• Richard Scrimger

improv rob


I've had a couple of queries regarding Sam's keys. (I was going to type several, and then thought: two isn't several. Then I wondered if two could be some, or a few. I don't think so.)


For those (both) of you who were concerned, he found them behind his bed when he was giving the room one last going over before coming home for the summer. The keys ended up behind his bed because Sam was fidgetting with them while he studied for his geography exam. My left hand didn't know what my right hand was doing, Dad, he said to me. And neither did my right hand. I sympathised of course. How many cups of coffee have I drunk, how many people have I insulted, how many foot-base-basket balls have I dropped because neither hand, or neither lip, or neither brain lobe was paying attention. Lots. (I can't be more accurate than that. I tell you I wasn't paying attention.)


Is it a guy thing? I am loath to think so. There must be dozens of inattentive fidgetty women out there. (Ah, but are they Inattentive Compulsive? That may be a guy thing.)


Know what else is a guy thing? Robbery. My son Ed is taking drama this term, and was recently asked to create and perform an improv-style sketch based on a street scene. He and his four friends (all male) decided to portray a bank robbery. OK, fair enough, you might say. But -- get this -- Ed's wasn't the only group to make this choice. All four boy-groups in Ed's drama class chose to show a robbery of some kind. (If you are keeping score, one mugging, two convenience store hold-ups.) The one girl's group in his class (can you believe a ninth grade drama class with four keen girls and twenty-one bored un-artistic boys? And they call teachers overpaid) elected to show The Emperor's New Clothes ....


Ed told me this at dinner last night. Why was robbery such a popular choice? I asked.


Cause you get to roll around hitting each other, he said. It was sweet, except that when I went to lunch I didn't have any money. I must have lost it on stage during my robbery scene. Frederico had lost his money too.


He ate a spare rib. I waited, then found I couldn't help myself.


So what did you do for lunch?


He shrugged. (He is not inattentive compulsive.) We went to the drama class, but the door was locked. So we borrowed off of Rachel.

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Richard Scrimger | scrimgerr@gmail.com | Toronto, ON, Canada