Pretending To Be a Cool Guy For One Day
The other day I found myself in a comic book store. I was there looking for a comic book. I thought this comic book to be very cool and I devoured it hungrily upon returning home. After reading it I took care in placing it in a protective mylar covering to make sure it stayed straight and clean with white cardboard I had purchased in bulk.

At some point during this sad ritual I came to the important realization that I was having an important realization about my life while I was bagging a comic book. I also realized I was not cool. I wondered what being cool was like and whether or not I had the capacity for it. I quickly decided I did not and, if I wanted to be cool for one day before I died, I would have to fake it. Suddenly this felt very important, the experience of being looked upon with a face that wasn’t bursting with revulsion. I made the decision there and then to take a nap. And, also, to be cool for one entire day, from when I woke up till my head hit the pillow.

Being rad may come easy to you, but, if being cool is a state of mind, then there’s no way for someone who is uncool to become cool. I am also unclear on whether or not the usage of the term “cool” makes me uncool, but I am quite certain that the usage of the word usage has made the discussion moot.

I picked a date on which I was going to be cool: Jan 17th, 2006. I knew that picking one day to be cool was not cool, but I was reasonably certain no one would find out.

I secretly made preparations. When I was younger I had friends, and when I was in college I remember that these friends would wander in herds in search of other humans to speak to and have intercourse with. Nearing 27, I was far too old to associate with other people, choosing instead to relate to others through my television.

Thus, my training began. I would watch shows about cool people and try to emulate them. I figured I didn’t want to rip off one particular brand of coolness, so it would be best if I could combine all of what I saw and make myself into some sort of genetically engineered (genetics in this case being television, essentially the DNA of me anyway) super cool dude.

The first show I watched for insight on coolness was a little show called The Transformers. The Transformers is a show about giant robots that fought a politically ambiguous war between good and evil. The Autobots, led by Optimus Prime, battle against the evil forces of the Decepticons, led by Megatron. Each Trasnformer is cool in its own way, but it is universally accepted (especially by women 18-25, my target demo) that the coolest character is clearly Starscream.

Starscream is a lot like me, except he turns into a jet and, as mentioned, is super cool. But there is something else, and it isn’t just that both our names start with the letter “S.” Or, perhaps, yes, that is all that makes us similar. Oh, yeah, we both have bad skin, or did in high school, as well. That’s two things. Nevertheless, I feel a bond with Starscream. I turned on the television and switched it to the Transformers, which was conveniently on.

I was lucky. The episode airing was in large part about Starscream being jealous of an experimental female ninja robot named Nightbird. Women are crazy, Starscream. I know.

Starscream starscreamed cool. He had solid clothing, a nice, soothing voice, and hated the irrational Megatron. I closely studied his interactions with the female ninja robot Nightbird. They consisted mostly of catty bickering that led to an eventual berserk assault on Nightbird, during which she used experimental robot ninja in defense. I empathized with his feelings and related to his circumstance. I had once been forced to use ninja on a robot, but it was stationary and male. He went by the name DayTurtle. Clearly there were differences in our situations. However, I learned much from viewing this episode about being cool. Sadly, it eventually ended and I had to find another show to study.

Turning the dial I found another show I could learn a thing or two from: The Golden Girls. Now, I know what you’re thinking…The Golden Girls are NOT cool. And I agree (kind of.) But you’re undoubtedly thinking only of the golden gals. There was one cool cat in this south Florida classic, and it’s Dorothy’s ex husband, Stanley, portrayed by frequent Murder, She Wrote guest star Herb Edelman.

The episode that happened to be on Lifetime was very helpful. Dorothy didn’t want to deal with Stan and told Blanche to hang out with him, and then became jealous when the whore Blanche fucked Stan’s brains out (off screen and not implied but very obvious to me.) Stan is clearly kick ass. He left Dorothy but still bangs her, and he’s secure with the fact she looks and sounds like a man. Also, as stated, he gave it to Blanche real good. Previously, he left Dorothy for another woman. Stanley was all about the trim. This particular episode ended in an orgy (off screen.)

I closely watched Edelman’s performance and admired its grit. He had a nervous energy. He was trying to play Stanley for laughs as a bit of a lug, but I could see through it. Anyone who’s had sex with more than no women is cool to me. Stan was, in fact, the man.

I had watched two shows, The Golden Girls and The Transformers, which were both very white and had “the” in their titles. Some may dispute that The Transformers were white robots, but obviously these people have never seen the episode in which the Transformers went to a discotheque and danced the night away. I needed a show with black people in it, because black people are cool. Even their nerds are cooler than me. Urkel may have been a loser, but after entering a morally questionable machine in his basement he became the smooth Stefan Urquelle. That meant he had it inside. Screech would never have been able to do that.

Theo from The Cosby Show would be my guide. He didn’t care ‘bout nuttin’, and the man wasn’t gonna get in his way. Shit. Also, The Cos himself was pretty boss hog. Watching Cosby made me feel like a brother, even though the closest I came to having pigment of any kind was the mole under my lower lip. But that was enough. In the episode I watched, Theo cheated on a test or something, I wasn’t really paying attention because I felt so hip just WATCHING it. Fucking everyone was cool, even Rudy. I was finally prepared.

