Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - In Over Your Head - Dave and the Cell Phone & Dave Goes Babysitting

Episode Date: October 18, 2024

“How was Dave supposed to know the Madden kids were all lactose intolerant.”Today on the pod, two stories where Dave bites off more than he can chew. In the first he babysits a cell phone that is left in the store; in the second he attempts to babysit some neighbourhood kids, with hilarious consequences. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome, today on the show, to classic stories about Dave being in over his head. He has such good intentions and he makes such bad decisions. This is Stuart McLean with Dave and the Cell Phone. Dave was smiling when he unlocked his second-hand record store, The Vinyl Cafe, on Tuesday morning of last week, glowing even. On Monday night, just as he was closing, a man had struggled into the store backwards,

lugging a carton of records he wanted to sell. They'd gone through the carton together, Dave and this man, mostly it was pretty ordinary stuff, until the box was nearly empty and there, lying at the bottom among the scraps of paper and dog hairs and assorted detritus, there in the bottom of the carton, Dave had found a cassette copy of Live at PS-122 by the Czechoslovakian experimental group Polnok. As Dave picked up the cassette, he swore he could hear the thrumming of heavenly harps. He turned the tape over in his hand,

he smiled, and he thought to himself, this is one of those rare moments when you know that life is worth living. Dave had been waiting for this tape for 12 years. He doesn't go out looking for things like this, recordings he wants to hear. He could if he wanted to. He knows enough collectors and dealers and record agents. He knows a world of obsessive music freaks. Instead of searching them out, however, he waits for the records to come to him. This one had been a long time coming. Polnock recorded live at PS122 in New York City, and one

prominent rock critic chose the tape in a Village Voice poll as his number one pick for that year. Dave had been waiting to hear it ever since. Pull Knock, if you've never heard of them, arose out of the aftermath of the Plastic People of the Universe, the rock group from Czechoslovakia that did more than any other band to change the course of world history. Václav Havel was just one of the many important Czech dissidents who used to hang around with the Plastic People. Most mornings when Dave arrives at the Vinyl Cafe, he makes coffee, reads the paper,

and settles down to do the crossword before he does anything else. This morning, as the coffee was brewing, he picked up the tape by pull-knock instead of the paper. Maybe he thought maybe he should listen to the tape, then read the paper. He poured himself a mug of coffee and he carried the mug out the front door. He stood on the sidewalk and he looked up and down the street feeling the warmth of the autumn sun on his face. After enjoying it for five minutes, he abruptly began walking down the street away from his record store towards Woodsworth's Books, not even bothering to lock the front door behind him. There was $75 in the till, but Woodsworth's was only five stores along,

and it was unlikely that anyone would come into his record store before noon. And if they did, it was unlikely they'd have thievery in their heart. Dorothy Capper, who runs Wordsworth's books, was staring at her computer screen. Morning, said Dave, setting his coffee on the counter. Dorothy looked up and said, how many copies of Never Cry Wolf should I order for Christmas? Dave said, lots. And then he said, I need your help. It's my turn now. And Dorothy said, if I wrote lots on the order form, I wonder how many they'd send me. Dave said, I got a tape last night, and I'm not sure if I should do the crossword first and then listen to the tape, or listen to the tape first and then do the crossword.

It's by Pullnock, incidentally. Dorothy said, that's why I sell books instead of records. I don't think I could stand the pressure. It was while he was walking back to the record store that Dave realized something profound. Once he heard the tape, he couldn't look forward to it anymore. He decided he'd wait until after lunch. He would torture himself for a while, just for the sheer pleasure. He did the crossword, and then he paid the bills. There were three. And then it was quarter

past ten, and he walked back to Dorothy's. It's quarter past ten, he said. I haven't listened to the tape yet. Dorothy stared at him. Delaying pleasure, said Dave, straightening a pile of books on the table near the cash. Dorothy didn't say anything. Pressure's building, said Dave. You can handle it, said Dorothy. At a quarter to eleven, Dave was killing time by cleaning

a stack of albums that had been waiting by the cash for a couple of weeks, and a quarter to 11 was when the phone rang. Dave looked up surprised, and then he reached for his phone, except it wasn't his phone that was ringing. The black rotary phone under the lamp by the cash wasn't doing anything. The ringing was coming from the back of the store. Dave peered at the stacks and stacks of records, and the ringing stopped. Ten minutes later, it began again. This time, Dave jogged to the back of the store. The ringing seemed to be coming from a bin of records marked Unknown Legends.

Dave flipped through the records. There was a cell phone nestled near the back of the stack. He picked it up. Hello, he said. Charles said the voice on the other end of the phone. No, said Dave. This is Dave. Is Charles there, said the voice. Dave looked around his empty store. Is Charles there, said the voice. Dave looked around his empty store. No, he said. Okay, said the voice, and the line went dead.

