Post by dadbod on Sept 23, 2023 0:42:05 GMT -5
The sound of a single shopping cart rolling through the parking lot of a Family Fare Supermarket in Omaha, Nebraska cuts through the otherwise silent evening. The sun is fading away, and the lights overhead are just flickering on. The cart comes to a stop at an impressive piece of American machinery.
DODGE
The groceries in the cart light up momentarily as two bursts of light come from the exterior lights as the behemoth is unlocked. The highlight: Two pints of Ben & Jerry’s Americone Dream.
BEEEEP. BEEEEP. BEEEEP.
The hatch of the Grand Caravan slowly opens. It stops about three quarters of the way to fully open. David Barker, one arm full of grocery bags, the other with two cases of Whiteclaw tucked under it, uses his elbow to force the door open the rest of the way. Without setting down a bag. With no spectators around, this feat of strength isn’t for applause or an impressed nod from across the lot. No, this is just how “Dadbod” operates. Powerful. Efficient.
Dadbod: Ah, time to get home and see my family.
Sensitive. Caring. A modern man. David closes the hatch and rounds the corner of the car with the agility of a man four, maybe five years his junior. Thursday night Pilates is a success! About to plop down into the driver’s seat, he spots a piece of torn paper sitting on his windshield.
Dadbod: Hmmm…
GARAGE SALE
ONE NIGHT ONLY
-TOOLS
Dadbod: Well, I’m probably all set on the tool front. Strange time for a garage sale also…
David balls the partial flier up and walks it over to the garbage can. Across the street, he sees a recycling bin parked at the curb in front of a neighboring home. David does the right thing. Recycling is cool, haven’t you heard? As he heads across the street, he spots another section of the flier in the dirt. He retrieves it.
-DID WE SAY TOOLS? WE MEANT POWER TOOLS!
-AND LUMBER
Dadbod: Oh boy… Stick to the budget, David. Be strong. Trina will not be happy with one more project around the house. Finish what you’ve started, man!
He slaps himself in the face and shakes it off, along with his dreams of a bench for the backyard. He finally reaches the recycling bin and lifts the lid. Resting on top is the final piece of the garage sale flier.
-RIDING LAWN MOWER
Dadbod: Well nobody has ever been mad at a freshly mowed lawn before.
Without hesitation, David snatches the bottom piece of the ad and starts heading toward the address listed on the bottom using his natural directional aptitude. He marches through the neighborhood, a man on a mission. Parents rushing out to get their kids from taekwondo, a pizza guy scrambling to deliver a pizza before thirty minutes is up. That’s coming out of your paycheck, Carl! None of it draws the attention of a dialed in Dadbod. He arrives at the listed address and stands at the edge of the property.
Dadbod: Uhhhhh…
David stares through a vacant driveway at a house with no lights on. The garage, while open, appears to be empty, although it is too dark to tell. He double checks the listed date and time.
Dadbod: I’m leaving with that lawn mower! I know it’s around here somewhere… I can smell it.
David quietly walks down the driveway and splits off to the left. On his toes, he peeks over the top of the fenced backyard. If he was selling a riding lawn mower, he’d sure take it for one last spin.
Voice: Glad you could make it, David!
David nearly leaps out of his Skechers.
Dadbod: Excuse me? Who’s there?
The now-on-edge deal seeker tiptoes back into the driveway and scans the pitch black garage for the source of the mystery voice that just shaved months off his life.
Dadbod: I’m here for the… Garage sale..? The lawn mower… Sorry, how do you know my name?
Voice: I brought you here.
Dadbod: On purpose? You might have the wrong guy… I mean, I’ll crack open the occasional hard seltzer but I don’t mess around with… You know…
David lowers his voice.
Dadbod: Drugs.
David is far too smart to do drugs. They can make you lose control. And matches!
Voice: That’s not what this is. I just wanted to talk to you, Dadbod.
The momentary relief of avoiding a potential drug deal is quickly wiped from David’s face. He shakes his head.
Dadbod: That’s not me. Not anymore.
Voice: Why not?
Dadbod: That- It didn’t work out. I never won a single match. I’m retired. It just wasn’t meant to be. Sometime you need to accept when you’re, well, a loser.
Voice: I know, it wasn’t an impressive run. At all. Hard to watch at times. Some would say pitiful.
Dadbod: Alright-
Voice: Not me! Just some!
