Mr. Sandman

Song: The Chordettes – Mr. Sandman

Hello, I’m Mr. Sandman. Some people call me Sandy (please don’t call me Sandy). My first name isn’t important—it’s Cosmo (please don’t call me Cosmo). Call me Mr. Sandman. It’s got a nice ring to it. Mr. Sandman: master of dreams—and bringer of meaning as it would seem. For what do people call their hopes and ambitions? Dreams. Their lovers and missions? Dreams. Their divine cognitions? Dreams. And who sprinkles those dreams into their peepers: Mr. Sandman, the path towards light at the brink of darkness, the flame of truth, the hopeful sleuth. Yes, I’ll search your mind for what you’re seekin’, and serve it to you on a silver platter, garnished with the power of longing. Mr. Sandman.

I’m good—very good. That’s why last week, in addition to my duties over the sleepless wonderlands of man, I absorbed the duties of Cupid, himself. The big man upstairs, Mr. Peterson, decided that I was doing such a slick job, that I could handle a little extra weight. And so I became responsible for the greatest dream of all: the dream of a love that folds into itself. You might wonder why I chose that phrase, “a love that folds into itself,” well, it’s from a little poem I wrote.

Three Blind Mice:

Virtue lies between two vices.
A knife, two dice, and three blind mice.
Two hands roll, and two hands touch,
two hearts woo for the length that such
a love can last—its fate though cast
by the refrain that rings throughout the past:

To long for the forest but lose perspective within
like a drunk on a binge who’s dreaming of gin.
To long for a love that folds into itself.

I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense right now—I was pretty drunk when I wrote it, and I lost the other part of it on a subway—but I promise it will make more sense by the end of my story. You see, I, Mr. Sandman, am too good at what I do. Some jobs are better left half-assed. And that is why, once I’m finished writing this story, I’m going jump off the Empire State Building. I can’t actually commit suicide, I’m immortal, it’s more of a symbolic gesture—a cry for forgiveness, an act of desperation, etc. You see, I lost my job, and almost caused the collapse of civilization in the process. Some might just call it a bad week. I prefer jumping off a tall building. But we’ll get to that.

INT.  MR. PETERSON’S OFFICE

Picture the most intimidating man you can muster: a big guy with a thick jaw, piercing eyes, and smug, fiendish teeth. The kind of guy that can’t hold a baby, because there’s a chance he’ll crush ‘em. Mr. Peterson’s the exact opposite of that. He’s a short, bald, shell of a man, who dresses like he’s about to attend his bar mitzvah—which is being catered by Subway. But, nonetheless, anyone’s intimidating when they’ve got power over you. And, at this moment, there was no one in the world that Cupid feared more than him.

Mr. Peterson: You might be wondering why I called you in here. Would you say that that’s a fair assessment?

Cupid: I suppose so, sir.

Mr. Peterson: I’m a fair man, wouldn’t you say?

Cupid: I’ve always felt that you’ve been fair to me, sir. Even when my numbers were down, you—

Mr. Peterson: Cupid, you’re fired.

Pause.

Cupid: I don’t understand. I mean, I know—

Mr. Peterson: You know that your numbers are down. You know that your tactics are outdated.  You know that out of all the schmucks that work here, you’re the schmuckiest of the schmucks. You’re old news. People aren’t falling in love like they used to. It’s all over the earth-media, the divorce rate is 50% and climbing. It’s out of control. We’ve got to adapt, and you’re bound for extinction, simple as that.

Cupid: But, Mr. Peterson, I really think—

Mr. Peterson: I’m sure you do. You’re just not thinking anything of value. Look, we’re not running a charity, here. I know that we don’t operate within a monetary system, but we’ve still got to make a profit.

Cupid (with growing agitation): Frankly, sir, that doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t even understand how this company works! I mean, how can a company make a profit if there’s no currency?

Mr. Peterson: You realize that you’re trying to convince me to let you keep your job?

