I have no idea what's wrong with me except that i'm dead sexy.
As some of you may know this semester at CSUN all i'm taking is one required class which is CTVA 341, single-camera production. The course primarily is composed of 3 video projects but we do actually have a writing assignment of all things to tell two stories: one fictional, one real. The point of the assignment is to then present these two stories and with what the teacher hopes to be good storytelling make it hard for her and the class to discern which one of the stories is true and which one is fake. So, read these two stories and everyone but PAUL!!! can answer which one they think is real or not.
Story 1
I remember growing up and always hearing the phrase “the customer is always right.” Every time I heard this I always acknowledged this concept, agreed with it, and thought it was an immortal concept to build on when working and selling to people. This all changed when I actually entered the workforce, specifically in retail. One particular day always stands out in mind when thinking of what the public really thinks and does in retail stores; that day was when I met the cure for cancer.
In my workplace we sell all types of PC’s, ranging from very basic laptops to middle-end desktops so quite often my customers knowledge of computers would range from very little, to very knowledgable. On one particular day I happened to approach a man and his wife in the laptop aisle to see if any help was needed. The man then proceeded to tell me in extreme details why he can’t purchase laptops and it was quite a fascinating condition he claimed to have; laptops burn him in his fingers because of radiation and will give him breast cancer. My response was of course “oh, really?” and proceeded to calculate how much time it must have been since this man has bathed. From here he proceeded to tell me that has the power to actually cure cancer, has been the cure since the 1960’s but couldn’t actually prove it till now, which is a moot point since the government won’t “get back to him,” as he puts it.
Ten minutes pass, stories of him working for the CIA are tossed about (mostly involving him as an undetectable “bleep” on the radar in foreign countries as he said) and how he was a voice trainer for N’sync, the most epic of literally smelly conversations came to a close with his wife saying a minute long enchantment with a religious gem over one of the laptop displays and finally proclaimed “this one is OK. It might not give you breast cancer, honey.” They didn’t buy anything.
Story 2
It was the summer of 2007: my friend’s Sean, Alex and I were on our seventh day of our nine day road-trip through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas heading home and at this point we were spending our day in a homely town called Roswell, New Mexico. It just so happened to be the 50th anniversary of “the landing” so we were of course assuming a huge celebration of some sort throughout the town. We quickly realized this was not the case and decided to endure what we hoped would be a simple tour of the “crash site” which in truth ended up being one of the most grotesquely weird and obnoxious tours to date.
During our stay in Roswell, New Mexico a convention was taking place at their local town center with all types of booths, boutiques, and trades. One such booth was advertising a tour of the historical crash landing of an alien 50 years prior. Being the naïve young men we were we quickly decided that this might actually be the only redeeming facet of what appeared to be a boring, crystal meth town. We then slapped the $25 charge for each of us down on the table, proceeded to the tour bus and embarked on the most ill-fated waste of money ever.
When we sat on the bus we sat next to a family with two twin babies being cradled by each of the parents. I’ve always enjoyed children but at the same time these babies made me realize a wholly truth. Not all babies are cuter, more loving, younger versions of us. They can be the same obnoxious noise torture of a jackhammer. Five minutes into the tour my friend Sean gets barfed on. His body literally reacts in an almost “Kramer” fashion flinging the throw-up onto an elderly woman sitting across from him on the bus. The tour quide meanwhile sees what just happened, continues their nonsense story about government cover up of Roswell, and I can’t help but burst out in laughter and disgust at the same time. Not more than 10 seconds later, a man because of the fumes of the baby chunks, throws up as well all over himself and even manages somehow to get it on his glasses. Luckily no one else was hit with the flying debris. Even then after this, the tour guide is still continuing to drabble over the history of this monumental day 50 years ago.
As we finally got near the crash site we quickly realized we paid $25 to get a tour on a pile of dirt. The smell of throw up is still in the air, the evil twin babies are still crying and screaming, and the tour guide finally decides to trek to the back of the bus. Now, one would assume that the tour guide would at least acknowledge that an event of throw up has occurred. He steps over the throw up, still talking barely glancing down. As he continues to talk, he then walks backwards, steps into the throw up, slips and falls on top of it, drenching himself. Finally, after we’re all in the most disgusted mood of our lives, the tour guide has a panic attack, tells the bus driver to stop and hurriedly exits the bus. Meanwhile, all the tourists are still in the middle of this stinky bus, the babies are crying and some man exclaims “screw this!” and leaves. I think it was at this point that everyone now realized they paid $25 to see a pile of dirt. Moral of the story: only join tours that take suggested donations.
