came up with this whole thing) to send me a text message when the slaves left that housing complex. I rushed upstairs and grabbed the janitor costume, and then made a detour to John's room to grab the gas mask we had used during filming (this was a suggestion from John Smith, and a very fine one at that).
Now all I had to do was figure out where I should hide and what I should do. There's a room down in the basement of the big housing building (which comes just after the little housing structure on the slave rounds checklist) that has been unlocked for some time, even though it's not supposed to be. Since the room is normally locked, it's not on the checklist. I ducked inside and began making my plans.
I locked the door to ensure that nobody would try and open it (or even pay much attention to it). The idea was that, when the slaves came, I would wait until they had moved a short distance beyond the door. I would then forcefully unlock the door (deadbolt lock systems are fun), creating an unusual sound. This would throw them off-guard, preparing them for the next move. The next move, of course, was to crash through the door at high speed and then charge down the hallway at them, howling madly through the distorting effect of the gas mask.
However, I had misjudged the speed of the slaves. I was sitting in that room for half an hour, waiting. I started to get bored and wandered around a bit. I mean, hey, I'd get a warning anyways. May as well chill before that.
I was messing around on the other side of the room when I heard someone go past the door. Girl voices, talking, accompanied by the rustle of plastic bags. They were here.
I dashed over to the door to position myself in time. This was inhibited both by my attempting to be quiet, and by the insane amount of junk littering the floor. I was not making very quick progress.
About halfway across the room, my phone beeps. I had just received a text message. Wonder who it could be?
I stop at the door and listen. I could still hear them. Good, I thought, they haven't moved on yet. I waited a couple moments until I judged that they had moved to the perfect unlocking spot. With a snap of my wrist, the lock is flung open with a nice, sharp, click. I wait for the response.
...
Nothing. What's going on here?
I jump out the door and look down the hallway. Nobody there.
The hallway in the basement is dealt up into two sections, with a door in between. I figure, okay, they were farther away than I thought, and have moved into the other section. I begin running down the hallway, and crash through the dividing door at full speed, casting me into the next section.
Which is completely empty, except for me. I fear I may have missed the chance of a lifetime, and quickly make my way farther down the hall to see if I can catch up with them.
Out on the other side, there is the bottom of a staircase and the entrance into the washroom (or rather, the corridor leading to the washroom). I can hear them now, but I can't figure out where the voices are coming from. If they've already gone upstairs, I just missed out big time.
But, looking at the washroom door, I see the light is still on. Excellent, I still have a chance.
I position myself at the door and wait, occasionally sneaking a glance through the window partition in order to check and make sure they're not silently making their way back.
However, silence is not the strong point of teenage girls. Particularly not when they're trying to keep the darkness of night out of their heads. I hear them clearly as they come back through the corridor. I wait... I wait...
I pounce.
It's a night like the others. Going around, picking up trash, locking doors, turning off lights, the usual affair. A couple of the guys from Film and TV are working late and have asked us to leave their section unlocked for a little longer, so that they can complete whatever it is they're working on. It looks like a sandwich toaster to me, but whatever.
That nutcase from FTV hasn't bothered us at all since that first night, which is good. I think I would have kicked him in
his nut case if he tried to pull another spook on us after that. Honestly, some people...
The washroom. A lot of old clothes that have been dry for several weeks just sitting in piles, but it's one of the nicer places on the rounds. At least it's light in here, not like that hallway... Damn that place is creepy.
Well, turn off the lights, close the door. At least this is the last basement we have to go down into for the rounds. And it's even the last time we have to do this. It's a shame the guy didn't show up to go on the rounds with us, it always feels safer when you've got three people instead of just two. Not that there's anything to-
Fear. Screaming. The deranged howl of a madman, distorted by the filtering effects of a black rubber gas mask pulled over his head. The crouched, jittery movements as he rushes towards the two girls, his intent unfathomable behind the solid glass protecting his eyes.
I have never heard someone scream so long and so hard before in my life. Horror movies cannot do this. Fake spiders cannot do this. Only the irrational, irrefutable knowledge that a lunatic is going to murder you. Only that can cause total brain lockdown like this.
I stop in front of them and let them lose their breath to the several seconds of top-volume they have just serenaded me with. I watch as realization dawns over the one girl, and her eyes squeeze shut in a laugh that takes up the last of her oxygen reserves.
I watch as the other girl's expression changes from blank, mindless terror to peeved fury. She begins flogging me with a key. The puffy sleeves of the Janitor's jacket protect me from whatever harm might have come from being whipped by such a small piece of metal. My head, freed from the stuffy and irritating gas mask (now that I no longer need it), is pitched back in a hearty gut-chuckle.