Dadbod: I’m aware. Listen, I appreciate… Whatever it is, this is. But if it’s okay with you…
Call it naivety. Call it wishful thinking. But David shoots his shot.
Dadbod: I’d just like to get that lawn mower and leave.
Voice: There is no mower, David. Only opportunity.
Filled with disappointment, David shakes his head and begins pacing around. The ice cream is melting in the car! What the hell was this all for?!
Dadbod: Opportunity? The mower was the opportunity! Do you know how fast I could get that lawn mowed?!
Voice: Redemption. You and I both know your dream is to make something of yourself as a wrestler.
Dadbod: It was. Not anymore.
Voice: Don’t give up so easily. As you were losing match after match… After match…
Dadbod: Okay.
Voice: ...After match. I didn’t see a loser with no potential. I saw a loser with untapped potential.
Dadbod: Thanks!...
Voice: You familiar with The Trials, David?
Dadbod: Of course. I watch SportzSportzSportz.
Voice: I think you have what it takes to really shine there.
Dadbod: Good thing you aren’t a talent evaluator for a living, pal. Stick to… Well, I don’t know who you are or what it is you do. But stick to-
David’s jaw drops open as a shadowy figure finally emerges from the back of the garage and into the dimly lit driveway. The man flips the hood of his Vhodka Black sweatshirt down, revealing himself. His face that is.
Dadbod: You’re! From the TV! You’re!
Sid Buckley III smirks and nods, humbly.
Sid Buckley III: Sid Buckley.
Dadbod: Wow! So you- You really think I have what it takes?
Sid Buckley III: I do.
Dadbod: Jeez Louise. Sid Buckley thinks I could get drafted. This is unbelievable. You nailed-
Sid Buckley III: Hang on, hang on. I didn’t say a word about being drafted. Remember, you’ve never won anything. Ever. In your life.
Dadbod: That’s a little excessive…
Sid Buckley III: But if you throw your hat in the ring, you can showcase that tenacity you’ve got. You’ll get a chance one way or another try, somehow, to gut out a victory. And better yet, if by some miracle you do get drafted, you’ll have a team to carry you.
Dadbod: Huh… When you put it that way, you don’t sound all that confident in my abilities at all.
Sid Buckley III: I’m not.
Dadbod: You’re the mock draft guy. You don’t even think I could get drafted?! I don’t get it.
Sid Buckley III: Don’t get what?
Dadbod: Well, why me? What’s in it for you?
Sid Buckley III: The story of the year, David. “Dadbod” returns to action and pulls off the upset of the century! Winning the event of the year! Sure it’s a one in a million shot, at best, but come on! Do you know how many subscriptions that feature would sell?!
Dadbod: I don’t.
Sid Buckley III: Well it’s probably a lot. And boy do I- do you need this. You’re not ready to give up on your dream! You’ve worked hard. You’ve networked. You’ve watched the film. Those four years at Syracuse shouldn’t be for nothing!
Dadbod: I went to Nebraska…
Sid Buckley III: That’s what I meant!
Dadbod: I have been doing an extra mile on the treadmill lately… I’m at peak performance right now.
Sid does a quick up and down inspection of David with his eyes.
Sid Buckley III: I’ll take your word for it.
Dadbod: But I don’t know, Sid. That competition is stiff. I don’t like my chances.
Sid Buckley III: How could you? Up to this point, you’ve been statistically one of the worst performers we’ve ever seen. Abysmal. But David, you’ve never had anyone to guide you. DIY doesn’t cut it here, and sometimes you need to call in a contractor. That’s where I come in. I know this business better than anyone. I’ve got the instructions. I know what works and what doesn’t. We’re going to fine-tune you into a contender.
He extends his hand to David.
Sid Buckley III: What do you say? Will you do me, uh, yourself, this favor?
David rests his head in his hands as he thinks it over. On the one hand, it could be a humiliating experience. What if he loses, again? What if he doesn’t even get drafted? His wife will never let him hear the end of it! On the other hand, that ice cream is melted by now, and his wife will never let him hear the end of that, either. Might be best to take off to Cambodia for a while and let that situation cool down…
Dadbod: I’m in, damn it!
Sid thanks his lucky stars for voice-to-text following the handshake. You’re taking a risk shaking hands with the three-time Douglas County Pickle Jar Opening champion without stretching first.
Sid Buckley III: Ow, ow, ow…
Dadbod: Sorry, sometimes I don’t know my own strength! So, when does the fine-tuning begin?
Sid stares at his own hand as it trembles.
Sid Buckley III: Why don’t you start by channeling a little of that inward…
DODGE
The groceries in the cart light up momentarily as two bursts of light come from the exterior lights as the behemoth is unlocked. The highlight: Two pints of Ben & Jerry’s Americone Dream.
BEEEEP. BEEEEP. BEEEEP.
The hatch of the Grand Caravan slowly opens. It stops about three quarters of the way to fully open. David Barker, one arm full of grocery bags, the other with two cases of Whiteclaw tucked under it, uses his elbow to force the door open the rest of the way. Without setting down a bag. With no spectators around, this feat of strength isn’t for applause or an impressed nod from across the lot. No, this is just how “Dadbod” operates. Powerful. Efficient.
Dadbod: Ah, time to get home and see my family.
Sensitive. Caring. A modern man. David closes the hatch and rounds the corner of the car with the agility of a man four, maybe five years his junior. Thursday night Pilates is a success! About to plop down into the driver’s seat, he spots a piece of torn paper sitting on his windshield.
Dadbod: Hmmm…
GARAGE SALE
ONE NIGHT ONLY
-TOOLS
Dadbod: Well, I’m probably all set on the tool front. Strange time for a garage sale also…
David balls the partial flier up and walks it over to the garbage can. Across the street, he sees a recycling bin parked at the curb in front of a neighboring home. David does the right thing. Recycling is cool, haven’t you heard? As he heads across the street, he spots another section of the flier in the dirt. He retrieves it.
-DID WE SAY TOOLS? WE MEANT POWER TOOLS!
-AND LUMBER
Dadbod: Oh boy… Stick to the budget, David. Be strong. Trina will not be happy with one more project around the house. Finish what you’ve started, man!
He slaps himself in the face and shakes it off, along with his dreams of a bench for the backyard. He finally reaches the recycling bin and lifts the lid. Resting on top is the final piece of the garage sale flier.
-RIDING LAWN MOWER
Dadbod: Well nobody has ever been mad at a freshly mowed lawn before.
Without hesitation, David snatches the bottom piece of the ad and starts heading toward the address listed on the bottom using his natural directional aptitude. He marches through the neighborhood, a man on a mission. Parents rushing out to get their kids from taekwondo, a pizza guy scrambling to deliver a pizza before thirty minutes is up. That’s coming out of your paycheck, Carl! None of it draws the attention of a dialed in Dadbod. He arrives at the listed address and stands at the edge of the property.
Dadbod: Uhhhhh…
David stares through a vacant driveway at a house with no lights on. The garage, while open, appears to be empty, although it is too dark to tell. He double checks the listed date and time.
Dadbod: I’m leaving with that lawn mower! I know it’s around here somewhere… I can smell it.
David quietly walks down the driveway and splits off to the left. On his toes, he peeks over the top of the fenced backyard. If he was selling a riding lawn mower, he’d sure take it for one last spin.
Voice: Glad you could make it, David!
David nearly leaps out of his Skechers.
Dadbod: Excuse me? Who’s there?
The now-on-edge deal seeker tiptoes back into the driveway and scans the pitch black garage for the source of the mystery voice that just shaved months off his life.
Dadbod: I’m here for the… Garage sale..? The lawn mower… Sorry, how do you know my name?
Voice: I brought you here.
Dadbod: On purpose? You might have the wrong guy… I mean, I’ll crack open the occasional hard seltzer but I don’t mess around with… You know…
David lowers his voice.
Dadbod: Drugs.
David is far too smart to do drugs. They can make you lose control. And matches!
Voice: That’s not what this is. I just wanted to talk to you, Dadbod.
The momentary relief of avoiding a potential drug deal is quickly wiped from David’s face. He shakes his head.
Dadbod: That’s not me. Not anymore.
Voice: Why not?
Dadbod: That- It didn’t work out. I never won a single match. I’m retired. It just wasn’t meant to be. Sometime you need to accept when you’re, well, a loser.
Voice: I know, it wasn’t an impressive run. At all. Hard to watch at times. Some would say pitiful.
Dadbod: Alright-
Voice: Not me! Just some!
Dadbod: I’m aware. Listen, I appreciate… Whatever it is, this is. But if it’s okay with you…
Call it naivety. Call it wishful thinking. But David shoots his shot.