That was a little odd, thought Dave. He took the phone back to the cash register and he set it down on the counter. It rang again five minutes later. Hello, said Dave. Charles said a different voice. No, it's Dave, said Dave. Dave, said the voice on the phone. And then neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Dave said, hello. And the voice on the phone said, Dave who? Charles left his phone here, said Dave. I just found it. It was between Swamp Dog and Captain Beefheart. What, said the voice. It's a record store, said Dave. What are you talking about, said the voice. door, said Dave. What are you talking about, said the voice. Swamp Dog, asked Dave. The phone went dead. There were eight more calls in the next half hour. Eight times in a half an hour, Dave had to explain how he had found the cell phone in the record bin. Eight times he had to explain that he

had no idea where Charles was. No idea when Charles would be back. I don't know, said Dave, I don't know. After the eighth call, Dave turned the phone off and he put it in the drawer below the cash. He didn't need this in his life, not on this day especially, not with only an hour and a half left before he could listen to the pull-knock tape. Charles, whoever he was, would eventually come by for the phone, or he wouldn't. Dave made more coffee. The incessant ringing of the phone had disturbed the slow and pleasant routine of his morning.

He took his coffee outside into the sun to see if he could recapture it. An hour later, he was happily playing hearts on his computer. And when he was handed the queen of spades, it suddenly occurred to him that Charles might be out there somewhere dialing his own number, trying to make contact with his lost cell phone. Reluctantly, Dave reached into the drawer and he turned the phone back on. It rang within minutes. Dave reached into the drawer and he turned the phone back on. It rang within minutes. Charles?

It was the first guy who had called. No, said Dave, it's still me. Dave, said the voice, when's Charles going to be in? Soon, said Dave. I hope. Could you take a message, said the voice. Tell Charles Chris' phone, tell him I have the smoked salmon. Just a minute, said Dave, I'll get a pencil.

Dave wrote smoked salmon down on the margin of the morning paper. Dave took 12 more messages over the next half hour. Now this is not something he's used to doing. Dave's phone wouldn't normally ring 12 times in a week. He scribbled the messages on the backs of old receipts and on an assorted collection of paper scraps he kept shoving in his pocket. By noon, his pockets were filling up. And by noon, he knew this. filling up. And by noon, he knew this. Charles, or Chucky, or Charlie, or whoever he was, was an event coordinator. He was currently working on two events, a wedding for a woman named Emily,

or actually for Emily's mother, Estelle, and a gallery opening. The wedding was in Toronto. The gallery opening was in Buffalo. Dave left the phone sitting on the counter when he closed for lunch. It was ringing when he came back an hour later. He saw on the call display that he had missed 16 calls. He looked forlornly at the pull-knock cassette. The calls, which had been more or less benign most of the morning, became more and more frantic as the afternoon wore on. By midday, Estelle had called four times. By mid-afternoon, Dave and Estelle were on a first-name basis.

Dave, she said. Yes, said Dave, reaching for his pencil and another scrap of paper. Dave, I'm starting to get concerned. Me too, Estelle, said Dave, reaching for his pencil and another scrap of paper. Dave, I'm starting to get concerned. Me too, Estelle, said Dave. Dave put on the coffee, and as it brewed, he organized his desk. He put a stack of paper by the phone and a pen in his pocket. And when the first call came 15 minutes later, he whipped out the pen and jumped for the phone with a smile on his lips.

It had been so long since he had had to be so organized, so on top of his game. Dave fielded over 40 calls that day. Ten of them were for Mistel, the mother of the bride. Dave, she said, the florist just called. Dave wrote florist on a fresh piece of paper and underlined it three times. He can't get Stephanosis for the table sprays. Uh-huh, said Dave. Dave wrote the word Stephanosis, and then he put a big cross through it. He wants to know if we should get Lark's Spur or Frigia's.

Frigia's, said Dave. Mauve Frieze's to go with the mauve candles. Right, said Estelle. And then she said, Dave, I'm so glad you're here. Dave said, me too. There was a beep in his ear. I have to go, he said. There's another call. It was the first caller from the day before. This time there was no hello, no who's this, just is he back? Uh-uh, said Dave. Well, said the voice, the smoked salmon's starting to thaw. I don't have a freezer. What are you going to do about that? When Dave came home for supper, he was carrying four large boxes of smoked salmon. He took them downstairs into the basement. He was trying to shoehorn the last one into the freezer when Morley came down. Smoked salmon, he said to Morley. It's not ours, it's Estelle's. Estelle, said Morley. Who's Estelle? But Dave was already on his way upstairs.