Cupid: No one’s explained it to me! Every time I ask they just tell me—

Mr. Peterson: Look, it’s irrelevant! What do you want me to say? They’re spiritual profits—our currency is magic, and we’re on the divinity standard. Is that what you need to hear? I can whip up some more leu-leu-logic, if that’s what you want, but it’s not going to change a thing. Alright? We come in, and we do our jobs. And you’re not doing yours well enough. You keep trying to strike up love affairs between star-crossed lovers. You’re trying to fill people’s heads with notions of true love, of one-and-onlys, of soul mates—and they’re faced with the opposite. The average marriage, nowadays, ends in divorce. People are surrounded with failed relationships, and you’re trying to convince them that the tingly feeling they get in their chests is going to get them through it. It’s a losing battle. That’s why they’re doing the naked tango with strangers they met on the internet. All they care about is the start of things, because when they look at the horizon all they see is failure—because you’ve let this house of cards crumble. I’m sorry. (beat) You’re out. You’re done.

Pause.

Mr. Peterson: Clear out your desk and say goodbye to Margaret on the way out. She’s always been fond of you. (beat) That’s a nice tie, by the way.

Cupid hesitates for a moment and then exits the office.

Mr. Peterson (speaking into the intercom): Margaret, make sure to compliment Cupid’s tie on his way out, and please send in Mr. Sandman.

Mr. Sandman enters.

Mr. Peterson: Sandy, baby! I’m glad to see you. Have a seat.

Mr. Sandman (sitting down): What can I do for you, Mr. Peterson?

Mr. Peterson: You’re a good man, Sandy. I’ve always liked you.

Mr. Sandman: I’ve always liked me too, sir.

Mr. Peterson: Ha! That’s gold. You’ve got moxie, kid. I’m tellin’ ya, you’re gonna go far. Hell, you already have. Hey, how would you like a little more responsibility? You’ve been working such wonders in the Dream Department. It seems like people these days are dreaming more than they’re living. And we’ve been having a little trouble with one of our departments. How’d you like to take a shot at love?

Mr. Sandman: Well, sir, I’d love to.

Mr. Peterson: Ha! What’d I say? You’re a riot. And I’m glad you said that, I really am. I do believe you’re our ticket out of this mess. Anyway, I hate to waste your time. You’re a valuable man, that’s for damn sure. Margaret will fill you in on the details on your way out. (beat) Oh, and, by the way, that’s a great tie.

Mr. Sandman (getting up): Thank you, Mr. Peterson. I won’t let you down.

Mr. Peterson: You better not.

Mr. Sandman exits.

Mr. Peterson (speaking into the intercom): Margaret, make sure to compliment Mr. Sandman’s tie on his way out, and fill him in on the responsibilities of the Love Department. Have Gary show him around.

END SCENE

That’s how I got the job. Margaret filled me in, and Gary showed me what was what. And I walked around with a gleam in my eye and a staccato-strut. I wore a blue polka dot suit, a solid black sweater, and fine leather shoes. The only reason I mention my dapper dress, is because that week, behind the facade of his clothing, was a man more impressive than any suit or golden watch. I was lightning, baby, pure lightning! Oh, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I assembled a crack team, made up of the finest minds from both of my respective departments.

The Team

Tis Alvabop – Manager of the Dream Department. An energetic fellow. Espresso, cocaine, Pixie Stix, etc. A fairly fair fairy of a fellow. Wings and wands, stamps and lamps, the whole package. He’s slightly afraid of everything, sits on the edge of imaginary chairs, and drinks water like it’s the antidote to some poison he’s just consumed. The dream world isn’t far off from the hallucinogenic light show that envelopes his psyche, and he’s damn good at painting hopped-up portraits of scattershot moments in people’s mental cases. But, however good he may be at scatting dream jives, Alvabop’s job is to manage the dream weavers, not to weave the dreams himself.

Gary Henderson – Manager of the Love Department. The utter apex of non-romance, like a paper-shredder jammed with prenup papers, Henderson was perhaps the least likely person to be in charge of a department of love. He used to be more of a lovebird, but like the main character in Heinrich Böll’s short story, “The Laugher,” who is paid to laugh on records, television recordings, and at standup clubs, he became unable to enjoy what he does, and became sick of love in his real life. Henderson mopes around like an old, moldy mop, but he’s still the best around when it comes stirring up feelings between guys and gals—and the LGBT community too (we’re inclusive here at the Love Department).

