Patch of Trees Behind Showplace Theatre
Dear King’s Island Skunk,
Hello. You probably don’t know who I am, so let me first start this correspondence with a brief greeting and introduction. My name is Carolyn Barry, and I have recently joined the cast of Hot Summer Nights. We are performers at Kings Island, which is the very loud and probably stressful place where you have recently decided to reside. I am writing to you because I have a few concerns, and would like to discuss them in a professional and mature manner.
First of all, let us first address the fact that you are a skunk. Skunk, I don’t think you are aware of how uncomfortable you make people feel. Now, I’m not one to just “tell it like it is” to someone I barely know, as I feel that is generally rude and socially unacceptable. But I think I’m willing to make an exception in this case. Skunk, correct me if I’m wrong, but… I feel like you are one of those people who walks into a party and everyone immediately starts drinking their drink and acting like they’re having a really important conversation with the nearest possible person, just in hopes of avoiding you. I’m sorry your life has been this way, Skunk. I’m sure you feel really lonely sometimes. I bet you feel like no one cares. I bet even sometimes, you wish someone would, you know, ask you if you’d like a fresh beer from the fridge, or even ask you to casually accompany them to the bathroom while they powder their nose. But you see, you kind of have this rather… inconvenient habit of blasting people who annoy you with a repulsive, disgusting, potent liquid that could possibly cause death by immediately convincing your victim to commit suicide. And that’s fine. I mean, everyone has their ONE thing that no one can really stand about them, you know? Some people answer their own questions before you can answer them (Layke Jones.) Others are just really loud without really trying to be TAYLOR! And we accept these people, and love them anyway. Skunk, I just feel like if you continue this habit, you will always feel alone. And I don’t want that for you, Skunk. I want you to be happy.
Because you see, the reason I’m writing this letter is because I care about you. I know it may not seem that way. I know that when I come off stage and obnoxiously stomp back to the green room, past the dumpsters and small patch of wooded foliage that you now like to call “home,” and I scream things like, “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY SKUNK I’M COMING FOR YOUR SMELLY BLACK ASS!!!!” it may not seem like I care. But I do. I want you to feel happy, and safe, and secure with your current residential situation. And hey, for the most part, I think we’ve really done well so far! We kind of have our own little system, don’t we, Skunk? I let you rummage through the dumpsters while I’m performing, and you let me walk by you afterwards without dousing me in potent liquid acid. Everyone wins.
But Skunk, I have to say, I was rather disappointed with your actions today. You see, I’ve been going through a lot, Skunk. I know you probably won’t understand any of this, but I want you to know that I’ve been very stressed out lately at work. I’ve had to learn a whole new show and go into it acting like I know what the heck I’m doing, when in reality, I’m doing the entire performance completely live. Sometimes I get so nervous, I feel like I have three potato chips stuck in my throat. ESPECIALLY when my supervisors and bosses come to see me perform in the new venue. So, as you can imagine, when it comes time to sing my solos, I want the air around me to be clean, and fresh, and very breathable. But today, as I was performing the second show of the day, I smelled something a little… off, Skunk. I smelled a smell. I smelled a smell that smelled… smelly. And do you know what this smell was, Skunk? Do you?
Skunk, I’m really sorry that someone made you feel uncomfortable today. I’m sorry that, for whatever reason, you felt seriously threatened for your life, and had no other choice but to shoot exploding fumes out of your ass. Really. That must have been awful for you. But do you know what was awful for me, Skunk? What was awful for me was that while your daily scavenge for assorted pieces of trash was interrupted, my performance of Hot Summer Nights was interrupted… by the inability to breathe oxygen.
We live in America, Skunk, which means that you are free to choose to live wherever you see fit. I support your freedoms, Skunk. But what I don’t support? Is your choice to live in THE BIGGEST THEME PARK OF THE MIDWEST. If the presence of the human race makes you feel that uncomfortable and stressed out, maybe you should, oh, I don’t know, NOT LIVE IN A THEME PARK.
But you know, maybe the allure and convenience of the dumpsters is just too much for you. You know? Maybe it’s just like, one of those difficult decisions that people have to make when choosing a new home: “Well, honey, we literally live in the domestic violence capitol of the world, but JUST LOOK AT THE VIEW!!!” I get it. You give some, you get some. And I’m not asking you to move, Skunk. I’m not. I’m just suggesting that maybe, just maybe, you should reevaluate your life choices a little bit. Reassess your priorities, Skunk. Because I’ll tell you right now… We are NOT going to get along if you continue to spray your emotional defense mechanism onto the stage. It’s just… not going to work out between us. That’s all I’m saying.
I am really sorry that you had a bad day, and I hope whoever made you feel uncomfortable learned their lesson. I’m sure they did. I actually hope you sprayed the 8 year old boy I saw walking around earlier with a shirt that read, “Nice story, Babe. Now go make me a sandwich.” And I do really hope that from now on, we can all just get along. If you don’t decide to move, due to the fact that you, oh, I don’t know… have three unseen skunk pups hidden in that tiny patch of trees and underbrush, I understand. Relocating can be not only financially demanding, but also emotionally straining for the whole family. I just want you to understand that we humans can’t always change our entire schedules to accommodate you, Skunk. We kind of have our own shit to worry about, you know? Like, where we can find the nearest Dippin’ Dots cart. You chose to live at King’s Island. Not us. (Annnnd now that I think about it, you may actually be mentally unstable. And that would really explain a lot…)
Regardless, I do apologize for the inconvenience of living at a theme park, and hope that none of this has seriously offended you. I also hope that if we ever see each other again, we will be able to be mature about this whole smelly situation (haha, see what I did there!?), and face each other with a mutual respect and slightly fearful adoration.
Hot Summer Nights
Live Entertainment Dept.