-------------------------------- Note 25 graper/users *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 6:16 am b williams / udps Dear Ben: Hey, how ya been? Me? Not too good. I got this lousy job in Philly, usher at a theater and all, you know, flashlight and stupid tie and "Get your feet off the seat!" and "No foods or drinks in da theater!" and stuff. I'm telling you. I mean, look, it's not too great living in the city. Ethnically, racially and socially I am a definite minority. You've been up there, haven't you? You know, drunks and young punks pushing you around and blown out buildings burnt down to the ground, smashed up glass getting stuck on your feet and filthy kids playing out in the street. . . Philadelphia. Look. Out there. The Orthodox church of the Holy Sepulcher of Saint Leroy, glowing golden in the evening shine of a million floodlamps from the stadium. Bump. What? There's a certain nervousness in being the only ---------------------------------------- Response 1 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 6:17 am b williams / udps white person in the store. People eye me. Cautiously. Don't look at them directly. It incites them. Uhhh, what was I here for? Christ, I hate shopping in this lousy supermarket. They never have what you want and if it's here you get screwed by the price. A black female begins shouting at her female child. "Anjuh, anjuh, poodat dow', POO-DAT DOWWW!!!" (Roughly, "Angel! Angel! Put that down! Put that DOWN!"). The child rips open a box of Count Chocula cereal and her mother rips it from her and drops the spilling container onto the floor. There's all sorts of garbage on the floor. This place was ripped off just a week ago. Saw it on the 11 o'clock Eyewitness News. Why am I here? Oh yes, my barbequed Potato Chip supply was running down. Grab. Walk. Stand in line. Wait. Look at ratty Supermarket newspapers. ---------------------------------------- Response 2 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 6:29 am b williams / ocbix * graper / users / uofdel 12/29/80 9:02 pm * "JOHN LENNON'S SECRET DEATH PACT!!" one says. I am probably one of three people in this store who knows who John Lennon was. The check-out person rings up the bag of chips. "One dollah fiffy five," she says and holds out her hand. A radiochromatograph of her head would be all blue except for a tiny dot of red at the base of her cortex where only the most simple thinking takes place. A oversized black 18 year old 185 pound male pops my bag of chips into a grocery bag and then holds out his hand. He wants a tip. A radiochromatograph of my head at this moment would show two red areas, one in the frontal lobes of my cerebrum and another larger area centering in the part that connects the brain to the spine. The space between these two red areas would be a light green, showing moderate brain activity in the mathematico/logical sectors as opposed to the higher activity in the centers which control glandular and muscular activity depicted in red. ---------------------------------------- Response 3 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 6:54 am b williams / ocbix Milliseconds pass. An emergency session of the board of directors is called. "The hand, gentlemen, the hand____! What do we make of it?" The chief science officer steepled his fingers. "The most logical and obvious meaning derived is that he wants some form of pecuniary reward for his admittedly puny task of putting a single bag of barbeque potato chips into the grocery bag." "Dammit, it can't be that simple!" the chief medical officer interjected. "I_ think he's saying, 'Slap me five!' or 'Give me some skin, man'!" "Illogical, doctor. . ." "Alright, alright, enough arguing," the captain stated flatly. "Let's examine our alternatives. What if we don't give him a tip?" "Then we might not get the barbequed potato chips," the science officer replied. "Captain," the engineer pleaded, "We kinna gae without the barbeque chips nae longer! It'll be at least ---------------------------------------- Response 4 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 7:32 am b williams / ocbix a week afore we kin refuel in a safe port!" "Noted. Well, how much of a tip should we give him?" "According to my calculations," the science officer said, "for moving one 12 ounce bag of potato chips fifteen inches, precisely three point eight six cents." "Dammit, that'll get us killed______! We're surrounded__________ by enemy vessels!!" the medical officer once more inter- jected. Suddenly, the intercom beeped. "Yes?" the captain asked. "Communications, sir. It's been clarified--he wants a tip. And quickly." "Thank you. Well, that seems to clear that up, gentlemen." The captain looked at the others in the briefing room. "I'll take it from here." So I give the guy a tip. Fifty cents. About one third of the price of the item. I admit, I was intimidated. ---------------------------------------- Response 5 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 7:32 am b williams / ocbix Look, we'll walk home the safe way. Yeah. On Pine Street. Look, nobody but Chinese people live here so it's no problem, well, except for that house over on the left, no, dammit, NO! Don't point, you want them to see? No, don't look like. . .no, don't stare_____, jesus, we'll get stomped. Working in the theater is kind of funky. It's sort of a classy joint, and lots of rich types go there and some bring really old relatives who are in wheelchairs and have portable breathing machines. Yeah. I know. I work at the wheelchair door and get to help wheel them around and help carry them to their seats and stuff. Most of these folks are real inconsiderate, getting seats right in the center of these long goddamn rows of seats and then I gotta pick up this old man and___ this three ton allegedly-portable breathing machine with another guy and we look at each other and silently nod our heads, one, two, three, HEAAAAAAVE uhhhmm breath all held in and ---------------------------------------- Response 6 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 7:43 am b williams / ocbix come on, ummm, get people to stand up, come on, please, stand up so I can get this fellow to his seat, come on, would you quit talking with your fucking friend, come on, oh christ, alright, we're almost there, whoa-WHOA, jeez, almost slipped, somebody left candy on the floor, uh-oh, now I'm holding him wrong! his goddamn eyes are bugging out! his daughter comes up and readjusts his breathing tube which I seem to have fucked up somehow, whew, alright, now that's working, keep going, god this guy is heavy, alright, hey? what are these folks doing in his seat? What? What? His daughter says this isn't the right seat? She made a mistake? His seats are up there on the. . .balcony_______??? oh christ, HEAVE, back to the wheelchair, oh shit, knocked out the tube again, my goodness, he's certainly not enjoying this in the least, will somebody please______ fix this tube? Alright. . . . Whew. Ten minutes later. Everybody feels embarassed. The young handsome husband gives me a tip. Fifty cents. ---------------------------------------- Response 7 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 7:43 am b williams / ocbix * graper / users / uofdel 12/29/80 9:35 pm * Your Friend, Dr. Graper ---------------------------------------- Response 8 of 8 *** A Story by Dr. Graper *** 12/30/80 7:44 am b williams / ocbix * graper / users / uofdel 12/29/80 9:37 pm * Dear Ben: Incidentally, I couldn't get into =grapenotes=. Whose fascist move was that? Your Friend, Dr. Graper