Chapter 6: The Creepster
The editor of the publication, with tousled hair and a Hitler 'stache, slammed the manuscript down onto the table.
"This is rubbish!" he roared at the young man anxiously standing in front of him.
"Excuse me, sir?" Amerigo Fiscella said nervously.
"This story," he began, "explores a multitude of themes which are really relevant today. It is written with extremely good vocabulary and there are several instances of dramatic irony which provide for excellent sources of comedy."
"Pardon me sir, b-b-but-"
"Spit it out, Fiscella!"
"Those all sound like g-good things," Amerigo said, before hastily adding, "-sir."
"Amerigo, those DO all sound like good things… for bloody high school required reading! Nobody has laughed at any of Shakespeare's jokes in the last two centuries, and even nineteenth century fogies wouldn't chuckle at your 'humour'" he put air-quotes around 'humour'.
"These days, this story," the editor continued, holding up the magazine, would be considered one thing. Boring. You use long words which mean little, and you can make words flow, but you cannot put together a good joke to save your life!"
Amerigo sighed, "I know sir, but I can't figure out what they want! I try to be funny but I just can't figure out what our audience think is funny!"
"Well then, Fiscella, I want YOU to go out there and conduct some market research!"
"I-I'm not so sure what you mean."
"This coming week, Monday to Friday, I want you to go around and collect information of what our target audience does, and finds funny."
"You mean our target audience of teenage girls?"
"No, I mean our OTHER target audience of male senior citizens...yes, of course I mean our target audience of teenage girls."
"Let me get this straight. You want me, a middle-aged Italian-American man to approach little girls."
"What about this are you not getting?"
Amerigo gestured wildly, "The part where you want me to be a gods damned creep for a week!"
"Nonsense, my boy," the editor rose out of his seat, prompting Amerigo to do the same. The moment he was out of his seat, he began pushing Amerigo out of his office.
Literally.
"But sir-"
"If you can't do this much, you can kiss your job here goodbye!" the editor called after Amerigo, as he slammed his office door shut.
Amerigo collapsed onto the floor and sighed.
"Why is it always me?"
***
Amerigo made his way to a kid's park, because that was where teenage girls hang out.
At least in his novels.
He got to the gate of the park.
The guard gave him a slightly suspicious look. Amerigo couldn't imagine why. He was just one man walking into a park for children all alone, looking around for a good teenage child to interview to figure out the likes and dislikes of kids these days.
"You here to pick up your kid, sir," the guard asked, opening the gate for Amerigo.
Amerigo hmmed noncommittally, and mumbled, "Something like that."
He couldn't be bothered paying attention to the security guard of all people.
He looked around and frowned. Teen girls were a lot shorter than he remembered them to be.
'Maybe the shorter they are,' Amerigo thought, 'the more likely they are to talk to me!'
Amerigo had always thought there was a correlation between being short and intelligence, after all, why else would God have left him with only 160 centimetres of height!
"Hello, little girl, my name is Amerigo Fiscella, how do you do?" Amerigo bent down onto his haunches, and stuck out a hand for the girl to shake.
The girl took his hand, apprehensive, but did not say anything.
"So, little girl," he hesitated, where should he start?
She kept staring at him.
Amerigo was beginning to feel a little bit uncomfortable so he shiftily broke eye contact.
"What is your name?" he finally asked. He was fairly sure that teenagers just studied in their free time, maybe had a laugh at their private copy of 'Twelfth Night', or maybe a PG Wodehouse if they were feeling all edgy and modern.
The girl continued to stare at him.
"Stranger!" she announced loudly.
Amerigo sputtered, "Excuse me, I introduced myself at the beginning of our little conversation, it is YOU who was so rude as to not introduce yourself!"
"Stranger," the girl announced again, before slurring out, "Danger. Stranger Danger!"
At once the many mothers of children who were walking around the park were on high alert.
One mother came running.
"What are you doing with my Alice!" she shrieked, "My precious, three-year-old Alice!"
Amerigo sputtered once again, "I am...a writer," he announced, "And I was talking to her for, uhm, market research."
But Alice's mother wasn't listening to him, or what he was saying.
WHACK!
She whacked Amerigo with her handbag, "Get away from my child!"
"Sir, I think you need to step out of the park," the guard had come to see what was wrong.
Amerigo shook his fist like a Scooby-Doo villain, "I'll get you one day Alice!"
***
Second Try.
He HAD to get some intel this time. Otherwise, he would be out of a job.
He tried entering the park through the front but the guard wouldn't let him. So he was here. Trying to climb the fence with limited success.
With a grunt, Amerigo tumbled over the fence and hit the ground with a loud thud, sending kids screaming.
Somehow that served as a mom-beacon and he was once again faced with several angry mothers with handbags ready to whack.
***
Third Try
Amerigo managed to sneak into the park while the guard was getting himself a coffee.
One little girl was the first to see him, she looked at him and pointed and said loudly, "Creepster."
"Creepster?" Amerigo repeated.
"CREEPSTER!" all of the children in the park repeated.
And the mother brigade was back.
***
Amerigo nursed his many injuries as he ranted to his boss, "Those children are barbarians!" he shouted angrily, "They can barely string together 2 words, let alone read a bloody story! If this is what I have to write for, then I QUIT!"
With that, he stormed out of the room.
The editor smiled.
This was by far the easiest way to trim the fat off his corporation.
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