Wash In Tons

8 AM.  My phone rings.

It’s Bob Gaga.

Lady Gaga’s manager.

“Darby.  About that interview you requested.  She’ll do it.”

“Oh what??” I respond in disbelief, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“Yeah.  Congratulations.  Lady Gaga hasn’t interviewed with Japanese media yet, so this will make you guys the first.”

“Well I’ll be darned,” I say with a chuckle.

“One thing though.”

“What’s that?”

“Lady Gaga will be wearing nothing but a 8 foot anaconda wrapped around her body.  So if you’re scared of snakes, maybe this isn’t for you…”

“No, no!  I love snakes!”  I cry, trying to suppress the fear back into my throat.

Snakes.  The only thing—literally, the one fucking thing in this world that scared me.

Did they know that?

Was Team Gaga setting me up for a trap?

How close would I need to sit to her for the interview?

And most importantly, WHAT THE FUCK WAS LADY GAGA DOING WEARING AN ANACONDA AROUND HER BODY??

The phone rings.

I sit up.

It’s 8 AM.

I answer the phone and the first two words I hear are “breaking news”.

This time, I know I’m not dreaming.

My boss tells me that there was some big train derailment or something in Washington.

I’m still delirious with sleep, so it’s not really clicking right away.

But then it does, and I realize that we are likely going to be going back to Washington… where I was just last a couple of days ago, filming a story about “pet aquamation” in Seattle.

That was a great time because it was my first time in Seattle.  I got to sample the city’s famous clam chowder, reunited with my college friend and perpetual roommate Pdubs, had a screaming match with an ill-tempered lesbian at a gay bar, and more.

This second trip to Seattle, however, was not all fun and smiles.

We flew out of Burbank airport, which is a small, “short bus” version of LAX.

We arrived in Seattle at 4.  The train crash happened in Dupont, which according to Google maps was a 56 minute drive from the airport.

I started driving on the 5 Highway, which is so long we drive on it in LA as well.  The train actually derailed off a bridge and ONTO the 5 highway below.  (Imagine if you were driving on the highway to work one day and a fucking train cart fell on your car?)

We wanted to be at the scene by 7 PM so we could do a chuukei, a “live shot” with the news anchors back in Tokyo.

As we drove, the traffic was getting retarded.

By 5 PM it wasn’t moving.  We tried taking two shortcuts, both through military bases, but the soldiers denied us, which made sense since members of the press don’t belong to the military.

By 6 we were close in proximity to the scene of the crime, but all cars were forced to get off at the exit prior, and just getting off the ramp would make us miss our live shot.

That’s when I made a crucial decision:

Go around all these motherfuckers and drive in the shoulder lane, straight to the location of the crash.

This was highly illegal, of course, and I was well aware that if a cop caught us, we could get into deep shit.

But then again, we had press passes.  Do you know how much power you get with a press pass?

We drove stealthily into the darkness ahead.

Sure enough, within two minutes, our route was impeded by a cop.

I descended in speed as I pulled alongside him.

“Where you boys going?”

“Uh…”  I held up my press pass hanging from a lanyard around my neck.

“Who are you with?”

“Japanese media.”

“Okay.  Put your hazard lights on and proceed forward.  About half a mile you’ll see a exit ramp.  Get off there and you’ll see a media staging area on the bridge.  You can park at the golf course across the street.”

“Thank you my good sir.”  I said driving off.  My film crew all giggled and exchanged hi-fives.

We made it in time for the 7 o’clock live shot.  It was windy as fuck, and super dark, but it looked alright on TV.

The next morning we went back to the location and under the bleak morning light and constant cold drizzle, we could now see the train wreck in all of its glory.

There were train cars everywhere.

Here’s a comparison of a train car that survived the accident pretty intact, and one that did not:

Apparently while we slept, the news came out that the driver was taking a curve at 80 miles per hour, a curve that he was supposed to do at no more than 30 miles per hour.  3 people died, and over 100 people went to the hospital with injuries.

We got two more shots of the wreckage, this time not under the stress of doing a live shot.  Instead we did a tachiripo, a “standing report”, which is prerecorded and then sent to Tokyo so they can splice the clip into another segment.

