Today I would like to divulge that on occasion I enjoy turning my brain to spackle by watching TV “thrillers” such as the perennially popular “24,” which, at last count, has more viewers than Brad and Angelina have cover photos at any given check-out stand in the free world. As you’re undoubtedly aware, Jack Bauer and company suffer abundant life-or-death encounters in their struggle to save the country from catastrophes that would result in a “Devastating International Crisis.”
Having said that, I’d like to hazard a guess that most American families these days are hampered with one or two resident “characters” that cause all the other relatives’ eyes to roll heavenward. No, I wasn’t referring to myself (although I know some who might quibble). And, yes, it appears I’ve derailed from my topic, but bear with me.
For example: perhaps your older brother is a bit eccentric or maybe you find him mind-numbingly dull. Family gatherings abound with knowing glances and hushed agreements that the only conceivable excuse for the poor man involves an unfortunate switching of babies at the hospital. No way could this person have sprung from your family tree. I mean, all of your relatives are so fabulously normal, but poor Derald is so, well … not. But just imagine, people, if your brother was … Jack Bauer.
Now, nobody experiences more misery in a 24-hour span than Jack Bauer. And the man obviously has a family – he didn’t just pop out of a suitcase, you know. So here’s a scary thought: what if Jack Bauer was actually my brother? And what if one day he – yikes! – came for a visit?
Jack coming to call in a conventional manner is out of the question, so one morning while I’m preparing to run errands, the back door bursts off its hinges. “Whooooa … Hey, Jack. I thought you were still in the Chinese prison and … Ouch! Just look at those scars! Geeze … get some moisturizer, for God’s sake. It’s good to see you, dude, but ummmm … I’m kind of busy right now – gotta go to the bank, cleaners, and … mmmmppphhhhfffff.” I can’t speak because Jack’s hand clamps abruptly over my mouth.
“You’re talking about a suicide mission, Gale,” Jack hisses, dragging me outside. “Now get in the car!” he orders, diving swiftly onto the floor of my vehicle and drawing his weapon. “Keep off the main streets … we’re sitting ducks.” Nervously, I back out of the driveway.
At the bank, Jack scales the outside wall, his eyes darting about furtively. As I’m patiently waiting my turn inside, Jack bolts swiftly through the safe deposit box area and bursts into the lobby. “Holster your weapon!” he yells at the teller. “Um … that’s my ballpoint pen, sir,” stammers the terrified employee.
Meanwhile, I’ve lost my deposit slip and need my account number. “I need that account number now, you scum bag,” roars Jack. “You’ll never get it out of me,” sobs the teller.
“No? I can get that information by less conventional means, and I’ll enjoy watching you suffer!” Jack growls ominously, his arm tightening around the teller’s throat. “Now get the bank president on the line! Or do I need to be a little more persuasive?” The teller, meanwhile, has slid unconscious to the floor.
“Never mind, Jack,” I interject before the teller begins losing major body parts. “Let’s skip the bank. I need to go to the cleaners.”
Back in the car again, Jack frantically dials his gal Chloe at CTU. “Chloe! Political dissidents are positioned at the safe house, which is being fronted as a dry cleaning operation. We’re on our way there now – patch me through to the president. They’re plotting to blow up the mushroom farms using cleaning compound hidden on some type of large vehicle. If those chemicals get in the wrong hands, there’ll be a Devastating International Crisis!”
“Jack!” I hear Chloe relay back. “I can’t make the call now. There seems to be some satellite interference compromising CTU’s operation. When you get to the cleaners, ask for General Randypants. He’s the only one that can crack the code to the circuit board hooked up to the vehicle’s nuclear reactor system. But be careful! We already have an injured undercover field agent at the bank. Some nut case broke in screaming something about an account number.”
“Copy that, Chloe, I … Wait! I’m getting a message from CTU headquarters. The general has escaped, but I’ve got a visual on the target vehicle. We’re going in!”
“Wait, Jack,” I yell. That’s a VTA bus, not a … ” Too late. Jack has dragged me from the car and we’re in hot pursuit of the bus. “Hold on!” yells Jack, and suddenly we’re diving under the bus, holding for dear life to its undercarriage as the bus bolts through town.
“Dammit … I’ve lost the audio! Chloe! Play the satellite feedback – triangulate the signal and time it to 60 seconds. Tell CTU to seal off the north end of town. We have to stop the terrorist cell before there’s a Devastating International Crisis.”
“I can’t hear you, Jack – the bus’s driveshaft is making too much noise,” yells Chloe. I’m setting up a track by satellite. Just stay where you are until the bombs have been secured. It’s not safe to move about.”
Suddenly the bus hits a speed bump, and we roll free. “Jack! Jack! Are you all right?” I yell into his bloody ear. “I still have to go to the cleaners!”
“Ohhhhh … how’d you find me?” Jack moans faintly, trying to sit up. “I think my blood pressure’s dropping … Here, take this … I need you to give me a shot of adrenalin. Thanks. Now wait here until the crisis is over. Don’t move!” Sadly, I watch him scamper off, zig-zagging to avoid heavy machine gun fire issuing forth from the overhead choppers that were tipped off by the secret double-agent back at the bank.
Think about it, people. So your older brother Derald has a few bats in his belfry. At least he’s never going to involve you in unpleasant incidents causing a Devastating International Crisis.
Gale Hammond is a 23-year Morgan Hill resident. Reach her at Ga*********@*ol.com.