The Sandinistas – The dream weavers. These anthropomorphic morphing sand clouds envelop people’s cosmic visions and circumvent their logic to get all funky with their true desires. These surreal rebels dance their way all the way to honky-tonk town and do the electromagnetic slide on people’s mental wavelengths. One might say that the Sandinistas are the disc jockeys of Mr. Sandman’s LCD-powered jukebox.

Cupidis eros – A magical species of songbird. These red-feathered scamps fly by lover-to-be with a tune that lulls them into an infatuated state of longing (and that tune is “Voices” by Cheap Trick).

The Other Members of the Team – Just as important as the members listed, but not really.

END LIST

So, that’s the team. This was the group that was going to make it all happen, and by it I mean my plan, which, other than being fundamentally flawed, was fantastic. All I had to do was get the gears in motion. It’s not often that one’s life becomes an awesome montage of activity, but this was one of those times.

An Awesome Montage

• CUT TO: I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers
• CUT TO: Randy eats an entire 9ft sub. Randy then jumps into orbit and high-fives God.
• CUT TO: Who the hell is Randy?
• CUT TO: The dream writers are collected in a classroom, love architects stand in the back, bubbling with sheer anticipation, all eyes are on Mr. Sandman. Mr. Sandman proceeds to give what is generally considered to be a speech, while pointing to random areas on a chalkboard with a long stick.

A Speech

Mr. Sandman: Before I begin, I just want to say that I would love a latte. So if somebody could take care of that…

Mr. Sandman picks up a piece of chalk, writes “vanilla latte” on the board, and circles it three times.

Mr. Sandman: Love. What is it? (beat) It’s a feeling. But it’s not a feeling that everyone has the privilege of experiencing. I’ve seen the numbers, people, and they are staggering. The divorce rate is bongo-beans. The number of people who are single is banana-cakes. But it doesn’t need to be that way! Love is the greatest feeling a person can have—the happiest a person can be. Is it not our obligation to provide them with the opportunity to experience it if we can? I say it is!

Mr. Sandman paces back and forth for a moment while stroking his chin.

Mr. Sandman: I really don’t want to know what’s going to happen if I don’t have a latte in my hand by the end of this speech.

Mr. Sandman takes a deep breath.

Mr. Sandman: So here’s the plan: we’re going to make everyone fall in love at the same time. That’s pretty ambitious, I know, thank you. Frankly, you’re the one’s that are going to be doing the work. I’m going to take the credit. That’s called management, look it up. Here’s how we’re going to do it: first, we’re going to find a match for everyone. That’ll be the job of the love architects. I suggest you just set people up with whomever they have a crush on. Bada-boom, bada-bing. Next, the dream writers will come up with a dream—something sweet, something classy—that gets these couples together. You know, a powerful dream—potent, purposeful, sexy, the works. Now, in order to ensure that these people not only fall in love, but actually end up together, we need them thinking about their sweethearts all the time. Love needs to be the only thing people care about until we’ve matched everyone up. Additionally, everyone’s got to fall in love at the same time, that way no one’s left alone, standing in the rain, growing cynical about their ability to be loved. That’s a big job. So, in order ensure that everyone is as jacked up on the idea of love as possible, every Sandinista is going to travel with a Cupidis eros. This way they’ll fall in love, and then dream about that special someone all through the night, and the next day, bam! And feel free to take advantage of that. You know, maybe have two people dream about meeting the other at a coffee shop, and then the next day, who do they run into? It’s really not that hard, people. You have one week. (beat) Alright…

Mr. Sandman breaks his pointing stick in half.

Mr. Sandman (livid): Where’s my goddamn latte!

An Awesome Montage (cont.)

• CUT TO: Someone finally gets Mr. Sandman a goddamn latte.
• CUT TO: The love architects search mystical databases for potential matches.
• CUT TO: Mr. Sandman throws a balled-up piece of paper into a trashcan. LeBron James.
• CUT TO: Gary Henderson paces back and forth, watching the love architects work. He doesn’t look happy. Henderson never looks happy. He takes a drag off his cigarette and tightens the noose he’s wearing as a tie.
• CUT TO: The dream writers furiously clack-a-da-clack away on their typewriters, the room is full of cigar smoke, and everyone is sporting a fedora. In the corner of the room, a sultry brunette in a red dress sings like Peggy Lee in her prime. A band is accompanying the fine looking dame, but the spotlight is on her.
• CUT TO: Have you noticed that none of the main characters in this story are female? That’s, like, really sexist.
• CUT TO: Tis Alvabop in a cheap strip club, furiously snorting lines of coke.
• CUT TO: The Sandinistas and the Cupidis eros travel into people’s homes, while they’re sleeping, and enchant their hearts with a feeling that can only be described as heaven on earth.

