Free A 52-Hertz Whale by Bill Sommer Page B

so ol’ Rob/Bob has been on a rampage lately. The whole writers’ room is on pins and needles waiting for his next screed, so they barely even notice I’m there. So I started getting a little frisky with my paraphrasing, not only interpreting what they said and writing it on the board, but even trying to improve what they were saying, until finally, Rob/Bob looks up on the board at the end of a meeting and says, “Hey, who said that?” And they’re all like, “Not me.” And he was all (to me), “Do you remember who said it?” And I was all, “Well, no one said that exactly, but Will said X, and Karen kind of proposed Y, but I figured if we kind of took this part from X and that part of Y, then added in another reversal where the fat, lazy dad actually teaches the nerdy, uptight daughter something about relaxing and being okay with who she is instead of her teaching him that he’s mostly a crappy father, which he learns in EVERY SINGLE EFFING EPISODE IN SOME WAY OR ANOTHER, it might be kind of cool.” He says, “Cool. I like it. Darren, guess what: you’re on first.” (This is Testy Snobbin speak for “You’re writing the first draft.”) My draft is due at the end of the week! Ahhh! Gotta go so I can write!
    This ain’t the Great American Documentary, but it’s a chance to tell a story, so I’m pretty psyched. Wish me luck. (Really, do. I’m not just saying that.)
    Signing off,
    Darren
    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: October 22, 2012 at 2:07 PM
Subject: RE: Job News
    Darren:
    Congratulations on getting picked to write the draft and good luck. That’s pretty huge.
    I can’t remember, did I tell you that I keep having this weird dream about Salt? It starts with me and a bunch of cetologists on a research vessel. I spot Salt lobtailing near the boat and we all can tell he’s in trouble because it’s really shallow. The scientists try the standard technique used to save navigationally impaired cetaceans and turn on a recording of whale songs, hoping to lure Salt back out to deep waters. But he’s not stupid (after all, whales have more spindle cells—the cells that control our awareness of self, right and wrong, emotional attachment, etc.—than people). Salt knows the recording isn’t his pod and he cuts through the little breakers, moving toward the shore, still fascinated with the shallows. The boat is panicked and NOAA’s network affiliate (the whale Coast Guard) is still 50 miles away. That’s when I start singing. My vocalizations help Salt find his way to safety and deep waters. And no joke, Salt answers back, slapping his pectoral fin on the water. In the dream, it’s the coolest thing, man; I totally speak Salt’s language. The mutual understanding between Salt and me puzzles and amazes the other scientists, who have studied the songs for years and written lengthy papers in prestigious journals on the smallest and most insignificant discoveries. I am their hero. The Jacques Cousteau of the whale world. And I end up saving Salt’s life.
    Pretty cool dream, huh? You should put that in your TV show. Psych (Urban Dictionary, 2012)! Gotta go. Kitchen timer. Pecan pie’s ready.
    Sincerely,
    James Turner
    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: October 22, 2012 at 3:45 PM
Subject: Smell
    Dear Stanley:
    Even with the Blue Oceans Glade freshener I bought yesterday, my office continues to smell worse than a week-old picnic left near brackish tidewater. Do you have a moment to check the mouse trap that you put behind my desk?
    Best,
    Peter
    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: October 22, 2012 at 4:21 PM
Subject: RE: Smell
    Hi Peter:
    Not till later. Someone keeps flushing sanitary stuff down the women’s commode despite the signs and now we’ve got a major problem. You think your office smells bad, walk by the