Floyd Kelly

The sun was high over the city park in Jubilee, Illinois. A perfect mid-day. Many people were out and about enjoying their day, and then there was my little operation of mischief. Me, your intrepid reporter, and my sidekick, Gwenyth, who was dressed in tie-dye from head to toe, were on a mission. Her only job was to act as my silent, human flourish. While I conducted my interviews, she would stand in the background, striking desperate poses or gesturing gracefully at a nearby pigeon or an interesting cloud.

My interviews were quick. I’d ask strangers on the street “Hi there. What’s your name?”, and they’d get flustered and deliberately give me a fake one. A woman in a power suit told me, “Sir, if you have time to ask questions, you have time to raise Sea Monkeys!” A man reading a newspaper peered at me over the pages. “You stink like rancid seawater!” he yelled, before declaring himself “Captain of the Chi Chi Show.” A tall, burly lumberjack looked at Gwenyth presenting a water fountain with a flourish and asked, “Are you some kind of crackpot or something?” before sighing and giving his name as “The Guru of the Cheeseburger Council.”

After 4 hours, finally, I saw my last target: a wondrous couple sitting at a table, having a meal. I approached with grace and awe, Gwenyth gliding silently behind me to elegantly display a saltshaker.

“Hi there. What is your name?” I asked, holding the mic out to the man.

The man fidgeted, “Who wants to know?” he asked, his rough voice dripping with annoyance.

“I do,” I said. “For my project.”

“Why?” the man shot back.

I leaned in, my voice low and serious. “Because … be-cause.. oh, I don’t know.”

The man stared at me, then at Gwenyth, then at the fly on his sandwich.

“Where are your cameras? Your mic cord is not connected to anything.” He seemed done. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fine! You want a name? My name is John Doe. Happy now?”

A gasp escaped my lips. I looked at Gwenyth, my eyes wide with a disbelief so profound it felt holy. “After all the fake names people threw at me … finally!”

“We have a winner!” I screamed, grabbing Gwenyth by the shoulders. “Did you see that?!” She just smiled serenely and struck a final, triumphant pose over the bewildered couple.

As Gwenyth and I began our return to the garage studio, she turned to the couple and apologetically stated “Sorry about all of this. He’s just had a bit too much Mountain Dew. Have a good day!”