After supper, Dave wiped off the kitchen table with a sponge and he laid out a fountain pen and a bottle of ink and a little stack of cardboard cards. Place settings, he said. And he sat down and he began to fill out the first little card. Dave went to an office supply store on Thursday. He walked out of the store carrying a small leather binder divided into seven sections, $49. out of the store carrying a small leather binder divided into seven sections, $49. One of the sections was for his life goals and personal mission.

The call from the laundry came just before lunch. If you don't come and get your clothes, we're going to give them to charity, said the lady on the line. What do you mean you'll give the clothes away, said Dave. Don't give me lips, said the laundry lady. You have till noon. I've lost my ticket, said Dave meekly. The laundry lady said, you've got till noon. Dave reached for his day timer. He frowned. His morning was filling up. Dave was at the kitchen table again after supper that night. He was wrapping up pieces of wedding cake in doilies. He was trying to tie each piece with silver ribbon, and he wasn't having an easy time with the bows. I keep squishing the cake, he said to Morley as she poured herself a cup of coffee. The next time Morley wandered into the kitchen, he was holding a piece of cake and a doily and a stapler.

And she just turned around and walked right back out again. That was the night the cell phone rang at 11.30. Morley in bed beside Dave. Morley already half asleep. Dave sitting on the edge of the bed using a spoon to eat a bowl of crushed wedding cake. The phone rang at 11.30 and it was a woman's voice on it. Dave couldn't seem to make her understand that he didn't know Charlie. She kept saying, I don't understand why he hasn't called me.

He's been really busy, said Dave. I'm sure he'll call soon. He sounds like a scoundrel, said Morley. Oh, come off it, said Dave. He's just busy. In point of fact, Charlie was anything but busy. In point of fact, at that very moment, at 11.30 that night, Charlie was sitting in a cafe not far as the crow flies from Dave's house. It was Charlie's third day without a phone.

And he was enjoying the first real vacation he had taken in two and a half years. When he lost his phone, he had decided it was an act of God. It was mental health time. He knew it couldn't last. He knew Estelle must be climbing the walls. He knew he'd have to pick up the phone soon, maybe in the morning, but for the night he wasn't going to think about Estelle or gallery owners or flower arrangements or anyone else. He showed up at the vinyl cafe just before lunch. Dave knew it was him the moment he walked through the front door. Though he didn't look the way Dave had imagined at all, he seemed too young. He didn't look responsible enough for the commitments he had waiting for him. You're too young, said Dave when he walked up to the counter. What, said Charles.

Then he said, I think I left a cell phone here. The phone was lying on the counter. Dave glanced over at it and they both reached for it at the same time, both of them landing on the phone at the same instant. It's mine, said Charles. No, said Dave, pulling at the phone. It's mine, said Charles, and they were tugging at the phone like a pair of two-year-olds. Mine, said Dave. The wedding was less than a week away. There was so much to do, Estelle needed him.

The wedding was less than a week away. There was so much to do, Estelle needed him. Suddenly, Charles let the phone go, and Dave's hand flew back with the phone in it. Charles took a step back and crossed his arms. Give me my phone, he said firmly, the way he might have spoken to a child. Dave handed over the phone, and then he got out the leather binder, and he told Charles the lay of the land. As he did, Charles kept looking at him as if he were trying to steal his business. He didn't even say thank you as he left. The store felt empty without the phone. Dave sat behind the counter looking around. He stood in front of his desk. He stared

at the pile of messages. He felt lost. He wanted to phone Estelle, but he didn't have her number. He wondered how he used to fill his days. He walked to the back of the store and stared at a bin of records, and he began to sort through them half-heartedly. Five minutes later, he thought he heard the cell phone ring, and he dropped the records and ran to the counter, but the phone wasn't ringing. He was like an amputee. It was a phantom ring. He felt bereft. He walked down the street.

Dorothy took one look at him and said, Hello, stranger. There were dark circles under his eyes. You look exhausted. Dave fell into the sofa in the middle of her store. Long story, he said. He looked down at his hand and frowned. He'd been biting his fingernails. He hadn't done that for years. Two days later, Charles was waiting at the final cafe when Dave arrived for work. Listen, he said, I don't think I thanked you for what you did while I was away. That's okay, said Dave as he unlocked the store. Charles followed him in.

You come for your laundry, asked Dave. It's in the back. No, said Charles. I forgot about the laundry. I need to ask you a favor. What's that, said Dave, as he rolled up the blind on the front door and lugged out the stuffed gorilla onto the sidewalk? The mother of the bride, said Charles, grabbing the gorilla's head, helping out. Estelle, said Dave. She says you promised mauve candles. I can't find mauve candles. Honest to God, I've looked everywhere.

