Superman at Parent Teacher Conference
by Jeremiah Murphy
MR. CHARLES, an elementary school teacher sits at his desk grading papers. On the radio is some Miles Davis. A sign reads, “Parent Teacher Conference: Mr. Charles.”
SUPERMAN enters in complete costume. In his hand he deftly manages to hold a coffee and muffin, with his other hand he knocks.
During the scene SUPERMAN eats his muffin and sips his coffee continuously.
SUPERMAN: Mr. Charles?
MR. CHARLES: Yes! And you must be…
SUPERMAN: Superman. Faster than a speeding spitball. Ha ha. I hope you don’t get too many of those.
MR. CHARLES: Thanks so much for coming by. It’s great to meet you.
SUPERMAN: No problem at all. I told Braniac to take the night off.
MR. CHARLES: Who?
SUPERMAN: A cyborg alien who will stop at nothing to conquer Earth. Bad joke. Sorry about that.
MR. CHARLES: Oh, I see. Ha ha. Yes, Braniac.
SUPERMAN: Ha ha. Mr. Charles in Charge! (singing) There’s a new boy in the neighborhood–
MR. CHARLES: Ha ha.
SUPERMAN: (singing)–lives downstairs and it’s understood…
MR. CHARLES: Ha ha. OK, Mr. Superman.
SUPERMAN: I didn’t know you’d have food here. It’s a real treat. Marvelous.
MR. CHARLES: You can thank the PTA.
SUPERMAN: Great folks. Lois and I will have to make time to attend more of the meetings. I remember at the last one I distinctly said, “Please give Mr. Charles a raise, he’s the best!”
MR. CHARLES: The unions manage most of the pay issues.
SUPERMAN: Where would the American Dream be without them?
MR. CHARLES: Pay issues or unions?
SUPERMAN: Ha-ha. Mr. Charles. But seriously, Lois and I should be more involved with this school.
MR. CHARLES: You must be busy.
SUPERMAN: I suppose I could let the police handle most of my work.
MR. CHARLES: I used to say the same thing when I worked at P.S. 11. Rough school.
SUPERMAN: Ha ha. Mr. Charles. I’ve heard. I’ve heard.
MR. CHARLES: Well, let’s discuss little Jonathan.
SUPERMAN: Terrific kid, one might even say he’s… (waits for MR. CHARLES to say “super.”)
MR. CHARLES: Ha-ha. I wanted to talk to you about his performance.
SUPERMAN: Well, I wanted to say I hope the other students aren’t intimidated by his heritage. (Points to giant S on costume.)
MR. CHARLES: Jonathan is a real sweet child…
SUPERMAN: (Smiling) One might even say he’s… (Points to giant S on costume.)
MR. CHARLES: Mr. Superman.
SUPERMAN: Just Superman is fine, Mr. Charles.
MR. CHARLES: With mathematics, particularly at the third grade level, Jonathan is…
SUPERMAN: (Points to giant S on costume.) Super.
MR. CHARLES: Not super.
SUPERMAN: (Points to giant S on costume.) Super.
MR. CHARLES: No, not super.
SUPERMAN: Come on, I want to hear it. He’s my boy. (Points to giant S on costume.) Super.
MR. CHARLES: (Points to chest.) Special.
SUPERMAN: (He thinks about this for a moment) VERY special, top of the class, able to leap over pop quizzes in a single—
MR. CHARLES: His test scores are exceptionally low. Special in the sense that he has special needs.
SUPERMAN: I see, low for a Superman. B+’s and such. He’s probably trying to fit in. He doesn’t want throw the curve.
MR. CHARLES: He’s failed 3 out of 5 of the tests. His performance is quite poor.
SUPERMAN: He’s more of an artist anyway. I don’t want us to stifle his voice. Look what happened to Hitler.
MR. CHARLES: (Holds up a piece of paper with a red spot on it) This is from Jonathan’s art folder.
SUPERMAN: It’s super! I can’t wait to frame it. My boy!
MR. CHARLES: It’s not super. It’s a jelly donut stain from a jelly donut Jonathan smuggled into art class and ate jelly donuts when he should have been doing his pastels. Jelly donuts are not allowed in art class. I confiscated this as a matter of fact today.
MR. CHARLES slams a box of jelly donuts on the table.
SUPERMAN: No jelly donuts in art class, Mr Charles? Let kids be kids.
SUPERMAN and MR. CHARLES don’t speak.