END MONTAGE

And so we did it. Champaign popping, rollerblade hopping, sports car shopping, good times ensued. Our celebration may have been a bit premature, but, frankly, I don’t regret it. I always deserve a celebration just for being me. The next few days were like a furball that never quite made it out of the cat’s throat, leading to his untimely demise. The faults of our plan became apparent to us immediately the next day.

INT.  MR. SANDMAN’S OFFICE

Tis Alvabop rollerblades into Mr. Sandman’s office, and, unable to slow his roll, slams into the back wall. Mr. Sandman continues to work as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Tis Alvabop (collecting himself): Sir, I have good news and bad news.

Mr. Sandman: Give it to me straight, Tis.

Tis Alvabop: The plan is a train wreck, sir. The conductor, he went nuts. “I’m gonna crash this train,” he says, and then snap, it goes off the tracks. Bam! Smashes right into a doll factory. Tiny doll heads flying everywhere! Huge fire breaks out! And the few dolls that’ve still got legs, they’re trying to help the others, but then—bam! Another train!

Pause.

Mr. Sandman: What’s the good news?

Tis Alvabop: There isn’t any good news! It’s awful, sir! Simply awful!

Mr. Sandman: I see. Well, why was it a train wreck?

Pause.

Tis Alvabop (bemused): What are you talking about? Train wreck?

Gary Henderson enters.

Mr. Sandman: Henderson, am I glad to see you. Is the plan working?

Gary Henderson: I’ve prepared a few examples, sir. I thought it would be best for you to see for yourself.

Henderson flicks his wand and a video appears on the screen resting on the office wall.

CUT TO:

EXT.  THE BEACH

Some Dude and Some Chick are standing on the beach. They look deeply into each other’s eyes, love rippling through their gaze. Waves crashing on the shore, sunbeams illuminating gently drifting cumulus clouds, this is surely a picture perfect setting for romantic confessions.

Some Dude: I love you. I know we’ve just met, but I know it as well as I know anything. I love you. Last night I had a dream, a dream that rolled along the hillside and with it the years, a dream of a small little house and a small little family—you and I and a couple of kids. And in this dream we live, contented and humbled by our small little life, but happy—always happy. It’s a life I never knew I wanted, until I met you.

Some Chick: Oh, Andrew, I had the same dream, almost to the word. I love you too. Let’s make love right here on the beach. I need you now. I don’t care who sees us!

Some Dude: Oh, darling, there’s nothing I’d rather do than to embrace you, here and now. But, first, there’s something I need to do.

Some Dude kneels down on one knee and pulls out a big, fat ring (at least three months salary—which is way more than anyone should spend on a ring, I think we can all agree).

Some Dude: Allison, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?

Some Chick: Oh, Andrew, yes! Yes! A million times yes!

They embrace.

CUT TO:

INT.  MR. SANDMAN’S OFFICE

Mr. Sandman: Alright, we might have overdone that one.

Gary Henderson: The video’s not over, sir.

CUT TO:

EXT.  THE BEACH

The camera slowly zooms out to reveal dozens upon dozens of couples on the beach. Some of the couples are staring deeply into each other’s eyes, some are vigorously making out, and several proposals are taking place. Some of the couples have even begun performing the horizontal, bare-butted, baby making, monster mash, completely disregarding the other people on the beach.

CUT TO:

INT.  MR. SANDMAN’S OFFICE

Mr. Sandman (scratching his head): Oh, dear.

Gary Henderson:  It doesn’t end there, sir. It’s affecting commerce across the United States. Entire industries have shut down. 72% of the workforce didn’t even show up to their jobs today, and the one’s who did only went because they like somebody they work with. They’re not even trying to get anything done. Here’s a commercial that was being filmed earlier this morning.