We had previously discussed going to interview some victims at the hospital, but decided against it. Which was great, because, who wants to do that shit??

Having finished all of the covering of the train crash, we were cleared to return to LA.

But our flight out of there was at 7 PM, and we still had some time to burn.  We decided to go to Round 1, which is a sort of arcade/bowling/karaoke hybrid place.  Which is right up my asshole.  No, wait.  “Alley.”  It’s right up my alley.

I’m usually really fucking good at arcade/video games, yet this was not my day.  I lost in every single freaking game I played, to either the reporter, or the cameraman.  Even in games that I own at home, like Tetris and Mario Kart.

And then the reporter wanted to do the “shoot basketball hoops fast” game, and we went over by the machines.

There was a tall skinny kid who was lingering by the games, and once I swiped my card to put credit on the machine, the kid snaked in and said, “Thanks for paying for me.”

Are kids this dumb and brazen these days?

I ended up shoving the kid away from the machines, to the dismay of my coworkers.

“Don’t shove him Darby.  He’s just a kid.”

“I don’t discriminate.”

We started shooting hoops, up until the kid came back, with another kid, who was probably prepubescent, yet still approaching 200 pounds.

The fat kid addressed me in a high voice.

“Um excuse me sir?  Did you push my friend?”

I nodded.

“Why would you push him?  He’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but he talks like an adult.”

Suddenly another kid in a Seahawks hoodie and with braces joined their gang.  The skinny one who started everything is hiding behind the fat kid and talking mad shit.  And that’s when I had had enough.

I grabbed the skinny kid and started dragging him towards the front.  Didn’t these kids have parents?  Maybe they could page them on the PA system.

The fat kid came out of nowhere and punched me in the nose.

Despite the kid being well, a kid, the I definitely felt the punch.  My eyes watered.  And typically fat people can punch hard.  They have strength.  What they don’t have, is speed.  Which was evidenced seconds later as all of the kids began sprinting for the exit.

I grabbed the fat one around the neck and just before he could take the escalator to the exit.  I dragged him to the front desk.

“HEY.  SOMEONE.  THIS KID HIT ME.”

Nobody working there seemed like they had any idea how to deal with the situation.

The kid tried to squirm away, but I held him tight around the neck, and repeated myself to the one guy that looked like a manager.

Eventually the kid got away and started heading down the long escalator for the exit.  I was right on his tail.

When he made it to the ground floor, it looked like he had reached freedom.

And that’s when his expensive smart phone fell out of his fat ass and dropped right at my feet.

Karma is a bitch.

I spent the next hour with security, as we waited for mall security to come and charge these kids with trespassing.

The whole time the kids begged, whined, squealed, “Sir!  Please!  Please give me my phone back.  My mom will kill me!  I just got that phone for my birthday!”

“Oh happy birthday fatass!  What are you, 15?  16?”

“I just turned 13.”

Thirteen??

How the fuck can a kid be this fat at 13?

No matter.  Security was going to come ban these kids from their property, and they would have to call all of their parents to get their phone back.

They tried everything.  Their desperation showed.  At one point they even shouted, “Child abuse!”

This was my victory.  This is what happens when you fuck with an adult, kids.  One who is bigger, craftier, and more ruthless than you are.  Let this be a lesson.

In the end mall security took too long to show up, and our flight was approaching, and I wanted to play a few more games before I got out of there, so I gave them there phone back.

But not before smirking, and saying “Who’s your daddy??”

And that was that.

In retrospect, I shoulda punched the kid, because kids are a menace, and I’ve always wanted to punch one out…  But I’m sure there will be more opportunities.  If all else fails, I can just punch a baby.

So now I’m just enjoying my last week of work for the year, and then they are closing the office for 10 days while they renovate everything.  I’m taking this opportunity to make a short trip back to the motherland of Chicago, to go get fat ass fuck and see my friends.

And I guess I’ll visit my family too while I’m at it.

Anyone in Chicago hit me up, I’ll be there Dec 23-27th.

Happy Kwanzaa y’all.