SUPERMAN: May I? (Helps himself to a donut, lets out a small sound of pleasure.)
MR. CHARLES: Jonathan is failing school, Superman. He’s constantly eating sugar and he seems to know more about NBC’s evening programming than U.S. history. I constantly try to get through to him but he seems unresponsive unless there’s treats to be eaten or cartoons to be watched.
SUPERMAN: Are you sure you’re not talking about that Batman kid. People get me and Batman confused all the time. Superman, Batman. It doesn’t offend me. But I think this may—
MR. CHARLES: Batman doesn’t have a child in my class.
SUPERMAN: Timmy Wayne.
MR. CHARLES: What does Timmy Wayne have to—
SUPERMAN: I probably shouldn’t have said anything but Bruce Wayne, Timmy’s adopted father is actually Batman. Please don’t let that leave this room, Mr. Charles.
MR. CHARLES: Timmy actually has the best scores in the class.
SUPERMAN: I know for a fact Timmy’s father lets him jump off buildings and stay up past 9 o’clock…
MR. CHARLES: Superman, Jonathan needs to stop eating so much and not watch TV.
SUPERMAN: Point taken. Point taken, Mr. Charles. But I’m sure his reading and writing is—
MR. CHARLES: He uses quiet reading time to sleep off his chocolate milks.
SUPERMAN: Gym class! The boy must be exceptional.
MR. CHARLES: Exceptionally lazy, Superman. He has no motivation. The most active I’ve seen him was during dodgeball when he threw himself in front of the ball so he could spend the rest of the class sitting against a post eating a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken somebody left out.
SUPERMAN: Socially?
MR. CHARLES: A disaster. Maybe if he had better hygiene or tried to talk to people. Right now, he doesn’t give the other students much of a reason to interact with him. He needs help… guidance.
SUPERMAN: Lois has been thinking of having the boy start violin lessons. Thoughts, Mr. Charles?
MR. CHARLES glares at SUPERMAN.
I’ve had a beard since 2006. The only problem it has presented is what to do about the neck. The subject of men’s sub-facial hair seems to be taboo. Everyone’s different and no one wants to talk about it. Some dudes barely any hair past the jaw, some guy’s facial hair keeps growing all the way down to their Chewbacca ankles. With me it dips just a little below the Adam’s Apple, giving me a nice crop of neck hair. I never know quite what to do with it. There aren’t any books, role models, or Bible verses to direct me to the proper etiquette. If I let it grow out it looks a little too “crazy man in the woods” if I shave it all off it looks a little too “funny looking man with a roll of hot dogs under his chin.” So, lately I’ve been trimming it on a regular basis. It’s hard trimming the neck and keeping an eye the mirror, so I just run the trimmer over it. Zip-Zip. Recently I noticed that I always miss the tip of the Adam’s Apple. I usually realize this when I’m talking to someone and my hands wander from stroking my beard in thought to stroking my Adam’s Apple Hitler Moustache in horror. “Crapola! I have a Hitler Moustache on my Adam’s Apple!” My self-esteem crumbles to a level not seen since the Face Rash & Pimple Years (1991-1994).
Then I started thinking, after World War II the Hitler Moustache kind of dropped from below the nose to below the lower lip, like a “soul patch” or “flavor saver.” I think my Adam’s Apple Hitler Moustache is just an evolution, a natural progression. We have successfully left that ass’s nose and history has found its way to my neck. I just wish it had a better name than the Adam’s Apple Hitler Moustache such as the “Throat Patch,” “Neck Stash,” or… what am I doing?
It’s an Adam’s Apple Hitler Moustache! Just shave it, Murphy.
I spotted this cryptid at a temp job a while back. The Two-Headed Letterhead! Where do you begin the letter, where do you sign? What end do you load into the printer?
Spotted on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. What makes this grocery “Chinese Hispanic?” Perhaps this city truly is the melting pot, at least for two groups, in this one particular grocery store.
I snapped this cryptid in the Highline Park on 10th Avenue. I was admiring the elevated view of Chelsea when right before me straddled a three legged preppy wearing flip flops, cargo shorts, and a dayglo polo shirt with upturned collar. Could this be the missing link?
INTERVIEWER: We’re here tonight with a very special and surprising guest. Ma’am would you mind introducing yourself to the people watching.
MRS. POPE: I’m Mrs. Pope. The Pope’s wife. Although you’ve probably never heard of me.
