My 06.13.2012 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

Here ya' go. From last week's Arkansas Weekly:

Friday, June 8, 2012.

09:35 hours.

This just happened. Sort of:

         

THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!

         

I was with my son at his haircut appointment when the above text came to my iPhone. My first reaction was a cold shot of adrenaline down my spine, then sheer panic.

          

THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!

          

I threw a twenty to the hairdresser and another twenty to my son.

          

“Nine one one, Hutton!” I yelled. “THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE! Call a cab! I still think you’d look cool with a Bieber cut, but whatever! I love you!”

          

THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!

         

I sped through three red lights and crashed my truck through the wooden fence and down into the office parking lot. I ran inside and found chaos.

          

Leslie, our usually uninvolved receptionist, grabbed me first and screamed:

          

“THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE! THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!”

          

I took hold of her arms and slapped her hard across the face.

         

“CALM DOWN, WOMAN!” I screamed.

         

“BUT I CAN’T LOOK AT FACEBOOK! I CAN’T LOOK AT FACEBOOK!”

          

I twirled her around to her desk, a desk that was covered in stacks of files.

          

“THOSE DOCUMENTS HAVE BEEN SITTING THERE SINCE 2004 WAITING FOR YOU TO FILE THEM! TAKE YOUR MIND OFF THE INTERNET BEING DOWN AND FILE THEM!”

          

I pushed her back toward her desk and moved down the hall.

          

“AND FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, WILL YOU FAX THAT MEMO I GAVE YOU LAST DECEMBER?!? I CAN SEE IT THERE, UNDERNEATH YOUR CHINESE TAKE OUT BOX FROM YESTERDAY!”

          

I moved down the hall. I could hear screams from other offices.

          

“THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!” screamed one marketing specialist from her office. “I CAN’T GET ON TOPIX DOT COM!”

          

“CAN WE NOT E-MAIL SOMEONE FOR HELP?!?” asked another marketing specialist from his office. “CAN WE NOT POST FOR HELP ON FACEBOOK?!?”

          

“NO! OF COURSE NOT!” I yelled as I made my way toward the computer room.

          

“BUT WHY?” yet another asked me from her office.

          

“BECAUSE,” I answered, “THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!”

          

The screams from all the offices seemed to double in agonized-sounding pain. One computer monitor was thrown out of one office. I thought I heard a gunshot and a loud thump from the program manager’s office.

          

Suddenly, as I passed by Uncle Jack’s office, the pungent scent of gasoline stung my nostrils. I looked, and I saw the veteran marketing consultant sitting on his floor and saturating himself with premium unleaded gasoline from a metal can. He tossed the empty can aside and grabbed a book of matches.

          

“UNCLE JACK,” I screamed. “NO! DON’T DO IT! WE JUST HAD THE CARPETS STEAMED LAST WEEK!”

          

“Rob,” he said in a shaky, yet resigned voice, “I came into my office this morning, and when I tried to get online to go through all of my anti-Obama emails and forward them to every man, woman and child on my email list, I realized the internet was down. I can’t download all the anti-Obama emails from my friends. How am I going to live without sending out all of these fake rumors about our socialist illegal immigrant President to every man, woman and child on my email list? First the Obama Presidency, now this.”

          

“HOLD IT TOGETHER, MAN!” I screamed, and in a lightning-fast move I perfected in my Tae-Bo class, I delivered a roundhouse kick to Uncle Jack’s hand and knocked the matches across his office. “NOW GO SELL SOME ADS AND SHOW YOUR CLIENTS THE BENEFITS OF ADVERTISING IN THE PAPER THAT HAS THE LARGEST CIRCULATION OF ANY PAPER IN THE AREA – ARKANSAS WEEKLY! AND ALSO SHOW THEM HOW MUCH TRAFFIC THEY WILL GET IN THEIR BUSINESS IF THEY SUPPLEMENT THAT ADVERTISING WITH RADIO COMMERCIALS ON W.R.D. ENTERTAINMENT’S FAMILY OF SIX RADIO STATIONS. REMIND THEM THAT IF THEY HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, THEY CAN CALL (870) 793-4196 AND ASK FOR SALES! W.R.D. ENTERTAINMENT – EXPOSURE YOUR BUSINESS DESERVES!”

          

I finally made it to the computer room. The office manager was on the phone with the I.T. guy.

          

“I’M ON THE PHONE WITH THE I.T. GUY!” she screamed.

         

“Calm down,” I said as I tried to do the same. “I just wrote that you were on the phone with the I.T. guy. Now, shoot it to me straight: what does our tech guy say?”

          

“He says…,” she said with a trembling voice. “He says…”

          

“Yes, tell me. I can take it.”

          

“He says, ‘THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!”

          

Just then, my fellow columnist, Duffie “The Roving Fisherman” Bryant, walked in the room. He was holding a sheet of paper.

          

“What’s all the fuss and yelling around here?” he asked. He looked remarkably sharp for a 93-year-old. “Your lady up front that’s always on the computer is runnin’ up and down the halls screaming like she’s on fire or something. I just came to drop off my column.”

         

“Mr. Bryant,” I said. “THE INTERNET IS DOWN AT THE OFFICE!”

          

“Oh, I don’t have much use for computers and such. Typewriters work fine for me. Speaking of which, here’s my column.”

        
He handed me the sheet of paper. Then, he looked at me for a moment, seeming to consider our dilemma. He pointed to a box on a computer rack.

         

“Did you unplug your modem and re-set it?” he asked.

          

I looked to the office manager and then the box and then back to the office manager. She unplugged the modem and then plugged it back.

          

“IT’S ON! THE INTERNET IS BACK ON AT THE OFFICE!” screamed Leslie from the front desk. Cheers erupted from all over the building. Everyone ran out of their offices, and with a still-dripping wet Uncle Jack leading the way, put Duffie on their shoulders and paraded down the hall and out into the parking lot.

Outside, we all celebrated the return of the internet to the offices of W.R.D. Entertainment – except for Leslie, who could not be pulled away from Facebook.

Tears of joy were shed. Hugs were shared. And the party was going fantastic…

...until the sales manager lit a cigarette, and Uncle Jack burst into flames.

Last known photograph of "Uncle Jack"