I walk with them down the corridor and out to the stairs. I can see that they're still buzzing with terror from being scared three-quarters of the way to death. This thought-numbing buzz is probably what prevented the girl from making good on her promise to shove her fist so far up my ass she could scratch my nose with it.
At the stairs, a concerned onlooker looks on from above. She was apparently passing by up above and got spooked by the screaming. Three hits in one shot. Not bad.
Oh, but the party ain't quite over yet. They head into the library to clean up in there, and I hear them talking with the late-night webusers sitting at the computer array. I reapply my gas mask and wait outside the door.
After a rather long wait (my roommate was inside, and apparently felt the need to recite a speech he had just written to the two girls before they continued on with their work), someone opened the door. I shove my masked face into the crack and bellow psychotically at the poor girl who just opened it.
Not one of the slaves, just an innocent bystander who had finished up her browsing activities so that they could clean up. The two slaves were actually in the process of telling her about the scare when she opened the door.
I made my escape before they could take combined action against me. Down in the editing room, surrounded by the delightful smell of burned curry toast (John Smith has some very, very strange tastes), I retired my costume and recounted the story of the two little girls and the big bad maniac. I also thanked him for the invaluable heads-up he sent me via text message.
The moral of this story is to never underestimate a rubber mask. Or good timing, for that matter.
However, the peeved girl vowed to warn the next group of my nighttime activities. It would seem my attention levels have gone up, and the difficulty has been raised. But I am no longer alone in my fight... For I am aided by the two girls from Theater in scaring this latest batch of student labor.
All I have to do is give them a night to forget the wise words of warning from their predecessor...
In other news, we got to watch a scene from a play on Monday. Theater class has apparently been working with more serious acting lately, and we got the first treat on Monday. Very well done, especially considering the difficulty involved (only one person in the entire scene. She had to carry the whole thing herself). The play was "
Av måneskinn gror det ingenting" (Norwegian link. Not much help for those who don't include that in their languages).
In other other news, band class had a concert today. That includes me.
Did we have a song that we had been practicing for the last several classes? Yes, actually. Did we play that one? No.
What did we play? Two songs that were decided during the three hours we have of band class. "Killing Me Softly" was the first one to come up as a suggestion. While trying to figure out what else to play, I started doodling around on my guitar. This included poking my memory of Sweet Home Alabama (I have spent so much time playing my own stuff that I had pretty much forgotten it). Teacher heard me and suggested that one. Strongly.
So, yeah. I had to re-teach my fingers the riff while our singer (who had NEVER HEARD THE SONG BEFORE) listened to the copy on my phone in order to figure out how it all went. I spent my time trying to remember the blasted chords to Killing Me Softly while practicing the Sweet Home Alabama riff. It was around this time I realized just how colossally f***ed we were.
But it worked out alright. Yeah, so I forgot the latter half of the chords to Killing Me Softly, but that was okay, because we were playing a funky Latin-esque version of it, and I could just solo a while using a blues scale. Yeah, so I thunked the riff a couple times and stumbled over a few other parts of Sweet Home Alabama, but that was okay, because I was wearing a hat.
Hey, it makes a difference. At least I was moving around a bit (as much as I could without screwing up my playing even more), which is more than could be said of the two singers. Compared to the practice sessions, the music was worse. But the performance was better, and that's really all that matters.
After our two songs came the blues group. They got to play a song they had practiced for several classes. After that, they played a song they had actually
written. Then came a funky blues jam. Easy as it comes.
Lucky bastards...
But meh. At least we got to play Sweet Home at least once in the school year. Even if it
was a weird fusion mutant version of it...
And so here I am, stinking from the nerve-sweat and listening to Aerosmith, and somehow I feel the need to tell you all about it. Well, I hope you're happy, you ungrateful bastards.
Cheers. Now let me get some sleep...
P.S.
I don't think anyone took pictures. Dammit... And I actually had a nice outfit. Oh yeah, speaking of outfits, we had our school picture taken today. Guess what I wore?
Yes, I wore the Lucifer outfit from the last elevkveld (suit, gloves, hat, cane, everything. I wasn't allowed to wear the hat for the picture however). Guess who else dressed up for the school picture?
That's right, nobody. I am the only formally-clad goon in the whole shebang. Just like the Christmas card picture (which I never got, actually... Strange).
Well, I've always been outstanding. Now I just happen to be standing out more than usual.
EDIT: Wow, that's a big one. I wonder how many words I've written throughout the course of this thread... Sure as hell don't feel like counting.
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Topic: Sandy Fjord (Read 96310 times)