INTERVIEWER: Ma’am, you’ll have to understand the skepticism some people might have about your actually being married to the pope.
MRS. POPE: Oy vey. Believe me, I’m skeptical myself. Have you ever once heard him utter two kind words about me in public? I sure haven’t. It’s like I don’t even exist. Everything’s work with him, no time for family. But who washes the dishes, who presses those nice white dresses, who cleans the hat? Mrs. Pope, the Pope’s wife, that’s who. Would it kill him to give me the slightest mention once in a while. “I’d like to thank my wife for polishing my jewelry” How hard would that be? It’s like he doesn’t even want to be seen with me. Even in Church! As if I’m forced to lurk in the shadows like some poverty stricken child’s pet cockroach. You know if we want to ride around in his silly Pope mobile he makes me sit in the trunk while him and his chucklehead friends sit up front? But when he can’t find the remote… then he screams my name. It takes two seconds to get off the couch and change the channel. But he likes to flick. Technology. It’s for the lazy.
INTERVIEWER: Mrs. Pope, some people might point out that the Pope is under an oath of celibacy.
MRS. POPE: Tell me about it.
INTERVIEWER: Can you elaborate?
MRS. POPE: He isn’t exactly one for romance.
INTERVIEWER: Then why are you married?
MRS. POPE: Because of the little things he does.
INTERVIEWER: Such as?
MRS. POPE: Sometimes in the morning he’ll sprinkle a little bit of holy water in my coffee.
INTERVIEWER: That’s sweet. Anything else?
MRS. POPE: Whenever he’s on TV he likes to give me a little wave.
INTERVIEWER: How do you know he’s waving specifically to you?
MRS. POPE: He would never cheat on me if that’s what you’re insinuating. This is the Pope we’re talking about, not the Governor of New York. And if he did cheat, I’d show him some infallibility.
INTERVIEWER: Where did you go on your first date?
MRS. POPE: Heaven.
INTERVIEWER: Really? How was it?
MRS. POPE: A nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there. Very expensive. And the pizza was stale, almost like communion wafers.
INTERVIEWER: I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Pope. Have you ever seen the Pope perform any miracles?
MRS. POPE: Sure, last Tuesday he remembered to leave the toilet seat down. That’s a miracle if I’ve ever seen one.
INTERVIEWER: How do you and the Pope spend your weekends?
MRS. POPE: We like to watch a lot of HBO. You know, that channel on cable.
INTERVIEWER: They do have a lot of exclusive programming and movies.
MRS. POPE: Well, he won’t take me out, so if I want to see a movie we have to wait for it to come on HBO. He says we’re saving money. The man has more gold rings than a pirate ship and he wants to save money.
INTERVIEWER: Now, Mrs. Pope, as I understand—and I’m not Catholic—as I understand it, the Pope is the Vicar to Christ. Have you ever met Jesus?
MRS. POPE: No, but we spoke on the phone.
INTERVIEWER: What did he say?
MRS. POPE: I wish I could tell you, the connection was very poor. I think he was using Sprint.
I was in the comic book store the other day, picking up my weekly groceries of literature when I saw a couple kids running around. The nerve of some parents! A wave of discomfort washed over me and several of my comic book shopping colleagues, all men in their thirties to forties, as we had to move away from the racks to accommodate comic book buyers twenty years our junior . There’s no place for children in comic book stores. Comic Books are complicated serialized stories full of moral debate, modern philosophies, and exaggerated physicalities using cartoon pictures and word bubbles. Clearly, an adult medium. What is an eight year old doing in the store, other than to make the rest of us feel a sudden sense of “Oh crap, maybe I’m too old for this stuff”??? Who let those damn kids in the comic book store? They should be in McDonald’s, getting fat. If I’m paying $2.99 a pop, I want velvet ropes and a bouncer at my comic book shop.
Above please check out a video of me at an open mic last night at The New York Comedy Club with SuperEgo Comedy. I had a lot of fun. I was pretty nervous, a lot more than when I when I’m usually on stage. I noticed being nervous made me hunch a little and wave my arm around a lot. Maybe I’ll be known as that “Stand-Up Who Waves His One Arm Around.”
To prepare my set I basically did a mental inventory of things I had been joking about recently in conversations, as well as things I caught myself being afraid to say in public. The set wasn’t totally written out but I mapped out all the jokes and kind of phrased them as I went along. I kind of wish I had written them out. I felt phrasing them on the fly led to some awkward speech and swallowed words.
