I was stunned when Julian called collect from the county hospital prison ward yesterday. He was being held under police guard for inciting a riot. This was not the stamp collecting, chamber music loving, retired professor of comparative religions I had come to know over the years, a person whose awe of authority figures extends to school crossing guards. And now here he was, manacled to a jailhouse hospital bed with a phone on his pillow and facing criminal indictment. He didn’t know any lawyers. Mine was the only phone number he had committed to memory. Of course I wanted to know how he had wound up in this fix.
“I don’t remember much about it,” he sniffled. “Everything was so confusing. I just don’t know where to begin.”
I suggested he begin at the beginning.
“Well, first I got up and poached an egg and then I…”
Julian is nothing if not thorough in his explanations. I nudged him toward discussing the riot.
“Oh, yes. That. Well, you know how you’re always commenting about how dated my wardrobe is, and ..”
Oh, so now this was all my fault.
“Well, you did criticize the way I dress. So, well, I just thought I would buy a new bow tie in honor of Black Friars Day to bring out my fashionable side. You do recall the Black Friars from my lecture on Anglo-Saxon-Celtic beliefs, don’t you? The Black Friars of Dominican order?”
Not really. I was probably hungover, but I nodded loudly.
Julian continued in his lecture mode: “They were founded in Cambridge during the Middle Ages. I thought it was very nice that the Conservative Media announced that the Black Friars had a special day. And I wanted to celebrate that day with a nice little symbol, a black bow tie with some festive but understated pinpoint polka dots, so…”
I put the phone down and made a pot of coffee while Julian rattled on. This was going to be a long call. Worse, I was paying for it. I returned several minutes later while the coffeemaker grumbled and hissed with demonic hostility. I think that coffeemaker is possessed. Some day I’ll ask Julian if he knows any unfrocked priests or snake handling evangelicals who perform exorcisms on small kitchen appliances. He was mid-sentence when I picked up the phone again.
"…there was this crowd lined up at Macy’s when I arrived. A very long line indeed, Michael…”
I hate being called Michael, but Julian, shrinking violet that he is, finds the name Mike too intimidating to utter, much too blue collar and fraught with memories of red headed kids who beat him up for his lunch money in grade school. He continued:
“…and three hours elapsed before I reached the entrance. I must say the other shoppers were in an ill humor by then, especially a rather large woman with a somewhat artfully done unicorn tattooed on her shoulder who suddenly and without apology cut in front of me. Personally, I really didn’t care for the flowing Viennese art noveau rendering of her tattoo. Perhaps if she and the artisan had selected a…”
I cleared my throat in a manner intended to convey impatience. Julian ignored the hint.
“…different motÃf, a Matisse etching or something from Picasso’s blue period, I might not have been prompted into near incivility. I tapped her on her tattooed shoulder and suggested that she may have failed to notice the line behind us. Heavens! You would’ve thought I had offered to remove her ovaries with a spoon, she was so angry!”
I sighed. This time Julian took the hint and cut to climactic scene.
"So then, when the police arrived, I was flat on my back on the pavement being kicked by women wearing an assortment cross training shoes in pastel colors. Even worse were the women wearing those appropriately blood colored Doc Marten boots. These women shrieked as though I was some sort of sexist Unabomber and accused me every crime from the horrors of 9/11 to wading on the high seas. But what they were really doing was fighting each other over my vacated space in line. The police, perhaps sensing a tactical withdrawal would be prudent, but unwilling to leave without a culprit to show for their effort, took me with them. So here I am. Can you help me?”
I said I would be present for his arraignment, if any, and could probably hock my ‘85 Volvo to make his bail if need be. I also tried to explain that Black Friday was a secular marketing ploy, not a religious occasion at all, and certainly had nothing to so with the monastic order of Black Friars.
Julian would have none of it. “Pfft. You and your facts, oh ye of little faith. No less than the great Cervantes himself observed, in Don Quixote, the “Facts are the enemy of truth.”
I knew better than to argue. I also know better than to go shopping for anything, even auto parts for my beat-up Volvo, on that accursed annual day of violent anarchy known as Black Friday.
Comments & Indictments:
Mike: I enjoyed this essay. My boss told me to name my salary, so I said that I would call it Fred. -- Ken
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Do they complement the Elvis On Velvet wall hangings of your interior decor? -- MB
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I love the way you can turn any mundane situation into a disaster waiting to happen and put a humorous twist on it -- Sandy
Story of my life, Sandy. One mundane twisted disaster after another. -- MB
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Loved your Julian story. As for the Thanksgiving comments, all I have to say is my ancestors didn't do a very good job at Homeland Security. They let just anybody come ashore. Should have shot the lot of them! My new desk sign: “I have PMS, a GPS, and a 45. That means I have an attitude and know how to find you.” -- Wish Lady
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Yikes -- there was also a stabbing outside that Macy's about the same time. I don't go nowhere nohow on Black Friday ... even if it now starts on Thursday -- Tim
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Loved this one! Your writing is wonderful … Michael. -- Julisari
Arrgh!
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Adorable... we all know a "Julian"... But I wanted to hear the end of the story. Like, what happened next? Did Julian make bail? -- Sum
Not yet. He was so appalled by the prison ward couture that he refused bail so he could stick around and offer fashion tips to the other detainees. MB
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Why does this Julian seem familiar to me? Because I know someone like him - without a doubt intelligent, but somehow a little off-kilter, and definitely one foot on another planet. My Julian is Gordon - not altogether like Julian, but with similarities. Infinitely interesting chap and yet, a bit OCD I think about explanations.
And, damn it, I do so like "Michael", but I have a friend here named Michael already, not to mention my best friend's son, plus two Mikes as well. As I think about it, you don't seem like a Michael to me. Not even sure you seem like a Mike. Hm...maybe I'll just continue to think of you as The Writer In My Midst. Funny word, midst.
Fun article, as all of yours are, and thought-provoking or just plain thoughtful on occasion. One thing I know - never boring.
Are you recovered from the awkward gluttony of Thanksgiving? -- Zoey
Not really. I could use another. -- MB
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You made this up!!!!! : ) Didn't you? -- Tab
Ahem. To reiterate “Julian’s” quote from Cervantes, “Facts are the enemy of truth.” -- MB
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Another winner. You write too good and I'm starting to resent it. Was this like yesterday or was it an earlier Black Friday? -- Sunne
It could have been any of them. -- MB
Do they complement an Elvis On Velvet wall hanging? -- MB __________
