I laugh because that was funny. I drop the track pose and stand up out of respect for my unborn children.

There must be another way, which is when the security guard starts grinning.

“What’s so cute?” I ask.

He nods toward the monitor. “Looks like your friend didn’t need you after all.”

14

My knees feel buzzy, wobbly. Or maybe that’s my head.

I can’t believe my eyes. This can’t be happening.

Q, a chrome mic in his hand, smiles and gazes into the camera like he was made for TV. No, like TV was made for him.

“So, I flew in from Ohio and it got me thinking about the first ever commercial flight. Can you imagine how that must’ve gone?

Your dad trying to convince you it was safe?

Now, son, I promise it’ll be okay. What’s the worst that could happen?

Dad, it’s a giant sardine can with flimsy wings flying thirty thousand feet in the air? Mom was right. You really do lack imagination.

You know what I hate most about flying?

The half can of pop they serve you. What, the seven thousand dollars I paid for this flight won’t cover a couple more swigs of lemon-lime? And to make sure you have even less to drink, they jam-pack your cup with ice. I’m sorry, are we still cooling my soda? Or should I grab my pick-ax and start climbing?

And this is no regular ice. No. This ice instantly melts on contact. Soon as she pours the capful of soda, boom, the top layer of your drink is pure tap water. You down half of your cup before you can even remember what you ordered, that’s how watered down that thing is.

You take two more slurps and it’s gone and now you’ve still got a bag of mini pretzels you can’t tear open to save your life. And who came up with mini pretzels anyway? Were pretzels really so big we needed to shrink them?”

I couldn’t tell you how long Q’s set is.

Only that he kills, slays, murders.

When he’s finished, he takes the deepest, most expressive bow ever.

And then he drops the mic.

Except it doesn’t hit the ground because he’s still hanging on to the cord.

He pulls it up back by the cord and laughs. “Just playing, I know this costs more than this entire audience makes in a year. This thing heavy as hell. What’s this made of? Gold bullion? I didn’t wanna break it because soon as I walk off this stage, I’m stuffing it my pants, taking it back to Ohio.”

And it doesn’t matter if I now remember just how hilarious Q is.

It doesn’t matter if all of America falls in love with his charm, with his humility.

I hope they appreciate what they’ve just experienced.