Henderson flicks his wand and another video appears on the screen.

CUT TO:

EXT.  BASEBALL FIELD

A Man in a Hotdog Costume and a Woman in a Hotdog Costume are standing in front of some bleachers, which are empty except for one kissing couple seated in the center. The Man in a Hotdog Costume and the Woman in a Hotdog Costume look off at the field as though they’re watching a baseball game, both simultaneously take a bite of the hotdogs they’re holding.

Man in a Hotdog Costume: You know, there’s nothing in the world I enjoy more than a nice baseball game in the fresh air, except, of course, for a good old fashioned Winkleworth hotdog.

Woman in a Hotdog Costume: You said it, partner. There’s no outdoor snack better than a Winkleworth. Why, they’re fun for the whole hotdog family!

Pause.

Woman in a Hotdog Costume: I said they’re fun for the whole hotdog family!

Man in a Hotdog Costume (suddenly breaking character): I’m sorry, Candice, I just can’t. (beat) Listen, you’re the most beautiful woman to ever play the part of a hotdog, but I’m sick and tired of making these stupid commercials with you. I’m tired of watching you waste your talents on things that are beneath you. You could be playing the parts of bratwursts or kielbasa. Hell, you could be on Broadway! I love you too much to watch you throw your life away. That’s right, I love you, Candice. My love for you burns like a hotdog! I’m not going to hide it anymore! We’ve been working together for three years, and, since the day I met you, you’re all I’ve been able to think about. And, I don’t care if it gets me fired, or if you think I’m a freak for it, but I need you to know. I love you.

Woman in Hotdog Costume (tearing up): Well hot dog!

They embrace.

Woman in Hotdog Costume (flirtatiously): Is that a hotdog in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Man in Hotdog Costume: It’s a hotdog.

CUT TO:

INT.  MR. SANDMAN’S OFFICE

Mr. Sandman sits at his desk for a moment with his head in his hands, wracking his brain for a solution.

Mr. Sandman: How long will this take to reverse?

Gary Henderson: It’s hard to say. We don’t have any experience getting people to fall out of love, usually that just happens once they get to know each other.

Tis Alvabop: And, by that time, who knows what’ll have happened. Death everywhere! Food shortages! Hospitals abandoned!

Mr. Sandman: Shut up! (beat) Listen, we’ve got to figure something out before Mr. Peterson gets wind of this. He’ll have my ass for this.

Secretary (through the intercom): Mr. Sandman, Mr. Peterson’s on the line for you.

END SCENE

Mr. Peterson called me into his office and fired me before I could sit down. So much for my years of dedicated service. Still, I wasn’t too surprised, Mr. Peterson’s memory has always been as short as his stature, and he’s always mistaken ruthlessness for good management. Thankfully he was able to convince God to rewind time and reverse my mistake. One might have hope that this would teach Peterson a lesson about forgiveness, but no such luck. I dropped my things off at my fabulous penthouse apartment and headed straight for the nearest bar.

INT.  THE NEAREST BAR

Mr. Sandman enters and sits at the bar. He orders a gin and tonic. After a moment, he discovers that the man he’s sitting next to is Cupid, disheveled and scruffy looking.

Mr. Sandman: Cupid? What are you doing here?

Cupid: Trying to kill a kidney. How about you?

Mr. Sandman: I just lost my job.

Cupid: What for?

Mr. Sandman: I tried to make everyone fall in love at the same time. It didn’t go very well, kind of caused the collapse of civilization.

Cupid: Ha! Rookie mistake. (beat) So you’re the son of a bitch who took my job? Well, it serves the whole lot of you right. You know, that department was rolling along just fine before Mr. Peterson got rid of me. That’s what I was trying to explain to him, but he wouldn’t listen. Look here, I was going to give this to him today, but security wouldn’t let me into the building.

Cupid takes a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Mr. Sandman.

Reasons I shouldn’t have been fired:

• There’s a common perception that the divorce rate has gone out of control in recent decades, but this is inaccurate. The divorce rate increased dramatically during the 1960s and 1970s, but one must keep in mind that this was a very volatile time in our cultural and political history, with the rise of the women’s rights movement and the sexual revolution, both of which significantly contributed to a fundamental change in the dynamics and nature of the modern institution of marriage. The divorce rate peaked in 1981 but has been falling since.1

• Marital stability has been increasing since the 1970s, largely because more women are going to college and getting married later in life. Among college graduates who got married in the 1990s, only 16% divorced within 10 years.

