After my fourth pomegranate martini, the family birthday party I was attending seemed to pick up a little. But my family seemed to be avoiding me and would become very quiet whenever I came near. Normally this is fine, but when it came time to play Pictionary, the only person who would volunteer for my team was my uncle Russell, and his Seeing Eye dog was an awful guesser. But then I started realizing that anytime my family spoke to me, they added the disclaimer, “Don’t put that in your column!” Wow, there it was – they were scared. Apparently, after being informed (by my proud wife) that I write for The Daily Campus, my relatives have become petrified to say or do anything without commenting on their concern that their actions might end up in the paper.
It’s amazing to me that my family felt this way because writing this column started off as a purely therapeutic endeavor for me, but may have morphed into unending weekly power. Don’t get me wrong – it does absolutely nothing for me at school, no one even reads my ramblings, but I am starting to think my family is absolutely terrified of what I will reveal. Clearly, I had to test my deduction.
So, I whipped out a piece of paper like I was taking notes on everyone. The room became silent. I then proceeded to ask for favors. At first, I started asking for small things like drinks from the kitchen, and when my aunts and uncles started fighting for the right to serve me, I moved up to asking for bigger favors like being carried to the bathroom – my grandma happily obliged.
All of this servitude got me thinking about what else I could get using my “Columnist for The Daily Campus” title. Anyone who has actually read my articles knows they’re nothing but an excuse for me to use poor grammar and creative spelling, but the crewmembers at McDonald’s don’t know that! I’ve found that if you tell the unenthused cashier in the drive-thru that, “I always get a FREE McFlurry with my meals because I write for The Daily Campus,” they will grant your request 100 percent of the time. After wielding my tiny scimitar of power, I decided to push my luck and try to con the ultimate Mecca of fun, Chuck E. Cheese.
I donned my fedora with a hand-written notecard that said, “Press,” stuck in the side of it and proceeded through the front door. The odor of pizza and dirty diapers filled my nostrils and it was glorious! I headed straight for the ball pit knowing my newfound status would surely secure me a spot in the orb-filled pool. Sure enough, once I dove in, all the parents started pulling their little ones out – clearly out of respect for the hat.
After bouncing around for a while, I heard the sweet music of the Chuck E. Cheese band. How could I have forgotten the greatness of the band!? I hopped out of the ball pit, put my shirt back on and ran into the dining room where the band had taken the stage. Not since I purchased its greatest hits CD 10 years ago had I heard the musical stylings of the band. After gathering my courage, I looked Chuck right in his beady eyes and said, “I don’t know if you know this, but I write for the SMU Daily Campus and I was hoping I could play a song with your band.” He was clearly stunned by my importance and I assumed his silence meant he didn’t mind. Luckily, I had brought my own cowbell, so I jumped right on stage and began banging away to the beat. After playing their number one hit, “Spend Mommy’s Money,” I thanked Mr. Cheese for the opportunity to join in and high-fived the rest of the band, jumped off the stage and realized I had worked up quite an appetite. The pizza buffet bar was clearly the only way to go.
I made my way toward the cashier to get my plate, but was distracted by the greatest of all games: the claw machine. The idea that I could win a stuffed oddity and spend no less than $12 drew me closer. On the eighth drop of the claw, I finally won a western-style cap gun! I was so excited after my big win that I ran straight to the pizza bar, gun in hand, and proudly exclaimed, “I work for the The Daily Campus and I want some pizza!” The cashier quickly handed me a plate and said, “Take whatever you want, just don’t hurt the children.” Now THAT is customer service. I guess she was worried about me eating all the pizza and not leaving any for the kids, or maybe she wanted me to give her a mention in my column. Thanks for the pizza, Ashley!
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy my pizza because I heard my wife honking outside and had to scurry out to her car to catch my ride home. Following a small nap in the car, I concluded that being a columnist for the DC isn’t all that bad and definitely has its perks!
About the writer:
Matt Villanueva is junior advertising major. He can be reached at [email protected]