Story 1
I remember growing up and always hearing the phrase “the customer is always right.” Every time I heard this I always acknowledged this concept, agreed with it, and thought it was an immortal concept to build on when working and selling to people. This all changed when I actually entered the workforce, specifically in retail. One particular day always stands out in mind when thinking of what the public really thinks and does in retail stores; that day was when I met the cure for cancer.
In my workplace we sell all types of PC’s, ranging from very basic laptops to middle-end desktops so quite often my customers knowledge of computers would range from very little, to very knowledgable. On one particular day I happened to approach a man and his wife in the laptop aisle to see if any help was needed. The man then proceeded to tell me in extreme details why he can’t purchase laptops and it was quite a fascinating condition he claimed to have; laptops burn him in his fingers because of radiation and will give him breast cancer. My response was of course “oh, really?” and proceeded to calculate how much time it must have been since this man has bathed. From here he proceeded to tell me that has the power to actually cure cancer, has been the cure since the 1960’s but couldn’t actually prove it till now, which is a moot point since the government won’t “get back to him,” as he puts it.
Ten minutes pass, stories of him working for the CIA are tossed about (mostly involving him as an undetectable “bleep” on the radar in foreign countries as he said) and how he was a voice trainer for N’sync, the most epic of literally smelly conversations came to a close with his wife saying a minute long enchantment with a religious gem over one of the laptop displays and finally proclaimed “this one is OK. It might not give you breast cancer, honey.” They didn’t buy anything.
Story 2
It was the summer of 2007: my friend’s Sean, Alex and I were on our seventh day of our nine day road-trip through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas heading home and at this point we were spending our day in a homely town called Roswell, New Mexico. It just so happened to be the 50th anniversary of “the landing” so we were of course assuming a huge celebration of some sort throughout the town. We quickly realized this was not the case and decided to endure what we hoped would be a simple tour of the “crash site” which in truth ended up being one of the most grotesquely weird and obnoxious tours to date.
During our stay in Roswell, New Mexico a convention was taking place at their local town center with all types of booths, boutiques, and trades. One such booth was advertising a tour of the historical crash landing of an alien 50 years prior. Being the naïve young men we were we quickly decided that this might actually be the only redeeming facet of what appeared to be a boring, crystal meth town. We then slapped the $25 charge for each of us down on the table, proceeded to the tour bus and embarked on the most ill-fated waste of money ever.
When we sat on the bus we sat next to a family with two twin babies being cradled by each of the parents. I’ve always enjoyed children but at the same time these babies made me realize a wholly truth. Not all babies are cuter, more loving, younger versions of us. They can be the same obnoxious noise torture of a jackhammer. Five minutes into the tour my friend Sean gets barfed on. His body literally reacts in an almost “Kramer” fashion flinging the throw-up onto an elderly woman sitting across from him on the bus. The tour quide meanwhile sees what just happened, continues their nonsense story about government cover up of Roswell, and I can’t help but burst out in laughter and disgust at the same time. Not more than 10 seconds later, a man because of the fumes of the baby chunks, throws up as well all over himself and even manages somehow to get it on his glasses. Luckily no one else was hit with the flying debris. Even then after this, the tour guide is still continuing to drabble over the history of this monumental day 50 years ago.
As we finally got near the crash site we quickly realized we paid $25 to get a tour on a pile of dirt. The smell of throw up is still in the air, the evil twin babies are still crying and screaming, and the tour guide finally decides to trek to the back of the bus. Now, one would assume that the tour guide would at least acknowledge that an event of throw up has occurred. He steps over the throw up, still talking barely glancing down. As he continues to talk, he then walks backwards, steps into the throw up, slips and falls on top of it, drenching himself. Finally, after we’re all in the most disgusted mood of our lives, the tour guide has a panic attack, tells the bus driver to stop and hurriedly exits the bus. Meanwhile, all the tourists are still in the middle of this stinky bus, the babies are crying and some man exclaims “screw this!” and leaves. I think it was at this point that everyone now realized they paid $25 to see a pile of dirt. Moral of the story: only join tours that take suggested donations.