presenting the camera with his hands, as if it were a prize on a game show. He was rocking his head back and forth, sort of singing, “Good, love, good, love, good, love,” in a droning repetition.
I knew at the time that it wasn’t a commercial. They don’t have that technology—
yet
. I didn’t wake my wife up because, again, there are some things you don’t tell wives. You don’t wake your wife up in the middle of the night and say, “Do you see the giant camcorder, honey?” If I had done that, I would definitely be on medication.
The old man was laughing and singing when the vision disappeared, and I heard my wife saying, “What’s the matter? Why are you up? Are you alright? Did you do drugs?”
“No, no,” I said. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
But what did the vision mean? What was God trying to tell me?
I went back to sleep. When I woke up, I walked into the living room, where my wife was reading the Sunday paper. I leaned over her shoulder to give her a kiss, and when I looked down at the paper, right in front of me was an ad: Sony camcorder on sale, $850, at The Wiz.
It was the camcorder from the vision.
There are no coincidences. The
Wiz
was the guy in the dream—come on, it was a
sign
. My wife saw it as a sale, but that’s really semantics. It was better that she didn’t know.
It was finally clear to me. I was going to travel to Israel and God was going to show me his face and I would get it on tape. I was going to make the most important documentary ever. I needed that camcorder.
A couple of hours later, my wife and I walked into The Wiz. I don’t know if this happens to anybody else, but when I walk into a place like that, I get that immediate sensation of “Hey, am I going to get fucked?”
I don’t know if it’s all the complicated electronic equipment or if it’s the way the creepy sales staff is perched at the counter waiting to pounce. They don’t hire people at these places, they
cast
them.
There’s always the one older guy with a potbelly, slicked-back hair, tie, and a pocket protector. He’s a heart attack waiting to happen. He looks like my Grandpa Jack. He’s been selling air conditioners for twenty years. You are sure there is a picture of him in a photo album somewhere with a lei around his neck and a hula girl at his side from an appliance junket to Hawaii in the seventies. He’s there to accommodate the old school.
“I’m Frank, the manager. How are ya? What can we help you find today?”
There are also always the younger, groovier guys to accommodate the younger, groovier people. Maybe they have a ponytail and a goatee. They also have assorted ethnic types to deal with the assorted ethnic types that come in. That number will be smaller or larger depending on the ethnic profile of the neighborhood.
Kim and I were looking at the cameras, and of course Groovy Guy ambled up. “Hey, you two. Checking out the camcorders? Right on. If you have any questions, I’ll be right here behind you. My name is Scott.”
“Scott, is this the one on sale for eight hundred and fifty dollars?” I said like a person who knows what he needs.
They always say the same thing. “No, that one you’re looking at is a hundred thousand dollars. We’re out of the one on sale.” I was devastated. “What? We just saw it in the—” Kim cut me off.
“Marc, come here a second.” She pulled me aside. “That’s a bait and switch. He can’t do that. It’s illegal.”
“What are you talking about?” I whined.
“I saw it on
Sixty Minutes
. It’s a bait and switch. I’m going to say something. It’s wrong.”
She was going in. I could see it in her eyes. She was going to make things right. She did that sometimes, and whenever she did I would usually go elsewhere in the store until the problem had passed.
Kim walked back over to Groovy Guy and locked eyes with him. “We saw a Sony camcorder in the paper advertised for eight hundred and fifty dollars, and now that
I knew at the time that it wasn’t a commercial. They don’t have that technology—
yet
. I didn’t wake my wife up because, again, there are some things you don’t tell wives. You don’t wake your wife up in the middle of the night and say, “Do you see the giant camcorder, honey?” If I had done that, I would definitely be on medication.
The old man was laughing and singing when the vision disappeared, and I heard my wife saying, “What’s the matter? Why are you up? Are you alright? Did you do drugs?”
“No, no,” I said. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
But what did the vision mean? What was God trying to tell me?
I went back to sleep. When I woke up, I walked into the living room, where my wife was reading the Sunday paper. I leaned over her shoulder to give her a kiss, and when I looked down at the paper, right in front of me was an ad: Sony camcorder on sale, $850, at The Wiz.
It was the camcorder from the vision.
There are no coincidences. The
Wiz
was the guy in the dream—come on, it was a
sign
. My wife saw it as a sale, but that’s really semantics. It was better that she didn’t know.
It was finally clear to me. I was going to travel to Israel and God was going to show me his face and I would get it on tape. I was going to make the most important documentary ever. I needed that camcorder.
A couple of hours later, my wife and I walked into The Wiz. I don’t know if this happens to anybody else, but when I walk into a place like that, I get that immediate sensation of “Hey, am I going to get fucked?”
I don’t know if it’s all the complicated electronic equipment or if it’s the way the creepy sales staff is perched at the counter waiting to pounce. They don’t hire people at these places, they
cast
them.
There’s always the one older guy with a potbelly, slicked-back hair, tie, and a pocket protector. He’s a heart attack waiting to happen. He looks like my Grandpa Jack. He’s been selling air conditioners for twenty years. You are sure there is a picture of him in a photo album somewhere with a lei around his neck and a hula girl at his side from an appliance junket to Hawaii in the seventies. He’s there to accommodate the old school.
“I’m Frank, the manager. How are ya? What can we help you find today?”
There are also always the younger, groovier guys to accommodate the younger, groovier people. Maybe they have a ponytail and a goatee. They also have assorted ethnic types to deal with the assorted ethnic types that come in. That number will be smaller or larger depending on the ethnic profile of the neighborhood.
Kim and I were looking at the cameras, and of course Groovy Guy ambled up. “Hey, you two. Checking out the camcorders? Right on. If you have any questions, I’ll be right here behind you. My name is Scott.”
“Scott, is this the one on sale for eight hundred and fifty dollars?” I said like a person who knows what he needs.
They always say the same thing. “No, that one you’re looking at is a hundred thousand dollars. We’re out of the one on sale.” I was devastated. “What? We just saw it in the—” Kim cut me off.
“Marc, come here a second.” She pulled me aside. “That’s a bait and switch. He can’t do that. It’s illegal.”
“What are you talking about?” I whined.
“I saw it on
Sixty Minutes
. It’s a bait and switch. I’m going to say something. It’s wrong.”
She was going in. I could see it in her eyes. She was going to make things right. She did that sometimes, and whenever she did I would usually go elsewhere in the store until the problem had passed.
Kim walked back over to Groovy Guy and locked eyes with him. “We saw a Sony camcorder in the paper advertised for eight hundred and fifty dollars, and now that
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