I went to sleep on the night of the 16th feeling relaxed and ready for my day of cool.
---

Morning came and I rolled out of bed and looked in the mirror. I saw the perfect combination of Stanley, Theo and Starscream. It was all in my eyes, but that’s the attitude I needed. The 17th was a day to be spent running errands. After doing that I would go to bars and associate with other humans, an activity some do frequently but I never participate in.

The first item on my list was to call the gym and cancel my membership there. I had previously written them a letter explaining my circumstance, but I had yet to send it. I’m lazy, see, and that’s a great reason to quit the gym. I decided to call and make sure they knew I was out so I would not be charged for an extra month.

I picked up the phone and dialed as if my hands were giant and robotic. It felt very cool. A young lady answered, “24 Hour Fitness, how may I direct your call?”

“Megatron has fallen! I am your leader now!” I screamed. I heard clicking in the background.

“Hello?” she asked.

I waited a moment. "All the danger you can handle is already here, Floptimus Prime!!"

A few moments later I heard a dial tone. I arose from bed and approached my car, which for a moment I thought was an Autobot. I hid behind a tree and threw a rock at it before I realized it was merely a 98 Saturn. I entered my car and drove to the post office.

People were looking at me oddly because I was in a white neighborhood. I had to purchase stamps, an uncool activity, but I was there to redefine that shit. The woman working the counter was black, like one third of me was. For some reason, though, I wasn’t channeling Theo. I was straight Cos all the way.

“Do you want some Jello Pudding pops?” I asked. I began contorting my face in many different shapes and making odd sounds, saying “Pudding Pops” in various nonsensical ways and turning my eyes to the sky. I also did a little dance that consisted of my arms flapping up and down like a bird and walking slowly forward. “Pudding popsssssssssssss” I repeated. I hoped she would “feel” me, but she just looked at me oddly, as did the people waiting in line behind me.

“Come on, Dorothy, give me one more chance…to buy some stamps,” I said.

“You want stamps?” she asked.

"Galvatron is a fool, I deserve to lead," I offered in return. I was changing rapidly now because I was so happily cool. Apparently it was too much for her, as she asked me to leave. Another item on my list remained unchecked, to be completed by uncool Scott on another occasion.

I drove to the library, where I had previously arranged to pick up several books about the assassination of William McKinley. The woman at the counter was elderly and reminded me of my ex wife, Dorothy, although this woman had a slightly more impressive Adam’s apple. I approached her as Stanley might approach Dorothy, greeting her with a large hug. She resisted my advances and informed me that only employees of that particular library branch were allowed behind the counter, which sounded racist to me.

I asked for the books in question. I presented my library card and she reluctantly brought me the books. Upon receiving them I called the woman a cracker Autobot. I then begged her to take me back as I ran into the street. I attempted to turn into a jet and fly to Cybertron but fell to the pavement and scraped my knees while some of the books fell into the street.

I decided it was best to give up being cool while running errands and shelve the main show for the bar that evening. I went home and took a nap while listening to N.W.A.

At 11:30pm, far later than I am used to being outside, I awoke and went to a local tavern, now adorned with a Starscream t-shirt I had made with a magic marker. Several women were present and they all admired me from afar, making sure not to sit near me for fear I may eventually reject them. Over the next several minutes I had the following conversations:


I noticed a sister in the corner alone. I swaggered up to her.
“’Sup?” I said.
“Yeah?” she asked.
Somehow she knew I was a fraud. There was silence.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello what?” she asked.
“I sometimes like to greet people mid conversation,” I said.
“Oh,” she replied.
There was a slight pause. I didn’t know what to say. Then, it hit me:
“We meet again.”

I approached a girl with facial piercings and multicolored hair.

“The Spice Girls suck,” I said. I knew this to be untrue but I was engaging in what I learned on The Cosby Show (or possibly the ghetto) is called playa’ hatin’ (note the proper use of apostrophe.) Taking a stand is cool. I knew this, having watched Starscream so many times take a stand against Megatron and the foolish Decepticons who refused to follow his lead, especially when dealing with the treacherous female ninja robot Nightbird. After raising her left eyebrow and exhaling a ring of smoke, the girl snorted and walked away, even though I assume she agreed with my declaration. Is snorting cool? I was in no position to make judgments.


A woman far too old to be out at this hour was playing pool. She reminded me of Blanche, who I previously had an affair with off screen. I whispered something in her ear about how bald black robots make love, but her boyfriend, who reminded me of Soundwave, took exception to my comments and put me in a headlock.

“Fuck off!” he screamed, tossing me to the ground. It was impossible not to see the parallels between what was happening here and what had happened between Soundwave and Starscream when they jacked some Energon Cubes from the Autobots. I was cool, but, sadly, I had no weapons or actual strength, so I retreated back to my seat.

---

Midnight was a minute away and I could feel the coolness slipping from me. I wasn’t one to judge if my experiment was a success, that was for the world to decide, but I felt a sense of accomplishment in the trying. If being cool was about the attitude, the strut, then I was pleased with my effort. Finally, without fanfare, midnight passed. I was Scott again. I looked around and the bar appeared different. I didn’t belong. The people there were not my people.

I returned home and once again looked into the mirror. My eyes had reverted to their previous state. I saw nothing of what was there earlier. I opened the closet and pulled out a comic book, a new one I hadn’t read yet, and felt giddy. I removed it from its bag and crawled into bed. The last page I got to before I fell asleep had the hero punching the villain through a wall. He landed in this lake, but the villain was made of fire so the lake started bubbling up.

It was so cool.