A man, Zeke, and a trashcan, Ovid, sit on the stage. A large cockroach and a sleeping cat are also on stage.
ZEKE
I’m so pissed off at the world. Not at the beautiful animals and plants or sunset vistas but at the systems, conventions, and circumstances people have created.
OVID
Is ther anything specific that makes you upset?
ZEKE
It just seems that most folks have an idea of what makes them happy and on top of that they choose to ignore happiness, making sure they’re separated from their happiness, and keep themselves from being happy.
OVID
What makes you happy?
ZEKE
Choosing my own path in life.
OVID
Could you be a little more specific and a little less lame?
ZEKE
Not being in an office.
OVID
Oh, come on. What makes you happy? You can’t profess an anger with people who are purposely unhappy then refuse to name one thing that makes you happy. That’s sick, my man.
ZEKE
I’ve lived my whole life being told what’s supposed to make me happy, whether from television, text books, or just the structure of society. Also, I’m always told what will happen next: from elementary school, I’ll go to high school, from high school to college. From college to a job, a marriage, a family. From a job to a retirement. What’s left for me to choose? Just the little details? I understand that nature plays a role in predetermination but we should have a little more say in our life. But instead we let customs and self imposed rules—not desire and purpose–dictate our 70 odd years on this wonderful planet. I need to stop and really think about what makes me happy.
OVID
You really need to stop spitting when you talk. I want the news not the weather, Bill Evans.
Zeke sits and stares into space.
OVID
What are you doing?
ZEKE
I’m taking a moment to just cool off and think. How often do we get to just think, free of advertisements and noise.
OVID
Whenever we’re doing our daily business in the poop room. How long is this going to take?
ZEKE
I’m sorry, do you have some place you have to be?
OVID
Yes, I have tickets to Lithe Spirit.
ZEKE
It’s Blythe Spirit. And don’t let me keep you.
OVID
You know, the cat breathes very loudly when he sleeps and he sleeps right next to me. Can you do something about that?
ZEKE
Sure, I’ll take him to the sleep clinic. The sleep clinic for cats.
OVID
Thank you.
ZEKE
You’re welcome.
Scene 2
OVID
Are you going to do something about these roaches?
ZEKE
I put out Boric Acid.
OVID
Could you also try cleaning the sink and the rest of your apartment?
ZEKE
Come on, man. I try.
OVID
Seriously?
ZEKE
Hey, man. My house is a place of rest. When I come home I just want to lay low. You know cool off, maybe whine a little to vent then kick back. The commitments and obligations of the world drive me crazy. I just want to come home and be casual.
OVID
And lie with the roaches.
ZEKE
Come on, man. You know what: these roaches teach me shit. When I see them scurry around the sink or scatter in the light, they look an awful lot like people scurrying around Whole Foods and scattering around the subway. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!
OVID
Oh boy. Some exercise might do you good. Or some TV.
ZEKE
Why do people scramble for the subway. It feels like every time the door opens eighty percent of the train has a life or death issue. Why can’t people just chill?
OVID
Maybe they have to pee?
ZEKE
Why people have to cram into a train? What’s the hurry?
OVID
You ever have to pee on the subway? So painful.
ZEKE
And what’s wrong with a smile or two while you’re riding? Everyone’s so plugged into their ipods, books, and selves that the outside world seems like a distraction.
OVID
I don’t know about the subway but I’ll agree with you about Whole Foods. It’s like a bunch of hogs racing for scraps in that place. I think food lowers people’s IQ. People at that place are just rude, not the staff, the customers. They get a carriage and it’s like a roller derby of death in there. I wonder if people would slow down or at least be more considerate if they knew what it was like to starve?
ZEKE
That might make them more desperate for food.
OVID
I tried. I tried to get in your crazy paranoid depressed mindset.
ZEKE
I’m not depressed.
OVID
You ain’t happy. Maybe people are like roaches. But roaches are still gross. We could put a stop to them in the apartment.
ZEKE
I don’t really see the difference between people and animals. I see animals as having basic needs that they have to satisfy: food, shelter, status in a group… That’s basically how people behave, living their selfish lives.
OVID
Oh, geez.
ZEKE
Seriously, I saw this thing on TV,
OVID
Here we go. You hate TV except when you want to use it to support one of your anti-social beatnik philosophies.
