Face Number 2: Dance Master
I know Cockroach long enough to stand most of his antics. From maniacal laughter, through junk that he eats (when you live with blob that eats absolutely anything, besides carrots, it really isn't that unusual) to the fact that he's sometimes so snobbish. Yet, there is a one thing I just can't stand in him to this day, although I should get used to it already.
You see, our dear Doctor Cockroach, have sometimes a really annoying habit to listen pretty cheesy music. Now he's mostly doing it during free time, but if he's not working on something that doesn't need full focus and absolute silence, he puts some CD, fire it up and starts to dance in the place, meanwhile doing his job and sometimes even singing along.
And if you think that he listens to Beethoven or Louis Armstrong, or something equally sophisticated – guess what? He don't.
It started after his first week in the facility. I was working out in my water container and making my new record of two thousand pushups (note from BOB: Really? I thought you managed to only do ten pushups per day. Me: Shut up, BOB. I'm the narrator here.), when I've heard this.
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream (bung, bung, bung, bung)
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen (bung, bung, bung, bung)
Give him two lips like roses and clover (bung, bung, bung, bung)
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.[1]
It wasn't very loud, but loud enough for me to lose my count. Not a minute passed and I've heard the Doc himself singing along, especially "bung, bung, bung" parts. I tried to stay my business and ignore him, however, soon I realized that it was impossible. Because when he ended with Mr. Sandman, he played:
Come on everybody, clap your hands
Ar ya lookin' good
I'm gonna sing my song
And it won't take long
We're gonna do the twist, and it goes like this
Let's twist again, like we did last summer
Yeah, let's twist again, like we did last year…[2]
Then…
Para bailar la bamba,
Para bailar la bamba,
Se necesita una poca de gracia.
Una poca de gracia para mi para ti.
Arriba y arriba
Y arriba y arriba, por ti sere,
Por ti sere.
Por ti sere.[3]
And then few other song I don't dare to mention.
Anyway I finally snapped and decided to talk to Doc. Somehow I managed to get out from my cell and get in to his. When Cockroach saw me, he was just tinkering something that looked like a bomb. However, seeing me, he stopped what was doing and narrowed his eyes.
"Are you in need of something?" He asked. "Maybe a towel? You're soaking my floor."
"I've come here because of your stupid music. Because of you, I can't focus on my workout! Do you really need to play it?"
"Well, yes." He said shortly and came back to tinkering. "No go back to your place and stop bothering me. I have work to do."
"Listen, Doc. It so happened that our cells are beside each other so remember that you're not alone here."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to break curfew. You will have your portion of proper sleep."
"You're very nice, Doc, but that's not the point!" I said rising my hands.
He sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, then walked to the gramophone and turned it down. Then he looked at me and asked:
"Are you happy?"
"Yes, thank you."
"So go back to… to your usual activities, and leave me alone."
So I went back.
But this was just a beginning. Because not only the situation repeated itself almost every day, but soon Monger got Doc a radio, which – surprisingly for us all – was working just fine on a closed area in the middle of nowhere.
Decades were changing, so was the music. And although Doc's habit to dance and sing along during work stayed the same, the music he was listening to was changing from year to year, from decade to decade. So in 60s he was twisting like crazy to this tune:
Well, shake it up, baby, now, (shake it up, baby)
Twist and shout. (twist and shout)
C'mon c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now, (come on baby)
Come on and work it on out. (work it on out)[4]
In 70s he was mimicking Travolta with this one:
Whether you're a brother
or whether you're a mother,
you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin' and
everybody shakin',
and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive.[5]
In 80s he was doing break-dance (don't ask me how he learn it, I still can't comprehend the Travolta thing) to this:
Money is the key to end all your woes
Your ups, your downs, your highs and your lows
Won't you tell me the last time that love bought you clothes?
It's like that, and that's the way it is…[6]
And finally in the 90s, all I could hear was:
Roses are red and
Violets are blue
Honey is sweet, but not as sweet as you
Roses are red and
Violets are blue.
ad id aid id mud
ad id aid id mud
Dum di dia di da[7]
Well maybe it's a big exaggeration that was all what I could hear, because radio was airing many songs, some of them not only weren't that bad, but also were pretty cool. However, the very, very cheesy ones stack in my head and didn't want to go out, thanks to our dear Doctor Cockroach. I managed to break his radio few times, but Monger always was giving Doc a new one with new functions that allowed him to play a song from CD or cassette.
Somewhere in 2009 Monger brought him also a DDR. Cockroach was so fascinated with this machine that he spent all his days just playing with it. It was aggravating for me, not only because I had to listen Aqua again, but also because Doctor Cockroach was neglecting his work and plans to break us out (now I see why Monger did this, clever bustard). I've seen him dancing earlier, but now he was like hypnotized. So you see, I was really pissed and finally couldn't take it anymore.
