In today’s society, with such high moralistic standards, it is not surprising that we have produced talented, honest writers such as memoirist James Frey and New York Times reporter Jayson Blair.
Inspired by these “lyters” (lying writers), I have decided to write a memoir of one of my co-workers, consisting of both actual and “fict-actual” events and situations. As with every reader who picks up a tome to explore, it’s up to you to decide for yourself what is the truth -- and what is not quite the truth.
I now give you an excerpt from Bananas’ Republic:
“I was in a Poison video, you know,” Jan Bananas, 6 feet tall and striking, shared as we dined over lunch at Alfred’s Victorian. She feasted on escargot. I chose the steak.
I can’t say I’m surprised. Jan was definitely the music video type -- thin and fit with auburn hair I could only get from a bottle.
She spent her days undercover as person in charge of scientific things for the government. She told me she could tell me where she worked, but then she’d have to kill me. Then I realized I worked where she worked, so I began to question if I was already dead.
Jan’s job took her all over the place. Her travels included majestic locations like West Virginia, Pittsburgh and Wayne, Pa. I admit I was jealous of her worldly charms.
To say she was an asset to her company would be an understatement. She rose quickly through the ranks, often considered indispensable. Her rise was due in part to her genius -- and due in part to her insatiable appetite. Fueled by jellybeans and Cup Noodles, Jan’s blood sugar had her bouncing off the walls. Literally.
“Hey, I get the shakes if I don’t get enough sugar,” she’d say.
After recovering from a head wound from one of those bouncy occasions, Jan took on a new role, that of a webmaster.
Still, Jan imagined herself in yet a larger role. Led by an Oracle, her thoughts turned to bigger and better things.
Over Mojitos at Cafe Fresco, she shared her ambitions: “I don’t really care what I do, as long as I remain cooler than you. Which shouldn’t be too hard.”
A more fragile person would have been offended, but not me. I knew Jan in and out. She could keep thinking whatever she wanted to, but she’d never be cooler than me.
“Cookie,” she continued, using her favorite nickname for me, or so I thought, but I soon noticed she was pointing to the menu. I acquiesced and ordered a chocolate chip.
“Yes, Bananas?”
“I am totally cooler than you.”
I wondered when she learned how to read my thoughts.
Jan’s true ambitions extended to world domination. “That would be cool,” she responded after I suggested what her true ambitions could be.
In reality, Jan has achieved more than what most people could fathom -- she works with her mother. With only one office separating the mother/daughter team, the two put the word “family” in “familiarity,” if you change the “y” to an “i” and ignore the fact that it’s really a bad comparison.
“You should talk to my mother. I’m sure she’ll be able to give you some good stories,” Jan suggested. But alas, that will have to wait for another time. This memoirist is finished memoirizing.
Although I have learned much from Jan, there is one thing I will be sure to take with me: It’s really easy to write a memoir about someone if you make things up. Real reporting -- now that’s the hard stuff.
In case you were wondering: Jan really does exist, she really works with her mom, and she really thinks she’s cooler than me. But I have it on good authority that she’s not.
Names have been changed, poorly, to protect my bank account from lawsuits.