Dadbod: I’d just like to get that lawn mower and leave.
Voice: There is no mower, David. Only opportunity.
Filled with disappointment, David shakes his head and begins pacing around. The ice cream is melting in the car! What the hell was this all for?!
Dadbod: Opportunity? The mower was the opportunity! Do you know how fast I could get that lawn mowed?!
Voice: Redemption. You and I both know your dream is to make something of yourself as a wrestler.
Dadbod: It was. Not anymore.
Voice: Don’t give up so easily. As you were losing match after match… After match…
Dadbod: Okay.
Voice: ...After match. I didn’t see a loser with no potential. I saw a loser with untapped potential.
Dadbod: Thanks!...
Voice: You familiar with The Trials, David?
Dadbod: Of course. I watch SportzSportzSportz.
Voice: I think you have what it takes to really shine there.
Dadbod: Good thing you aren’t a talent evaluator for a living, pal. Stick to… Well, I don’t know who you are or what it is you do. But stick to-
David’s jaw drops open as a shadowy figure finally emerges from the back of the garage and into the dimly lit driveway. The man flips the hood of his Vhodka Black sweatshirt down, revealing himself. His face that is.
Dadbod: You’re! From the TV! You’re!
Sid Buckley III smirks and nods, humbly.
Sid Buckley III: Sid Buckley.
Dadbod: Wow! So you- You really think I have what it takes?
Sid Buckley III: I do.
Dadbod: Jeez Louise. Sid Buckley thinks I could get drafted. This is unbelievable. You nailed-
Sid Buckley III: Hang on, hang on. I didn’t say a word about being drafted. Remember, you’ve never won anything. Ever. In your life.
Dadbod: That’s a little excessive…
Sid Buckley III: But if you throw your hat in the ring, you can showcase that tenacity you’ve got. You’ll get a chance one way or another try, somehow, to gut out a victory. And better yet, if by some miracle you do get drafted, you’ll have a team to carry you.
Dadbod: Huh… When you put it that way, you don’t sound all that confident in my abilities at all.
Sid Buckley III: I’m not.
Dadbod: You’re the mock draft guy. You don’t even think I could get drafted?! I don’t get it.
Sid Buckley III: Don’t get what?
Dadbod: Well, why me? What’s in it for you?
Sid Buckley III: The story of the year, David. “Dadbod” returns to action and pulls off the upset of the century! Winning the event of the year! Sure it’s a one in a million shot, at best, but come on! Do you know how many subscriptions that feature would sell?!
Dadbod: I don’t.
Sid Buckley III: Well it’s probably a lot. And boy do I- do you need this. You’re not ready to give up on your dream! You’ve worked hard. You’ve networked. You’ve watched the film. Those four years at Syracuse shouldn’t be for nothing!
Dadbod: I went to Nebraska…
Sid Buckley III: That’s what I meant!
Dadbod: I have been doing an extra mile on the treadmill lately… I’m at peak performance right now.
Sid does a quick up and down inspection of David with his eyes.
Sid Buckley III: I’ll take your word for it.
Dadbod: But I don’t know, Sid. That competition is stiff. I don’t like my chances.
Sid Buckley III: How could you? Up to this point, you’ve been statistically one of the worst performers we’ve ever seen. Abysmal. But David, you’ve never had anyone to guide you. DIY doesn’t cut it here, and sometimes you need to call in a contractor. That’s where I come in. I know this business better than anyone. I’ve got the instructions. I know what works and what doesn’t. We’re going to fine-tune you into a contender.
He extends his hand to David.
Sid Buckley III: What do you say? Will you do me, uh, yourself, this favor?
David rests his head in his hands as he thinks it over. On the one hand, it could be a humiliating experience. What if he loses, again? What if he doesn’t even get drafted? His wife will never let him hear the end of it! On the other hand, that ice cream is melted by now, and his wife will never let him hear the end of that, either. Might be best to take off to Cambodia for a while and let that situation cool down…
Dadbod: I’m in, damn it!
Sid thanks his lucky stars for voice-to-text following the handshake. You’re taking a risk shaking hands with the three-time Douglas County Pickle Jar Opening champion without stretching first.
Sid Buckley III: Ow, ow, ow…
Dadbod: Sorry, sometimes I don’t know my own strength! So, when does the fine-tuning begin?
Sid stares at his own hand as it trembles.
Sid Buckley III: Why don’t you start by channeling a little of that inward…