Image by The Library of Congress via Flickr

The fruit of my ninety-minute timed writing exercise of 12/5/10.  It’s funny in a very mean-spirited kind of way.  Sorry in advance.

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“And what do you want to be when you grow up, Michaela?” Nancy Glee held the microphone close to the little nine year old’s mouth.

“I want to be a nurse.”

Nancy made a face. “You have to be willing to clean up people’s piss and poop if you want to be a nurse. I hope you’re up for that.” She moved to the next child in the row. “And how about you, Christian?”

“I want to be a professional soccer player.”

“Ooh, a professional soccer player. Many are called, few are chosen. Good luck with that, young man.” Nancy patted Christian on the shoulder. “What about you, Hannah? What kind of career would you like?”

“I want to be an astronaut.”

Nancy turned and mugged at her audience. Turning back to Hannah, she said, “Oh honey, they pretty much 86’d the space program eons ago.”

She moved next to Alanna who wanted to be a writer only to be told she’d likely starve to death the odds of success were so slim.  To Tommy who wanted to be a fireman, she pointed out that he’d need to pack on more muscle before he’d be even able to lift the hoses let alone save his neighbors from death or horrible disfigurement.  Grayson’s snaggle-toothed smile faded when she told him that child actors usually ended up dead, in rehab or on pathetic VH1 “where are they now” specials.

A boy at the end of the row, raised his hand and squirmed with restless energy waiting for his turn. His fidgeting caught Nancy’s eye and she dealt with the children between her and the boy with her brief but razor sharp commentary.

When Nancy reached the boy with his hand up, she stopped and leaned in with her microphone. “Justin. You seem very eager today. What would you like to be when you grow up?”

Little Justin stood and snatched the microphone from Nancy’s hand. He dodged her attempt to reclaim it and stepped up on his chair. “I want to be a horse jockey,” he said.

She faced the audience, held her stomach and chortled. She turned back to Justin and jerked the microphone from his hand. “Oh my, Justin, that’s classic. Like that would ever happen. Thanks for making me laugh though.” Nancy swept the microphone cord out of her way and moved toward the edge of the stage.

Justin hurled himself at Nancy’s back and clung like a spider monkey. Nancy dropped the microphone and screamed, whirling in a circle to fling off her tormentor. The other children rushed to encircle the spinning pair. Christian kicked Nancy’s feet out from beneath her in a perfectly executed slide tackle. She toppled onto her stomach, with Justin straddling her back, his hands fisted in her hair as he kicked her sides and yelled, “Giddyup!” Hannah grabbed the microphone and launched it into orbit around the boom lights where it wrapped around in concentric revolutions. The other children kicked at Nancy’s prone form as she struggled to regain her feet, chanting, “Loser, loser, loser!”

By the time the producers plucked each child off Nancy, she’d taken quite a beating. Blood streamed from her nose and lip. Her hair extensions lay scattered over a ten foot radius. Her clothes were torn and hiked up revealing her Spanx underwear and shredded pantyhose. A puddle of urine betrayed her panic and loss of control.

Only little Michaela hadn’t partaken in the riot, though she stood off to the side watching quietly. As the producers helped Nancy limp off the stage, Michaela looked up at her as she passed and said, “You’re right. I don’t think I want to be a nurse after all, cause I sure don’t want to clean that up.” She tipped her nose into the air and marched off the stage in the opposite direction.