Lost Opportunity
While we're waiting for me to put a dent in this current job for Breygent, how about some words?
Did I ever tell you that I am the master of lost opportunities?
It's true!
I am constantly buggering up serendipitous moments.
Here are a one that comes to mind:
By now you know I was a huge fan of MAD Magazine growing up (okay, NOW you know). I was a regular subscriber through the early to late 80's and thanks to my dad, had also acquired quite a few MAD paperbacks from used book stores.
It was no surprise then that the news of Bill Gaines death in 1992 punched me hard in the emotional gut. I immediately began composing a letter to the MADmen to impart my sorrow over losing such an integral member of the Usual Gang of Idiots.
I don't have the letter near me, but it went something like this:
Dear, MAD
As a 15 year old with nothing on his mind but cartooning,
I am deeply saddened by the passing of Bill Gaines.
It is indeed a great loss for us all.
I'm not sure how much time had passed, but I suspect it was about 2 weeks, when I returned home from school to find my mom working in the kitchen. While preparing her world famous meatloaf she said, "Oh. . .you got a call from some guy today." I raised an eyebrow, "Some guy?"
"Yep" she continued, "Meglin something? I don't know. It may have been a wrong number."
Both eyebrows shot up to the sky! "MEGLIN??" I spat all over her meatloaf, "NICK MEGLIN??? He's the editor for MAD Magazine!"
"I think that was it." She replied, blotting her loaf with a dishtowel, "I have it written down here somewhere." And sure enough, she produced a small, pink "While You Were Out" note upon which was written the name Nick Meglin.
As I explained to my mother exactly who Nick MegIin was I said, "There's no phone number on here" turning the paper over and over again, hoping it would magically appear.
Well it turns out he'd left no number. He told my mom he would simply call back.
The wait was excruciating. One day passed. Then another! Then Another! I was left pondering this mysterious phone call, 'what on earth would the Editor of MAD Magazine be calling ME for???" Then I remembered the letter I had written! I ran to the store as soon as the new issue of MAD hit the newstands and thumbed to the Letters and Tomatoes page.
Sure enough! There I was! For all the world to see! My letter was printed, along with a dozen or so other sorrowful letters.
The victory was bittersweet. I'd finally made it into the pages of MAD, but only to express my deep regret for the passing of one of its members.
I continued to wait for Mr. Meglin's call. And wait.
Finally I'd had enough and I set out to call the MAD Magazine offices. This wasn't as easy as I thought. I called 411 and asked for the MAD offices in New York. And they gave me the number for New York 411. I called that number and after some real haggling with the operator (who had no idea what a mad magazine was), finally received what I thought may be the number to the front office at the magazine.
With trembling hands I dialed all 83 digits required to phone outside my area code. I was so nervous. . .why, even the RING was different than I'd heard before! It was like calling a foreign country!
A young lady answered, "MAD Magazine, how may I direct your call?"
I tried to sound as professional as possiible, "CAN I SPEAK TO NICK MEGLIN PLEASE??" I blurted.
In a calm voice she replied, "What is this regarding?"
I can't be sure of what I said next, but it was certainly a very non-linear, ambiguous description of the mysterious phone call in question. After a pause she said, "One moment".
I squirmed. I tapped my feet. I spat on some meat loaf.
After what seemed like forever she returned to the phone and said, "I'm sorry, but Mr. Meglin is at lunch. You'll have to try him back later."
"Oh. OK." I said. Hung up. And that was that.
I was so worked up over it that I never persued it further. I was emotionally drained and the prospect of going through it all over again was too much for my shy, little brain. So I didn't. A decision that haunts me to this day!
So what did Nick want from me that day? I may never know. Perhaps it was a courtesy call to everyone whose letter was printed. Perhaps he just wanted to thank those who had expressed their concern. Maybe my "15 year old trying to be a cartoonist" line struck a chord and he was calling with words of encouragement.
I'd like to think he was calling to offer me a freelance position with the company and by not calling me back he owes me 14 years of lost pay!
Whatever the case, I chose to not take a chance and paid for it.
