If you ever get the urge to write anything other than a grocery list, go for a walk, eat a cookie or watch “American Idol,” hopefully the urge will pass. As for “Idol,” it never ceases to amaze me more people voted for Taylor Hicks than voted for President Bush. I noticed last week, despite the grave situation in Lebanon, that Bush was able to make time for a photo-op with Hicks and other “Idol” winners. It’s too bad Condi didn’t play piano as well.
Because I don’t watch “Idol” — yes, I am that person — and because the Dodgers are in last place, I had some free time to write a play. It was either that or straighten my sock drawer. I sent an e-mail treatment of my play to 300 theaters across the country via AOL — or as I refer to them,“America Out Of Line”— and minutes later my account was terminated. AOL considered it “spam,” and I was sent into outsourc-ing hell, on the phone to India with a guy who said his name was Roy. If his is Roy, mine is Ravi.
The genesis of the play was a 2004 LA Times article about 19-year-old Modesta Avila, who lived in San Juan Capistrano in 1889. When the railroad ran track 15 feet from her front door, Avila protested by stringing a clothesline across the tracks, filled with her under garments. The railroad offered money, but later claimed deeds belonging to Mexicans were not valid. How... corporate.
So Avila put up a sign on the tracks that read: “This land is mine!” But even then, free speech wasn’t all that free, and she was arrested for “attempted obstruction of a train.” Avila was convicted, more for being a loose woman than the alleged crime. She was sent to San Quentin for three years, where she died at the age of 22. A musical, you say? Actually, Avila’s tragic life was turned into an opera in 1986.
But there was a happy ending to Avila’s story, even if it took 110 years. In 2002, the same railroad in the same town applied for a second line. Residents objected, saying it would destroy historic adobe homes. They put photos of Avila on placards and T-shirts, and protested up and down the tracks, even using her clothesline tactics. Shockingly, the state transportation department unanimously denied the railroad’s application.
While Avila was vindicated, I had no such luck with AOL. I had gotten a book from the library in which 300 theaters listed their e-mail addresses. I spent hours compiling the list, added a cover letter to my treatment and hit “send.” Suddenly, I was logged off, followed by an 800 phone number. So began my long day’s journey into night.
The AOL recording kept repeating I could get faster help on-line. Hello? If I could get on-line I wouldn’t have been calling.After what seemed an eternity — thank God for the speaker phone — I finally got Roy in India. He kept saying, “not to worry.” Easy for Roy to say, he’s being paid by the hour, while I’m wasting what little life I have left giving my screen name, my operating system and my favorite pet’s name, which wasn’t easy because I live in a building that doesn’t allow pets.
The whole experience made me wonder if AOL has any employees in America anymore? Maybe they ought to change the name to “India Online.”Roy finally cut to the chase and called me a “spammer.” Me? How about all the penile enlargement e-mails or the Nigerian prince who only needs $1,000 to free up $20 million? Roy kept repeating the word “spam” like I was plotting to invade Kashmir.Steamed,I reminded him Pakistan has the bomb.
Sensing I was down to my last joke, I asked Roy to read my play before he called it spam. Did humor change AOL’s mind, assuming they have one? Look below and you will see I Yahoo!
Maybe the next time I get the urge to write I’ll make out a grocery list. (Jack Neworth is a freelance writer who, when not picketing America On Line,)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on August 4, 2006. Read the original PDF.