I came to Doc and pulled the plug out, causing Cockroach to collapse. He took few seconds on catching breath, then looked at me coldly and said between breaths:
"What… did you… do that?"
"Because this damn machine is eating your time and you forgot about the priorities!" I replied harshly. "Do you still want to get out of here?"
"Of course, I do!" He stood up. "It's just that…" He sighed and looked at the ceiling. He was staring at it for a moment, then he turned his gaze on me again. "It's hard to explain."
"What's hard to explain? You're addicted to that thing!"
He didn't respond. He was observing me for a moment in silence. Finally he turned his back on me and came to his swirl chair. He sat on it and faced me. Then he chuckled and looked at me again.
"Have you ever wondered, in what discipline I've got my PhD? You will never guess."
"Probably in physics or some other nerdy stuff."
"No." He said with soft smile, looking down on the floor. "Though I must admit that I'm an expert in many fields of science." Then he once again turned his eyes on me, still smiling. "I have PhD in dance."
My eyebrows were never so high, and eyes never so wide. PhD in Dance? Really? Is this even possible to have PhD in DANCE?
When first shock passed, I started to laugh. Hard. So hard, I couldn't stop. Doc, on the other hand, looked at me with annoyance.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh at me. Most of my university colleagues were acting just like you. But you know what?" He said loudly, but then crossed his arms and swirled on his chair, turning his back on me. "I don't care what do you think. In civilized houses dance belongs to basic nurture."
"But, Doc!" I screamed through laughter. "PhD in DANCE?"
He turned to me and started to explain:
"On second year of studies I had to choose some physical activities classes to pass PE, so I selected the one that seemed the most harmless. I didn't think that I could suffer any humiliation before eyes of my peers on dance lessons."
"Doc, there is no worse humiliation to a guy, than dance!" I still laughed.
"Would you like me to continue, or are you going to die laughing like an idiot?"
"Sorry, Doc." I wiped my eyes and calmed down with a lot of effort. "Please continue your story."
"Well, then." He took comfortable position on the chair. "After few lessons, I started to enjoy my classes. Not just because I have really lovely ladies as dance partners, but also because I was impressing my colleagues later, when we got out and I knew, how to do twist."
"And that's all? That's why you got your PhD in dance?" I asked. "Pretty shallow, don't you think, Doc?"
"Ekhm… I didn't finish." He gave me 'I-m-not-amused' gaze. "I know it's hard to believe it, but some men like to dance. I tried to show interest in sports in school, but failed in everything, from baseball to golf. Some of my attempts almost ended with my death! But when I started to attend to dance classes, for the first time in my life, I was actually feeling rush of adrenaline and endorphins because of physical activity. I was sweating and panting, but I liked it. And because dance is a part of every culture in the world, as a scientist, I wanted to know about it as much as I could. I've already knew almost everything about physics, biology or chemistry, but I didn't know anything about this great thing called dance. This thing that can make you ecstatic, set a romantic mood and help to show your emotions through sheer movement. What's the best way to make someone like me to move than dance? What's the better way distract my mind from misery of this place than do my two favorite things – dance and science?"
That was also the moment when I understood something else. Something more connected to the fact that he always plays such cheesy music. Both dance and music are parts of culture and parts of outside world. And the songs Doc is always playing are energetic and cheerful (well, most of it). We were living for years in gloomy, almost emotionless place in the middle of nowhere. It would be easy to get depressed in Area 51. Even easier – get insane. Maybe radio was Doc's connection to the outside world and protection against despair (that, and his work).
"And that's why, my dear friend," he said pulling me out from my reflection. "I have PhD in dance."
"Okay, now I get it." I replied. "Still, it doesn't very practical."
"More practical than some sciences, I must admit. Mostly in social interactions."
"Yeah, but it's not like you can save the whole planet dancing on DDR."
Doc smiled to me and admitted:
"Probably not."
Believe me or not - that supposed to be the first chapter. The whole idea for this story comes for my regret that there is no fanfics about the fact that Doctor Cockroach knows how to dance. To be honest, I'm not very happy of this chapter. It feels chaotic. What do you think? Maybe better idea would be Doctor Cockroach teaching someone to dance (BtW - can somebody write something like this? ).
I'm not sure if in America - moreover, in America of the 50s - there is a request for students to do some PE classes. If there isn't (wasn't), I'm sorry.
I also apologize all the people that was expecting something more deep due to last chapter. I just needed to write something more comedy-like.
AND ONE LAST THING: Tell me in comments who would you like for narrator in next story - Susan or Monger?
The names of the songs:
[1] The Chordelettes - Mr. Sandman
[2] Chubby Checkers - Let's twist again
[3] Ritchie Valens - La bamba
[4] The Beatles - Twist and shout
[5] Bee Gees - Staying' Alive
[6] Run DMC - It's like that
[7] Aqua - Roses are Red