Q
(February 21, 2004)

Every once in awhile, some of my former co-workers from the flower shop, meet for supper at the same restaurant.  We talk about what's new with each of us, how things are in the flower shop (I am the last of the original group to still work there) but most of all we talk gossip.  I started the tradition so naturally the traditional restaurant is the restaurant located near my home.  After one of these evenings, and after I had waited for the bus to arrive for my friend Amy to take her home, some awesome happened.

As I started my walk home, I noticed something peculiar.  To my right, behind the restaurant, I saw a little man, maybe 5 feet tall, peek his head around the corner and stare at me.  As soon as he realized I saw him, he ducked back behind the building but his fidora (like the hat Humphrey Bogart always seemed to wear in his movies), fell off into my view.  I walked across the parking lot to confront my admirer.  Many of you might be alarmed at my tactic but not after I mention my Vincent story. 

About five years ago, I dated a guy by the name of Vincent.  He was a nice guy but he would become infuriated with me when I would demonstrate my happy-go-lucky style and wander about the city, (sometimes at night).  Every since then, he hires private investigators to keep an eye on me.  At first I was outraged because I thought I was being stalked.  But then I realized, it wasn't so much stalking, it was more like my own police service, my own muscle, my own guardian angel.

As I picked up the fidora I heard my guardian angel say "Rats."

I walked behind the restaurant to see him.

"I believe this is yours."  I pass him his hat.  My guardian angel was a man only about five foot four and he was wearing a trench coat.  It appeared his back was up to the wall, but he was about a foot away from the wall.

"Thank you." he mumbled while looking down at my shoes.  He just stood there looking down at my shoes.  I could tell he was embarassed and, by the shivering, cold.

"Is this your first day?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll tell you what.  There is a little bar around the corner from the restaurant.  Let me treat you to a drink."

"I don't think Mr. Vanderwal would like that.  I don't want to get fired on my first day."

"You won't get fired.  I'm going to tell you my routine so that it will be easier for you to follow me.  You getting advise on how to improve your performance.  Vincent won't mind.  Besides you are obviously freezing.  Let me buy you a hot chocolate."

"When you put it that way, it sounds reasonable.  Yes, Miss TooToo, I will accept your invitation."

"Call me Suzy.  And your name?"

"Quasimodo."

We walked past the restaurant to my local establishment "The Siamese Cat and the Rabid Fox".  It's has a pub atmosphere but my favourite aspect of the place, besides the chicken fingers, is the karicoke machine.

"Well if it isn't Suzy SingSing!!!" the owner yelled from behind the bar when we arrived.  "Are you going to sing tonight, my little nightingale."

"Hi, Mr. Dickens.  Maybe - we'll see.  I need two hot chocolates and a basket of chicken fingers."

"No problem.  Whose your friend?  Your new guardian angel?"

"Yes and he name is Quasimodo."

We walked to a booth near the kariocoke stage.  It was my usual spot.  When he took off his coat, I noticed he had a bump, a big bump, just below his shoulders.  He got me staring at it.

"Yes Suzy I have a hunchback."

"I'm really sorry.  I didn't mean to stare."

"It's okay, I get it all the time."

We sat down and talked.

"First, if I go into a restaurant or somewhere for a long time, please don't want in the cold.  Come on in.  Sometimes, if I feel lonely, you can sit with me but most of the time just sit off in the distance.  Everybody knows I have a guardian angel so it's no big deal.  Oh and Vincent pays for all your expenses anyways so enjoy yourself."

I explained to him some of my favourite hang-outs, my routines and such to give me an idea of what lay ahead for him as my stalker until our food arrived.

"So what did you do before this Quasimodo?" I asked as I ate a chicken finger.

"I bounced around from job to job.  I'm have some limits with this hunch and all.  I mean no jobs which require public contact for sure.  No sales, No McJobs, No visual media.    The Gap doesn't seem to hire hunchback people as sales staff.  Once you take that out - all that's left is cleaning staff, utility men, plumber..."

"and private eye."

"Yes, of all the jobs left Private eye sounded the best."

"How long have you been a private eye?"

"About ten hours.  I bought the coat and hat yesterday."

"I disagree that a hunchback can only be cleaning staff or plumber.  What about a fireman or police officer?"

"They need to pass a physical - like run 40 yards in under 25 seconds - that sort of thing.  With my bowlegs, I can't do that.  I just have a hunch that being a private is the best I can be."

I thought about other professions - Politician - No, looks are everything, Fed-Ex worker - No, that's customer service, Mover - No one wants that, School teacher - No, kids make fun of things different, Armed Forces - No, the physical part, Bus Drive - No, human contact, Lawyer - No, jurys always side with the most attractive lawyer.  Maybe Quasimodo was right.

"I got it!  Radio.  No one needs an appearance for radio.  Isn't there a famous saying about that. 'she has a face for radio'?  Yes there is.  Radio DJ is for you."

"I tried but it's really hard to become a radio DJ." 

He was right.  How often had the morning people on the radio been replaced?  Hardly ever.  How many new radio stations have there been in the last year?  I couldn't think of anything.

"I got it!  Musician!"

"Excuse me?"

"A musician.  You can sing your way to the top of the charts.  There are lots of ugly people, no offense, who are top singers."

"I can't sing."

"Neither can they.  It's all about marketing."

"I can't dance."

"Neither can they.  That's why they have background dancers."

"I can't play any instruments."

"Neither can they.  They just stand in front of the camera mumble some lyrics and point, point a lot into the camera."

"I can't write songs."

"Neither can they.  They just recycle old songs.  It's not called plagurizing, it's something else... mixing!  It's called mixing."

"I don't know about this Suzy.  Doesn't it take years and years to become a rock star."

"Na, I have friend in the business.  He'll hook you up.  You just need a theme song.  It would have to be an eighties song - I think they are cool right now.  Now let me think."

Quasimodo ate the remainder of the chicken fingers as I thought of a song.

"Oh my Quasimodo! I've got it.  You're going to be a star.  Come with me." I ran up to the karioke machine.

"Quasimodo come on!"

By the time he came up on stage I already had the song programmed into the machine.  I threw Quasi a microphone and began to sing.  It wasn't until the chorus that my new guardian angel understood.  Instead of the required "It's hip to be square.", I bellowed:

"It's hip to be hunch!"

The crowd cheered.

"Take it away Quasi!"

He sang the lyrics as they appeared on the monitor.  He was right, he was not much of a singer and his posture - he stood there motionless.  I learned over and whispered "get into the music, man."  He hips started to sway back and forth.  The crowd was losing interest.  As the chorus approached, I knew we needed a big roar from the crowd to boost Quasi's confidence so I did what any attractive female friend would do.  As he sang "It's hip to be hunch."  I flashed the crowd.  They roared and Quasi, having no idea about my exploits, beamed with confidence.

As the last chorus came up, I again whispered to my guardian angel "do the splits to end it".

"It's hip to be hunch"  we sang the last line.  Quasi did a 360 spin, then dropped to the stage to do the splits.  He keeled over in pain.

He received a standing ovation (I did not flash this time) as I leaned over him.

"You're going to be big Quasi.  Huge.  They loved you.  You're the next king of Hip Hop but it won't be Hip Hop when you're through with it.  It will be Hip Hunch."

He moaned as he rolled to his side.  "I need medical attention."

After Quasimodo had recovered from his dance routine, I took him to see my good friend Dexter Carter.  Dexter had been one of my guardian angels long before he became a successful record producer.  I pitched him my idea and he loved it.  Quasi was signed within the hour.

So the next time you hear that hip hopping/hip hunching rapper, Q on the airwaves, you know where he got his start.