At the birth of our first child, I speed-park in a temp spot and race into the emergency room as my (then) wife was in serious labor. Heading through to labor & delivery, the emergency room nurse introduces himself (his hame is Tim) & takes my keys as we go up the elevator. 1/
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"I can park your car for you," he tells me. I thank him. "Oh - Tim! I forgot my overnight bag - it's in the trunk. If you could bring it up I'd be so grateful. "You bet." And he's gone. About 20 minutes later Tim arrives on our floor with my duffel. I'm pacing with my wife. 2/
Tim whispers,"May I speak to you a moment?""Sure," I said, & turned to my wife, who's in pain: "Be right back, the nurse needs me." Tim hands me my bag & keys. He's also holding a giant stack of papers. He speaks softly: "Are you Ed Solomon?"My wife's now leaning on a railing. 3/
"Yes. Is everything okay?""Yes. But. Um.." Tim goes silent. I'm now panicked. Did I not take some necessary precaution? Is there a form I need to fill out? Why does he have all those papers? "Is everything okay? Because, if so, I really need to --" "WAIT!" Tim blurts. I stop. 4/
"This'll just take a sec. But it's important." The labor nurse comes by, takes my wife into the delivery room. I'm terrified. "Is she okay?" "I don't know." "WHAT??" "No - I MEAN 'I don't know, I work in EMERGENCY, you'll have to ask the DELIVERY nurse.'" I'm confused. 5/
Tim looks me in the eye. Summons his nerve: "Ed. This is going to change your life. You're Ed Solomon, right?" I can hear my wife through the closed door, now audibly moaning. "Yes, how did you--?" "There was a pile of screenplays in the trunk by Ed Solomon. Were they yours?" 6/
"Tim - I have to--" "Please." He shoves the stack of papers to me. "I think - if you read this - it will change your life." I look down. It's about 200 pages of an unbound screenplay. "It's my only copy. If you read it tonight I can pick it up tomorrow." I stand, blinking. 7/
It takes me a moment to grok what's actually happening."I'm sorry. Tim, I can't do this." I hand it back. He says something, but I'm no longer listening as I race into the delivery room. CUT TO: 2 wks later. I'm recounting this story to my neighbor Jeremiah, who's a producer. 8/
I get to the part where the nurse asks me if I was a writer. And Jeremiah stops me: "Wait - don't tell me. TIM?" My mouth drops. "You know him?" "Remember 3 months ago, I had that appendix thing? The emergency nurse finds out I'm a producer and he hands me a pile of papers." 9/
We start laughing. "Does it EVER work?" Jer looks ashen. "What? You READ it?" Jeremiah pauses, embarrassed. "I had like 4 hours in the recovery room before Julia came to get me." "I can't believe you read it! How was it?" He shrugs - like "Meh." "What was it even ABOUT?" 10/
"A cockroach who becomes human, goes into politics, and learns how to love." I just stare. "I can't believe I chose the birth of my child over THAT." We shook our heads. Then we BOTH realized: our Tim experiences weren't even the worst of our can-you-read-my-script stories. 11/
The truth is, each of us had far worse. (My worst was, I think, when my own shrink tried to get me to read his treatment - DURING a session - & then tried to pretend it was part of my therapy.)
Hey fellow writers -- any other stories like this?? Love to hear them. 12/12
Hey fellow writers -- any other stories like this?? Love to hear them. 12/12
(To clarify: a "treatment" in this case refers to an extended outline for a script)
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