It makes me so upset I could spit.
On a meat loaf.
Did I ever tell you that I am the master of lost opportunities?
It's true!
I am constantly buggering up serendipitous moments.
Here are a one that comes to mind:
By now you know I was a huge fan of MAD Magazine growing up (okay, NOW you know). I was a regular subscriber through the early to late 80's and thanks to my dad, had also acquired quite a few MAD paperbacks from used book stores.
It was no surprise then that the news of Bill Gaines death in 1992 punched me hard in the emotional gut. I immediately began composing a letter to the MADmen to impart my sorrow over losing such an integral member of the Usual Gang of Idiots.
I don't have the letter near me, but it went something like this:
Dear, MAD
As a 15 year old with nothing on his mind but cartooning,
I am deeply saddened by the passing of Bill Gaines.
It is indeed a great loss for us all.
I'm not sure how much time had passed, but I suspect it was about 2 weeks, when I returned home from school to find my mom working in the kitchen. While preparing her world famous meatloaf she said, "Oh. . .you got a call from some guy today." I raised an eyebrow, "Some guy?"
"Yep" she continued, "Meglin something? I don't know. It may have been a wrong number."
Both eyebrows shot up to the sky! "MEGLIN??" I spat all over her meatloaf, "NICK MEGLIN??? He's the editor for MAD Magazine!"
"I think that was it." She replied, blotting her loaf with a dishtowel, "I have it written down here somewhere." And sure enough, she produced a small, pink "While You Were Out" note upon which was written the name Nick Meglin.
As I explained to my mother exactly who Nick MegIin was I said, "There's no phone number on here" turning the paper over and over again, hoping it would magically appear.
Well it turns out he'd left no number. He told my mom he would simply call back.
The wait was excruciating. One day passed. Then another! Then Another! I was left pondering this mysterious phone call, 'what on earth would the Editor of MAD Magazine be calling ME for???" Then I remembered the letter I had written! I ran to the store as soon as the new issue of MAD hit the newstands and thumbed to the Letters and Tomatoes page.
Sure enough! There I was! For all the world to see! My letter was printed, along with a dozen or so other sorrowful letters.
The victory was bittersweet. I'd finally made it into the pages of MAD, but only to express my deep regret for the passing of one of its members.
I continued to wait for Mr. Meglin's call. And wait.
Finally I'd had enough and I set out to call the MAD Magazine offices. This wasn't as easy as I thought. I called 411 and asked for the MAD offices in New York. And they gave me the number for New York 411. I called that number and after some real haggling with the operator (who had no idea what a mad magazine was), finally received what I thought may be the number to the front office at the magazine.
With trembling hands I dialed all 83 digits required to phone outside my area code. I was so nervous. . .why, even the RING was different than I'd heard before! It was like calling a foreign country!
A young lady answered, "MAD Magazine, how may I direct your call?"
I tried to sound as professional as possiible, "CAN I SPEAK TO NICK MEGLIN PLEASE??" I blurted.
In a calm voice she replied, "What is this regarding?"
I can't be sure of what I said next, but it was certainly a very non-linear, ambiguous description of the mysterious phone call in question. After a pause she said, "One moment".
I squirmed. I tapped my feet. I spat on some meat loaf.
After what seemed like forever she returned to the phone and said, "I'm sorry, but Mr. Meglin is at lunch. You'll have to try him back later."
"Oh. OK." I said. Hung up. And that was that.
I was so worked up over it that I never persued it further. I was emotionally drained and the prospect of going through it all over again was too much for my shy, little brain. So I didn't. A decision that haunts me to this day!
So what did Nick want from me that day? I may never know. Perhaps it was a courtesy call to everyone whose letter was printed. Perhaps he just wanted to thank those who had expressed their concern. Maybe my "15 year old trying to be a cartoonist" line struck a chord and he was calling with words of encouragement.
I'd like to think he was calling to offer me a freelance position with the company and by not calling me back he owes me 14 years of lost pay!
Whatever the case, I chose to not take a chance and paid for it.
It makes me so upset I could spit.
On a meat loaf.