You make your little
quip about Corey Hart and brace yourself for a bitchslap from hell,
expecting "the man" to give you a sound beating after your stinging
insult. These security guys don't take any guff, after all, but hey,
you've always had a healthy disrespect for authority and by god, you're
going to show him what you think of his fascist Security Gestapo. The
security guard slowly lowers you to the ground, looks around
surreptitiously and takes a few steps backward to the video camera high
on the wall behind him. His eyes never leave you. He reaches up without
looking and cuts it off.
At this point, you fully expect to die. He's no doubt cut the camera off
so that he can beat you to death with a chair. You have yourself a real
brown trousers moment as he grins enthusiastically and picks up a chair
from the far side of the table. He approaches you slowly, each step a
thunderous beat of a death drum heralding your demise. The chair swings
loosely in his hand, just inches from the floor. You swallow, the
gulping sound echoing loudly throughout the tiny interrogation room.
Suddenly, he drops the chair on the floor in front of him, hops up on
it, and starts singing a stirring, obviously rehearsed rendition of
"Sunglasses at Night". He reaches out to you as if giving a serenade,
and tops the performance off with a soulful spin turned hop from the
chair that ends in a bow with a fedora you didn't even notice him
wearing before extended towards you in his outstretched arm.
You just stand there frozen like a deer in headlights, unsure of how to
react. Suddenly the guard looks up and smiles at you. "Man, I just
LOVE
80s music!" he says enthusiastically. "Here I thought I was gonna have
to get rough with you, but look here, you're alright after all!" You
just can't believe your luck. Of all the things you could have said to
this guy, you chose the one thing in all the world that allowed
you to develop a rapport with him! What are the chances of that?,
you wonder. It's got to be at least 25%! The guard introduces himself as
Harvey, turns the chair backwards and sits on it, leaning his chin on
the back and smiling. "So hey, man! You're obviously a big 80s music
buff! Who's your favorite artist from that era?"
Oh shitskis, you've got to give him an answer, and you have a feeling
that if you give the wrong answer, you will destroy this good
relationship you've developed with ol' Harvey. Hell, one wrong answer is
all it might take to send him flying into a homicidal rage.
You think long and hard about Harvey, the type of guy he is and what his interests must be before blurting out:
