Let Me Correct You

I work at a newspaper. One of the biggest problems is the 'citizen with a great story idea'. I am constantly subjected to people with 'hot tips'. As soon as a citzen finds out that you are part of a publication, they immediately turn in goddam Deep Throat with a 'juicy story.' So, I don't know how many John Grisham novels it takes before you have the 'lingo' down. But, no one I know says 'hot tip' or 'juicy story'.

So when you say you have a great story idea, let me correct you, you don't. I will assure you, sir, that you do not. Have a juicy story. Or a hot tip. Because people who do have good stories don't say words like 'stories that will make your hair curl'.

If you've ever read a book--any book, or seen a movie--any movie, you will realize that hot stories aren't delivered nicely in a tight little ego-covered package. You have to bleed and sweat for a good story. We, as writers, already know this. And while this is your first foray into the 'hot tip' world, it's not our first rodeo.

So, to the fucking guy that keeps calling and asking for the editor: No one cares that you were in the Kent State shooting. You weren't shot. And you didn't shoot anyone. Plus, that was 40 years ago, give or take. That story has been told, man. Oh, you were arrested during the peaceful anti-Iraq demonstration. I see. Did anyone beat your face it? Did you stop a moving tank with your flower-covered body..? No, huh. So, for serious now. Why did you think anyone would waste precious seconds of a ticking away lifetime to read about your lame ass story..?

Not only do I have to talk to these fuckin people alllllllll day, in their voice is such a bravado, such an arrogant little twinge like they're doing you a favor. Boy, do I have a great story idea! I really hate to ruin the surprise, but, NO, no you do NOT. You demand to knkow why the editor hasn't called you back..? Oh, that's because he doesn't care. And him not calling you back is an indication to this fact.

I was reviewing a show at Peabody's. I had my lil notebook, taking notes as reporters are like to do. This HUGE hulking man comes up to me. He chats me up, I politely deflect his pick up's with my profession. Was this a mistake..? Yes. Because, all of a sudden, he remembers that he was in the Free Masons. Wait for it...He was a Free Mason, he donated or embezzeled, semantics, a million dollars to a charity that he started. Right. Get me OUTTA here. He's got one claw on my shoulder and he's screaming hot, Pabst flavored spit into my hair. His buddy, who incidently is so coked out that he's sweating out of his eyes. So, he is nodding in agreement to his comrade's wild stories about the Free Mason's and how Michael Jackson and Colonel Sanders are involved in fixing professional sports. Not really, but, kinda. (See how I made that last part more interesting for print? You're welcome.)

And when people started reading my articles, some on dating, some on human interaction, etc. I started hearing, "Ahhhhh, better be careful around this one, you'll end up in one of her articles..." NOT really. Also, DO NOT suggest that I write a story about your life. Because everyone thinks they're life is interesting. Dude. It's not. You're not Axl Rose or Abraham Lincoln. You make sandwiches at the Deli Stop and play Final Fantasy until you retire to your double, empty bed in your parent's basement. Don't. So, when you earnestly suggest, "dude, you should write a story about MY dating troubles". I cringe. Should I? Really..? Do you care about the minutae of anyone else's life..? Right.