Sit Down Comedy … June 5th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4431)

Mary of Moncrief, Michigan.

A triple threat in alliteration.

She is forty-six years old, the mother of three children who range in age from twenty-one down to a precocious ten.

She is the assistant manager at the local Nordstroms, where she has been employed for twenty years, ascending in the ranks, and well-respected.

The date is November 8^th, 2016.

Mary was awake early that morning. She had lost her battle with insomnia hours earlier, trying to remain still as a mouse, hoping that sleep would be merciful to her fatigue. Giving up, she rose, made coffee and cinnamon toast—one of her favorites—and prepared for the day in the quiet of a very chilly pre-dawn kitchen.

She had one thought on her mind: should she go vote before work, or wait until afterwards and possibly face long lines?

Actually, that wasn’t the primary question. What had been haunting her mind for weeks was whether she could cast a vote in good conscience either way.

Politically, Mary was a moderate.

At least, moderate for Michigan.

She had voted for her share of Democrats and a similar array of Republicans. She felt she was informed and believed herself to be open-minded to opportunities offered by both parties. But the past few months had left her in a whirl, dizzy from disjointed facts and accusations.

Donald Trump seemed unqualified to be President, but his journey as a mature man of business seemed respectable.

Hillary Clinton, on the other hand, seemed more prepared for the position, but less sure-footed in the midst of entanglements.

But still, that wasn’t the real problem.

Deep in her heart, Mary of Moncrief, Michigan, felt that everything was just moving too fast.

She wasn’t against progress–she was upset about the speed being used to achieve it.

So many issues.

Abortion, for instance.

Mary believed a woman should have the right to choose the conclusions of her life, but she was uncomfortable about how the subject of abortion—the termination of a fetus—had become so cavalier. She especially hated the phrase, “abortion on demand.”

Wasn’t a little more humility in order?

Mary also knew she didn’t hate gay people. She was one of the first ones in her local church to rally behind the idea of civil unions.

But lickety-split, she was expected to not only honor gay marriage, but to be supportive of it whenever it was brought up, so she wouldn’t come across as a homophobe.

It felt unfair.

After all, the world of psychology and psychiatry had, for decades if not centuries, contended that homosexuality was aberrant behavior which required treatment.

Now, since that diagnosis had been recently abandoned, they expected Mary and all the American people to quickly shed several generation’s worth of comprehension and join the parade.

It was fast.

Mary wanted equal pay for women in the workplace, but when she rallied with those struggling to achieve this worthy goal, she found herself in the midst of some who decried motherhood and made fun of the simpler values Mary held dear.

Mary was especially troubled by the spiritual indifference, which seemed to reject any soul who believed in God, deeming such a person irrational or uneducated.

Everything was so quick.

Marijuana becoming legal. If marijuana was so safe, why did the people who smoked it always portray it in their movies as a brain-staller—and a pathway leading to no motivation?

And then—the candidates themselves.

Mary of Moncrief, Michigan, was very worried about a man who mocked women, weaker folks and other nationalities with a sneer. But on the other hand, how could she support a woman like Hillary Clinton, who defended her husband’s mistreatment of a twenty-one-year-old intern in the White House, and even to this day, joined into the attacks against poor Monica?

As Mary sipped her coffee in the kitchen, she heard rumblings from the bedrooms above.

Soon her family would join her. Her thoughts would be blended with their desires.

Realizing how important her decision was, she scurried around, deciding to leave for work, going to the polls early to beat the rush.

She called out her good-byes and best wishes for the day, jogged to her car, got in and drove off.

She was nearly to the polling station when she veered off at a graveyard. She sat, staring at the frosty granite stones. Still they were—and at peace.

In a moment of deep reflection, she asked herself what all these people who had once lived would want her to do.

Who would they want her to vote for?

Mary just wished that one of those who wanted to be President of the United States would acknowledge that affairs, nations, wars and social revisions were happening at such a rapid pace that we all needed a deep breath—just to appreciate where we are, who we are and what we’re about to undertake.

Was there an order in it?

Did civil rights come before women’s rights or abortion rights?

It all seemed to be happening at the same time.

Was she supposed to feel some beckoning or even a requirement to vote for a woman since she was a woman herself? Maybe she would have felt differently if Hillary had even visited Michigan—instead of assuming that the unions and the black vote “had it in the bag.”

The Democrats took too much for granted, and the Republicans granted so very little.

Time was passing.

She had a tiny window—about twenty minutes—to go vote and still get to Nordstroms for her shift.

But after weeks—perhaps months—of deliberation, she was no further along.

So she made a very quick decision in her troubled mind.

That night, as Mary of Moncrief, Michigan, watched the election returns, she was so troubled that she felt a chill go down her spine.

Donald Trump was winning. Would he rise to the occasion and be a great President?

Should Hillary have been the one?

Even though the campaign had drug on for more than a year-and-a-half, now it all seemed to be too quick. Too speedy.

