- Paul Davidson
Television Murders and the “<i>Can You Speak Slower, Please?</i>” Debacle
I saw it last night on TV. And so have you.
A detective’s cell rings while he’s walking in some sparse, un-populated area (cause it costs less to have less extras). He has to stop his conversation with his friend (walking alongside him) to take the call:
We quickly switch to a shot of a woman, a damsel in distress — she’s barricaded herself in a room and someone is hammering away at the door.
Woman: Bill! My god. He’s here, trying to get in! You’ve got to help me! Please!?
Detective: Emily, is that you?
Woman: YES, it’s me! I don’t have much time! You’ve got to come now!
Detective: You’re going to have to slow down, Emily. You’re talking waaay too fast. I don’t understand what you’re saying!
(Although everyone at home, does.)
Woman: Bill. He’s broken through the door… He’s —
At that point, we switch back to our fearless but inner-ear problemed Detective… The phone call has gone dead. I always imagine the next five minutes (which we never see) when our Detective finishes talking to his friend…
Friend: Who was that?
Detective: Emily. I think.
Friend: You think?
Detective: Yeah, it sounded like her but I’m not 100 percent sure. She was speaking waaaaay too fast. It was hard to understand what she was saying…
Friend: Emily? She’s the one you assigned those officers to? To watch her place in case her ex-husband came after her?
Detective: Yeah, yeah. She just was speaking way too fast. Something about having to pay a bill. Or the bill was at the door. Or, she wanted me to come over to help her pay her bills. What am I, her own personal CPA?
Friend: Seriously. That’s crossing the line.
Detective: Yeah, you’re telling me. Hmph, anyway. Where were we?
Friend: You were saying that you hate those cheese-filled hot dogs…
Detective: Ugh. Don’t get me started, buddy…
In other news — I have recently visited the local drug store’s Easter aisle and can confidently say that I am on a sugar high that has rendered my left arm and leg useless.