• The University of Pennsylvania did research on this, and they found that the number one predictor of whether a marriage will last is the age of the couple when they got married.

• For instance, if we look at college graduates that got married in the 1980s, among those that got married at 26 or older, 81% were still married after 20 years, compared to 65% of those that got married before they were 26. Additionally, only 49% of those who got married before the age of 26, and who did not have a college degree, were still married after 20 years. 2

• So, although recent data shows that marriage has become less common among young people, and more common among older adults, this is actually a good thing, because young couples are less likely to have marriages which last a long time.

• Oh, and did I mention that people over 65 are more likely than ever to be married? I didn’t? Well, consider sucking on that for a while.1

• And, although you might believe that the “failing institution of marriage” is causing younger generations to become more promiscuous, you are, yet again, unsurprisingly, wrong. Recent projections suggest that the average Millennial will have fewer sexual partners than members of the Baby Boomer generation or Generation X.3

• So, maybe next time you’re considering firing someone who’s doing an excellent job, take the time to do your homework first. Because, even though you may think my tactics are “outdated,” they’re actually working pretty darn well.

1 Stevenson, Betsey, and Justin Wolfers. 2007. “Marriage and Divorce: Changes and their Driving Forces.” PSC Working Paper Series PSC 07-04.

2 Luscombe, Belinda. “Are Marriage Statistics Divorced from Reality?” Time, 24 May 2010. 25 May 2015.

3 Paquettet, Danielle. “Why Millennials Have Sex with Fewer Partners than Their Parents Did.” The Washington Post, 6 May 2015. 25 May 2015.

END LIST

INT.  THE NEAREST BAR

Cupid: Mr. Peterson pays too much attention to the earth media. He’s got his facts all wrong, and for whatever reason, he’s got this notion in his head that marriage is the ultimate goal of love. Marriage is a human construct, it’s not my fault if it’s not working. And, yet, I’ve tried to work within the system, and, given my limitations, I’d say I’ve done a pretty good job. Wouldn’t you? I mean, do you really think Euro-Cupid or anyone else is doing a better job than me? Not a chance.

Mr. Sandman: Still, you must admit that you could have done a better job. There are millions of people who have yet to find love, and the divorce rate could always be lower. Why should so many people fall out of love, if they needn’t?

Cupid: Ha! Clearly, you’ve yet to learn the lesson of your follies. (beat) Think of love as a cup of coffee, alright. A bit of cream makes the coffee taste better, especially if it’s bitter, which let’s admit it is, but too much and you’ve now got a cup of cream, and no one wants that. It’s all about balance. For even the sweetest fruit takes on an unpleasant taste when overindulged in. And while you sit there, day after day, eating your increasingly displeasing fruit, the world crumbles around you. See what I’m saying? Balance. As you’ve seen, too much love in a population can have a paralyzing effect, and the same is true with individuals.

Cupid orders another drink.

Cupid: It’s a powerful emotion and can cause even the strongest people to lose perspective. And so, in order to ensure that people can lead happy and healthy lives, we need to balance love with their other desires. And, unfortunately, this will often lead to heartbreak and divorce, but it’s for the greater good, I suppose. Because love always comes back around, that’s the key, I think. It starts anew.

Mr. Sandman: I suppose you have a point.

Cupid downs his drink and then lets out a long belch.

Cupid (getting up): Anyways, I’ve gotta run. I’m gonna go throw a brick through Peterson’s window.

END SCENE

In a sense I’m glad that I made the mistakes I did because it taught me a valuable lesson, but, in a much realer sense, I’m not. The lesson was stupid, I lost my job, and now I have no purpose in life. All is not well that ends well. In fact, it didn’t even end well. It ended poorly. And so I’ll make my way to the top of the Empire State Building and jump, because, even though it won’t accomplish anything, it’s still something to do. And I apologize, because, in spite of my best efforts, the poem from the beginning still doesn’t make much sense. I wish I had the second half of it.

THAT’S ALL FOLKS!

-EJS, Staff Member