Mary was not a bigot.

Mary was not conservative.

Mary was certainly not liberal either—not by present standards.

Mary didn’t hate anyone.

But Mary also didn’t favor people just because they were of a certain color or even just because they were victimized.

As the night wore on, it gradually became more obvious and then official.

Donald J. Trump would be the President of the United States.

Mary didn’t know what to feel.

Maybe she was a little relieved that there wouldn’t be any more Clintons in Washington, but also a bit frightened that a real estate developer would be leading the greatest nation on Earth.

But most of all, she was in turmoil about herself.

For she had gone to work—and didn’t vote.

Things I Learned from R. B.

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4336)

Episode 5

R. B. really liked girls.

They did not share his interest.

There were many reasons for this.

First and foremost, R. B. had an opinion on almost everything, which he spoke clearly and loudly, leaving little room for input or variation on his stance.

He also thought of himself as being macho, trotting through rehearsal camp without a shirt, which might have been effective had he not sported the motif of skin and bones.

He was very religious, making it clear that women were equals except when they were married. Then they needed to be submissive to their husbands.

And finally, he maintained the hygiene standards of a twenty-four-year-old single man whose mother apparently gave up on confronting him in his early teens.

This did not stop him from trying.

The female members of the cast often looked over at me haplessly, wishing I would stop R. B. from flirting. I did occasionally step in when it was obvious that his overtures border-lined on verbal rape. But R. B. never missed a beat.

Then one of the sponsors of our show caught wind that we had gay men as choreographers. Even though these “sodomites” had left, during the process of their departure, they had outed our producer as a “penis preferrer.”

The sponsor was outraged. He requested a meeting with me to find out what I planned on doing with this obvious sinfulness in the organization. I invited the cast to the meeting so they would be privy to all conversations, with nothing done behind their backs.

The premise was simple.

My sponsor, who was named Tim, was telling me about my producer, who, ironically, was also named Tim, accusing him of being “homo.”

Tim, the sponsor, assumed that once I understood the situation, I would kick my friend and producer to the curb, restoring righteousness to the surroundings. He also let me know that the other sponsors, who were not as religious as he was, also did not approve of the producer’s lifestyle.

When Sponsor Tim was finished talking about Producer Tim, I sat and stared at the cast. I was curious to see if anyone would speak up.

They sat quietly. It was an era when, even if you disagreed with the treatment of homosexuals in America, you had a tendency to keep your mouth shut so as not to uncork the wrath of the religious right. Also, the mental health professionals of the time considered same-sex relationships to be “aberrant behavior.”

R. B., who had never lacked a prejudice or two, spoke right up, saying, “I think that Tim has to go.”

Feeling some need for comic relief, I patted the sponsor on the back and said, “Tim, you don’t have to go.”

There was a much-needed laugh in the room. However, it was quickly swallowed by the monster of intolerance.

R. B. did not think I was funny.

“You know what I’m saying!” he said. “We can’t have a homosexual working for us and think that God’s going to bless!”

Bouncing off R. B.’s theory, I asked the cast, “Do you think Jesus would kick the homo to the curb?”

You could tell they wanted to say no, but remained mute—like we all do when yellow seems to be our favorite color.

Sponsor Tim pursued. “You know I admire you,” he said to me. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“Thank you for that,” I said. “Truthfully, Tim, I don’t know what the right thing is. But I know what the right thing is for me. I’m looking at something called loyalty. I don’t know how immoral it is to be a homosexual, but I do know how immoral it is to be disloyal to a friend. The only reason you’re sitting here tonight talking to me is because my friend, Tim the Homosexual, believed in this project, got investors, and even arranged for this beautiful facility wherein we sit. I consider that to be good fruit—and since I know that good fruit doesn’t come from a bad tree, I think I’m going to stand with my buddy and keep working with him out of loyalty, because I consider it to be true morality.”

Tim the Sponsor glared at me like I had just been belched on the beach by a huge whale. There was the inkling in the room to applaud, but it was quelled by provincialism.

R. B. stood up and left.

Amazingly, Sponsor Tim accepted my stance and said that because he loved me, he would honor my decision and not interfere. If you think about it, that was remarkable.

After the meeting, R. B. came into the room, where I was alone.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to quit the play,” he said.

I didn’t say a word. After a long pause, he continued. “Sin is sin and wrong is wrong. Even if we think we’re defending for the right reason, evil still lurks to destroy us.”

As brave as I had been with Tim the Sponsor, I suddenly was worried that I was about to lose a cast member nine days out from the premiere. I buckled.

“Listen, R. B. Give me a break,” I said. “I’ll check into this. If there’s truth to it, we’ll cross it when we get to it. Okay?”

R. B. peered at me for a moment and then sprouted a smile. He stood to his feet, hugged me and sauntered out of the room.

All at once, I realized that he had never intended to quit. He just really enjoyed threatening.