I knocked on Phil's door.
His front door swung open, knocking me off his front porch and into the briar patch where he was born and raised. I looked back to the door, and there before me like a horrifying mummy, stood a horrifying mummy. Then it tore of its own face.
To reveal Phil.
Good costume, Phil. Let's go.
"Hang on," Phil replied to my inner monolog, "I have to set my VCR so I don't miss the weather."
Phil had a library of weather tapes. I browsed.
"Wow," I said, "you have the one from January 16th, 1984."
"That's one of my favorite ones," Phil stated proudly.
Phil had found a tape to record on, but when he tried to insert it into the VCR, it refused to go in. Phil proceeded to try and keep jamming the tape into the player over and over again, but insertion remained unsuccessful. He realized there was already a tape inside the VCR.
So I stood there, watching Phil in his struggle.
He pressed the eject button. Frustrated with VCRs that sit and whir for a few seconds before actually pushing the tape out, Phil grabbed a screwdriver in mid-whir and cracked open the top plate of the VCR, in an attempt to get the tape out faster.
This fiasco reminded me of the time, earlier that morning, that I mistakenly put on my shoes before putting on my pants. Either out of laziness or hastiness, I decided quickly to put on my pants over my shoes, so I wouldn't have to take my shoes off and then put them on again. This just caused more irritation as my shoes got caught inside my pants and I wound up having to take my shoes and pants off. But Phil was just being silly.
Since he hadn't unplugged the VCR, he was being electrocuted. Without warning, the psychotic VCR decided to release the tape from its clutches and Phil's fingers were being dragged by the VCR heads through the top of the VCR and out the front loader. Blood was squirting everywhere, and Phil was screaming louder than I perceived a mummy could scream.
So I stood there, watching Phil in his struggle.
The tape finally popped out, Phil's hand was free, and thus the VCR was set to record and we were on our way. Our destination: Basketball game!
The high school gymnasium where the sporting event was to be held was a big giant high school gymnasium. Phil and I were two of five sports fans seated in the bleachers that night. In order to beat the inevitable bumper to bumper traffic on the way out, we decided to leave four minutes into the game.
Above a double doorway read a huge sign: "EXIT." This sign was enormous. I mean, it was freaking HUGE. "EXIT." If I were in a plane I couldn't miss this sign. My great-grandmother WISHES she could knit quilts this big. "EXIT," slapping me and Phil right in the face. We almost pushed the doors open when we heard an extremely baritone and angry voice from behind.
"That is NOT an EXIT!" shouted a lean, mean, hardened-by-the-streets security guard. "GO ANOTHER WAY!"
We stood our ground. Phil, fingers still bleeding, said "Well, that big huge sign that reads EXIT is kinda misleading."
The underpaid authority figure drew nearer, but for some reason, spoke louder. "IF YOU EXIT THROUGH THOSE DOORS YOU WILL BE REMOVED FROM THESE PREMISES!"
We got back to Phil's house. Phil took off his shoes and prepared to watch the weather. His wife came out from inside the broom closet.
"It's going to be cold tomorrow," she said. "Fifty-eight degrees."
"Oh, WAY TO GO," Phil snapped. "You RUINED it. All the trouble I went through just to make sure I wouldn't miss it and you go and blow the ending for me. Thanks a lot, you big JERK!"
He stumbled off to his room while his wife and I cleaned apple sauce out of the carpet.
© 1997 kyle t.
IMPROVINOVELS
(there's like, a million to choose from)
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Update on Improvinovel #15
My buddy Chuck writes:
"Weirdest thing. You picked a date from 15 years ago, seemingly at random in Improvinovel 15, and it happened to be the exact day my family moved to River Forest. I think it was a Tuesday. We were supposed to move Jan. 3, 1984, but the old guy who owned the house before us stumbled outside on Christmas Eve and froze to death in the snow.
It took them three days to thaw the body.
True Story."
Thanks for the kind words, Chuck! Best wishes to you and your kin!