A Mid-Winter’s Night DreamInside MagicMagic News Updated Daily for the Professional Magician

I’m Dumb but at least I’m Stupid.

?Move along, son.?

I know the sound of an officer?s voice from twenty yards. I couldn?t believe I fell asleep there, in the gutter. How trite. It would be almost excusable ? for being trite, that is ? if I was setting the story up. I wasn?t. It was real life and it was clich?.

?You know where you are, son??

I nodded and tried to extend my arm towards the drain. I just wanted to grab the solid steel rungs that filtered the water pouring down Gervais Street, under me and into the sewer.

?Where are you?? the officer asked. He was being very patient with me. Most times, I would have been run in to the pokey. It kind of worried me he didn?t have me in the back of his car, cuffs behind my back, and a fresh bruise from where I ?fell during the arrest.?

There are things we tell ourselves that we?ll never tell another soul. This was one of those things. This would be our little secret.

The officer helped me to my feet and walked me to the patrol car. I expected the next question. It was required before a suspect was put in the back of a patrol car.

?You have anything on you that I should know about?? he asked.

…

I’m Dumb but at least I’m Stupid.

?Move along, son.?

?You know where you are, son??

I nodded and tried to extend my arm towards the drain. I just wanted to grab the solid steel rungs that filtered the water pouring down Gervais Street, under me and into the sewer.

There are things we tell ourselves that we?ll never tell another soul. This was one of those things. This would be our little secret.

The officer helped me to my feet and walked me to the patrol car. I expected the next question. It was required before a suspect was put in the back of a patrol car.

?You have anything on you that I should know about?? he asked.

I shook my head and then remembered my set of Mogar Color Changing Knives, my Shattered Bottle, my Needle Through Arm, and my Eye-Gouger.

?Wait,? I said. ?Wait, I have some things that will look like they?re dangerous like knives and needles and broken bottles and a grapefruit spoon with really sharp ridges. But they?re not. I promise. I?m just a magician.?

I awaited the nightstick probation to the back of my knees but it didn?t come. I wanted to look up to see if the officer was just getting ready to wallop me good on the head instead of the knees. I couldn?t look, though. I didn?t want to encourage the inevitable beating.

?You staying at the Columbia Hotel?? the kind officer asked.

I shook my head and tried to lift up to stand and fall towards the backseat.

?Where you staying, son??

?I couldn?t get in. I am here on a convention and it was sold out, the hotel was sold out.?

The officer nodded and helped me in the car.

?So where you staying?? he asked me through the caging separating the frontseat from the surprisingly non-urine smelling backseat.

I told him I was at the Hampton Inn.

He drove in silence towards the hotel and pulled into the parking lot. I heard the door unlock and then open to my right.

?C?mon,? he invited.

?I?m not a drunk,? I said. ?I?m just really tired.?

?I don?t think you?re a drunk,? the nicest officer in the world said. ?My guess ? and you tell me if I am wrong ? is that you were at the first day of SCAM, you tried to attend all lectures, visit the Dealers? Room, see the impromptu sessions in the hallway, hit on a waitress in the bar, bought more stuff from the Dealers? Room than you will ever use, re-wrote your act, asked the gal in the bar if she really was serious about not dating a married man who she would never meet again, and then you started to walk home to the Hampton Inn.?

I was amazed. This guy was good.

I nodded. ?That?s all true except . . .?

He completed the sentence, ?all except the gal in the bar??

I shook my head. ?No, no, I mean, yeah, that too, but I didn?t go to the Dealers? Room only twice.??

?Son,? the officer said as he helped me in the lobby, ?we?ve all been there. You don?t have to explain anything to me. But you better rest up, old man. You?ve got a full day tomorrow. And hey, aren?t you performing tomorrow??

I nodded.

?Sleep well sleeping beauty.?

I walked towards my room, turned the other way when I found out I went the wrong way and then back the right way. I hit the bed, my eyes already closed. Visions of Losander and his Dancing Magic Wand, Mick Ayres and his incredible card control, and the class act of Rachel Wild and Tom Jones danced across my consciousness. I heard the wonderful sounds of lectures given and shows presented.

I heard the melodious tones of John Tudor as he instructed us, and the urgings of the Dealers to check out the latest effect and DVD. I smelled the wonderful warm smell of roughing fluid, sweat, flash paper residue, lighter fluid, bubble soap, and anxious doves. I felt the tender, warm, embrace of the bed covers and recalled the smooth texture of Losander?s Zombie Cloth, the silken and powdered surface of fanning decks, and the rough and irregular pattern formed by the confluence of silk, string and cloth in the countless change bags.

As my head hit the pillow, I heard another sound. It was clear and loud. There was no mistaking the sound of Mr. or Mrs. G. L. Hudson of room 227. After all, I had heard their screaming invocations through the walls of my room before I left for the convention. It was strange to hear them in my room though.

As I nestled into a warm, comfy position between two big, moving pillows that I dreamt were screaming at me to ?Get Out of Our Bed!? I fell into a slumber that only those who truly enjoy the conventions know.