The Armadillo’s Moment of Fame
(From Orlando, Florida)
The armadillo has just finished the night out, when the noise begins. A loud buzzing, getting closer and closer until it begins to vibrate the ground. He hears the lawn mowers, the traffic, and people talking from different directions. He pops out of the bushes and runs out on the open grass. Blinded by the morning sunlight, he is confused and can barely see beyond the edges of his grassy island. He scurries about in circles, exposed now but staying off the parking lot pavement. The tourists EEEK, OOOH, and AHH at his sudden presence. He pops back into his darkness, back into the bushes. ……he has escaped his moment of fame. …..
I sit in the darkness of the room, waiting for my turn to go up on stage. Veins surface to my skin, making me sweat and twitch. I take off my watch, my name badge, and write “HOSPITAL CORPORATION OF AMERICA” on my hand because I am sure I might forget this during the presentation. I scan the room of 1,500 people, convincing myself that this is no different than talking to a few friends in the hallway. I study the stairs to get on stage: five steps up, no railing.
Soon, the facilitator gives me a nod. Someone hands me a microphone and I find it slipping, sliding through my fingers. As I walk up the stairs, I feel the heat, the brightness of the light beating on me. I can only see the first few rows of people.
The TV monitors in front of me show an awkward side angle of my head that is the size of a pumpkin. The huge screens behind me display a gigantic monster, an over-sized praying mantas, awkwardly clinging to a massive microphone. I try to loosen my grip on the microphone, hold it in a more casual way.
The noise begins immediately after I start to talk: a loud buzzing getting closer, vibrating the stage. I look to the facilitator to make sure there’s nothing wrong, but this is how the echo sounds. I have practiced this enough that I am afraid the speech will slip, slide, land on the floor with the microphone. But the gigantic praying mantis spews out the words and takes full control of the stage.
Soon enough, I say good bye to my host and then scurry down to the darkness of the room. Still blinded by the light, I search for the stairs. Careful, careful …. I dash back into the darkness. I have escaped my moment of fame.
My friends greet me to EEKK, OOOH, and AWEE at my presence. I have no idea what I have just said. Which version of the rehearsed speech did I even deliver? I just smile and enjoy the dimness of the room.
I sit in the darkness of the room, waiting for my turn to go up on stage. Veins surface to my skin, making me sweat and twitch. I take off my watch, my name badge, and write “HOSPITAL CORPORATION OF AMERICA” on my hand because I am sure I might forget this during the presentation. I scan the room of 1,500 people, convincing myself that this is no different than talking to a few friends in the hallway. I study the stairs to get on stage: five steps up, no railing.
Soon, the facilitator gives me a nod. Someone hands me a microphone and I find it slipping, sliding through my fingers. As I walk up the stairs, I feel the heat, the brightness of the light beating on me. I can only see the first few rows of people.
The TV monitors in front of me show an awkward side angle of my head that is the size of a pumpkin. The huge screens behind me display a gigantic monster, an over-sized praying mantas, awkwardly clinging to a massive microphone. I try to loosen my grip on the microphone, hold it in a more casual way.
The noise begins immediately after I start to talk: a loud buzzing getting closer, vibrating the stage. I look to the facilitator to make sure there’s nothing wrong, but this is how the echo sounds. I have practiced this enough that I am afraid the speech will slip, slide, land on the floor with the microphone. But the gigantic praying mantis spews out the words and takes full control of the stage.
Soon enough, I say good bye to my host and then scurry down to the darkness of the room. Still blinded by the light, I search for the stairs. Careful, careful …. I dash back into the darkness. I have escaped my moment of fame.
My friends greet me to EEKK, OOOH, and AWEE at my presence. I have no idea what I have just said. Which version of the rehearsed speech did I even deliver? I just smile and enjoy the dimness of the room.
