| the blog of human failure
As good as things were with Scolnick, however, life was not going nearly as well for Mitch. In the time he was gone, his wife Mary, assuming he was dead, had met another man.
“He’s a Christian Scientist and very sweet,” Mary said to him without a hint of shame.
“A Christian Scientist?” said Mitch. “Like Pascal?”
“Um, I don’t think so, but he’s very good to me and we’re very deeply in love.”
“But what about our marriage? What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Listen, Mitch I really don’t want to argue about this anymore. You’re giving me a headache and you know I’m not allowed to take aspirin.”
Dejected, McCulloch tried to go through his routine at work but kept falling off his schedule, distracted by his loss. He just couldn’t believe that his wife had left him.
“Maybe if it was one of those Nobel-Prize-winning Jew scientists I could live with myself,” he would mumble to himself at his desk, “but a Christian Scientist? What kind of world are we living in?”
Things went from bad to worse when he was called into the company president’s office. Apparently he hadn’t sold an insurance plan since he’d been back from the island and his fellow associates in the office were complaining about his constant mumbling.
“We’re going to have to let you go, Tom,” the president said.
“My name is Mitch, sir,” said Mitch, trying to hold back his tears.
“That attitude of yours is more than half your problem, son,” said the president slamming his feet up on his desk. “Doreen will validate you on the way out.”
“I don’t drive to work sir, and your secretary’s name is Hank,” Mitch sputtered.
“Say goodbye to that reference, Tom,” the president said, frowning.
Without a wife and without a job, McCulloch didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how he was going to pay his rent or how he was even going to survive. There were friends that he could ask for help but without his job they would all pity him and he would rather kill himself then have to rely on their self-righteous charity. There was only one person in the world he could possibly call. He picked up his cell phone.
“Honestly, Mary, a Christian Scientist. I don’t even think those people wear shoes. Why don’t you just marry a friggin’ Mormon or gopher and get it over with?”
“Please stop calling here Mitch,” said Mary and then she hung up the phone.
“Alright- I’ll call that goof Scolnick,” said McCulloch to the dial tone.
As luck would have it the two men were rescued the next day by a sightseeing tour helicopter that saw the smoke coming from the island. They were brought to a hospital in San Francisco to be treated for exposure and minor injuries but were released a few days later. Scolnick said good bye to his friend, making sure to get his information so that they could forever stay in touch.
“Anytime you need anything, Henry, don’t be afraid to call,” said Mitch during their last moments in the infirmary together. Scolnick was shocked to see as he walked out of the hospital that the parking lot was full of news reporters and they were all waiting for him.
“How did you survive?” barked one reporter.
“Were you able to resist the deliciously sinful temptation of homosexuality?” barked another reporter.
“How many jelly beans are in this jar?” barked another reporter, holding aloft a jar of jelly beans.
“Arf, arf, arf?” barked a seal.
Scolnick couldn’t believe it. He was surrounded by media attention for weeks after the event. Meaning had finally been attributed to his life and he was riding on a wave of pure pleasure. In the supermarket he ran into a woman holding a tuna steak who recognized him from TV.
“My name is Susan,” she said to him. “Aren’t you that guy from the plane crash who was stuck on the island?”
“That’s me,” he said completely incredulous.
“Why don’t you come home with me? I’m going to make you a very happy man for the rest of your life.” Scolnick was elated. He dropped his Lean Cuisine in his cart and threw his arms around the woman.
“You smell like you know what you’re talking about,” he said rubbing his nose up against her ear.
“Oh sorry, I think that might be the tuna,” she said. Susan grabbed his hand and they started moving towards the checkout line.
And Scolnick’s luck did not stop there. A public relations firm in San Francisco approached him to do a series of commercials for a diet program. The only problem was they didn’t have a product for him to promote. Henry suggested an island aerobic workout where willing customers were dropped on a deserted island to fend for themselves for a month.
“It’s like Survivor but without all the other assholes!,” he exclaimed.
Not only were they interested in having him promote the idea, they were so impressed with his vision that they decided to give him a position in the company. A new job and a new woman. I’ve got to go find some faces into which this will be thrown, thought Scolnick, proud that he had learned to stop ending his thoughts in prepositions.
The worst problem the two men faced was the boredom. They had an entertaining game of tag going for about two weeks, but tired of it after a long drawn-out dispute over who was really “it”.
“It’s just not fun if you’re not going to play by the rules,” Mitch said to Henry with venom.
In order to further stave off the boredom the men would talk to each other for hours at a time. Mitch would relate stories to Henry about his wife and his job as an advertising executive in Los Angeles. Scolnick would tell stories about things he once found in his nose, which jelly beans tasted the worst, and the time he found a jelly bean in his nose. The men laughed and worked together, becoming close friends in the process.
About a month into their excursion on an early Funday evening the men were sitting on the beach throwing stones into the ocean.
“Alright,” said Scolnick. “If you were trapped on a desert island and could only bring one book, one CD, and one movie, which ones would you choose?”
“I don’t really think I want to play this game,” said McCulloch, skipping his rock against the waves. “I have to apologize to you, Henry. I wasn’t very nice to you on the plane all those weeks ago. I can’t say this is my dream to be trapped on an island with a complete stranger, but you’re a good man and I appreciate you not killing me in my sleep.”
“It was the least I could do after you made such a big deal about it,” said Scolnick smiling. “So we’re friends then, huh Mitch?”
“Until the day I die of this dysentery, island brother.”
The two men decided that night to make a final pact to seal their friendship. After a quick brainstorm, they settled on matching tattoos. While Scolnick was hoping for a racecar, Mitch convinced him that a palm tree would be more appropriate. They sharpened rocks and carved the design into each other’s left arm, blood trickling all the while. The bond between the two men had been cemented.
“Now do a racecar on my back,” said Scolnick enthusiastically.
“Whatever you say my friend,” said McCulloch with a smile.
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