Let's not wrestle Mt. Heart Attack
Saturday Night Live is chatting us up in Records Management today. She is sitting behind us at the fiche machine, while we proceed to make copies and copies, as she spontaneously bursts into song. She does the Chicken Dance Song, complete with the handclap part, and I am moved enough to ask about her workday enthusiasm. She is unequivicalably the most enthusiastic person here, and so I ask. “You’ve got to stay upbeat,” she tells me. “It’s the only way to be.” I goad her on by accident and as a result she ends up telling me her entire life story, as people often tend to do while in my presence for two minutes. That’s kind of the thing that I wonder about myself, in moments of deep self-reflection: one second you’re on the verge of tears because the lithium-addled woman on the fiche machine is doing the chicken dance song, and the next thing you know, she’s telling you about where it all went wrong. And that’s kind of the weird thing you tend to notice about comedians, is the fine line being walked between crying and laughing out loud. Look at Dave Chapelle if you do not believe: one moment he’s getting paid the prevailing wage, and the next thing you know he’s nervously chortling about his trip to Africa on Oprah. Things get blurred as Saturday Night Live gets into the details of her life, the musical theatre aspirations, the dropping out of school. The long road which has lead to this moment, talking to the guy making copies, who is me. I regale her a little by giving advice which I’m not exactly qualified to give but which still seems absolutely necessary. She is turning 40 next week, but it’s not too late for her, maybe. Beneath the piles of bills and lifestyle accoutrement payments there is a way, maybe. I don’t know. I’m just trying to make copies over here, really. In two seconds, though, it’s pretty much a moot point, as she’s right back at it again. People are walking by Records Management and wondering what the hell is going on in there, which if I could explain, carries a certain amount of complexity. She wants me to join in the clap, but I don’t really like the Chicken Dance Song. But, because Saturday Night Live is a friend, I do it anyway, which confounds me, as well as just about everyone in the office.