She doesn't believe me. Would you talk to her for me? She keeps asking for you. She's making me crazy. Dave said, I can get the candles for you, but not for an hour. I have something to do. I have a tape I have to listen to. That night as he was closing the store, the phone by the cash register started ringing. It hadn't

rung for two days. Dave almost didn't answer it. He scooped it up on the third ring. It was Morley, and she was agitated. There's a guy here with a truck and 250 balloons, she said. There's a guy here with a truck and 250 balloons, she said. What, said Dave? I said there are balloons everywhere. Balloons, said Dave? The balloons were for the Buffalo Gallery. He heard a small explosion in the background.

Sam's collecting them, said Morley. Tell him to enjoy himself, said Dave. I'll be home for supper. I have a tape I want you to hear. Thank you very much. Thank you. Thank you. That was Dave and the cell phone. We're going to take a short break now,

but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story, so stick around. Welcome back. Time for our second story now. This is Dave Goes Babysitting. On Saturday afternoon last week, Dave tripped around town doing the usual family errands in an unusually chipper frame of mind, feeling so darn good about things that he actually caught himself whistling on the way out of the dry cleaners. Happiness, as anyone who has known unhappiness can tell you, is not a condition of clean clothes, or of any circumstance for that matter.

not a condition of clean clothes, or of any circumstance for that matter. Happiness is a condition of the mind, or more specifically, the imagination. Saturday afternoon, as he moved around the city dropping off laundry and picking up groceries, Dave's imagination was full steam ahead. The American newspaper man H.L. Mencken once said, the only truly happy people in this sad world are married women and single men. But H.L. Mencken's dead. What does he know? As if to prove Mencken's point, however, Dave was, in fact, going to be single that Saturday night. Morley was going out with friends. Sam had been asked to a sleepover at his pal Ben's house.

And Stephanie was babysitting for the Maddens. But it wasn't just the possibility of this evening of solitude that had Dave whistling as he glided around town. When he whistled his way out of the dry cleaners, Dave wasn't thinking about solitude at all. He was imagining in exquisite detail the things that he was going to do while he was home alone. He had a plan for something so wonderfully self-indulgent

that he couldn't stop himself from whistling. When everyone had gone their separate ways and Dave was all by himself, he was going to carry the small portable television set down from his bedroom, and he was going to balance the small portable television set down from his bedroom, and he was going to balance it on top of the television set in the living room. And then, when he had the two televisions carefully stacked, his tower, a TV, Dave was planning to watch Hockey Night in Canada on the small set,

and a couple of his all-time favorite movies on the other. Simultaneously. The movies were already sitting on the back seat of his car, beside the family-sized pack of Doritos, the six-pack of cream soda, and the jar of jalapeno peppers. The Dirty Dozen, starring Lee Marvin. Beside that, True Grit, John Wayne's Academy Award-winning role as Rooster Cogburn, the crotchety, straight-shooting, one-eyed U.S. Marshal. All Dave needed was a jar of salsa

and some of that runny blue cheese from France to make this a night he would never forget. By the time Dave got home that Saturday afternoon, Sam had already left for his sleepover. Morley and Stephanie, however, were in the kitchen talking, and Dave was so wrapped up with his plans that it took him a few minutes to realize that something was wrong. Stephanie was sitting at the table holding her head in her hands. And when she looked up at her father, her eyes were watery and red. Her face was pale. What's the matter, said Dave, looking first at his daughter and then at his wife. We have an unhappy little girl, said Morley. I just threw up, said Stephanie. I have a fever. Oh no, said Dave. He meant it with his heart and soul.

I'm supposed to babysit at the Madden, said Stephanie. Yes, said Dave, I know. I guess you're not going? This was part question, part statement. Stephanie shook her head, and then Dave said eight fateful words. Who did you find to take your place? Exactly. It was 6.15 on the nose when Dave pushed the Madden's doorbell. This is very kind, said Jim Madden. We tried everyone.

And then Jim frowned and he pointed at the portable television set that was resting on the stoop beside Dave. We have a TV, said Jim, as Dave picked the portable up and walked in. Then he glanced at his watch. I'm sorry, he said, we're running a bit late. Jim and Rhonda Madden have three children. Jade, age seven. Kenneth, who is three. And the baby, Warren, four months.

Rhonda Madden appeared in a flurry of high heels and a waft of perfume. Kenneth, the three-year-old, trailing her in his pajamas like a pull toy. Warren's in his crib, but he needs to be fed, she said, as Jim helped her struggle into her coat. Jade knows the routine. Jade'll fill you in. Rhonda Madden was peering into the hall mirror, playing with her hair as she talked. You'll have to go easy with Jade. She's a little upset because you're here. She was expecting Stephanie. Stephanie is her favorite.

She likes Stephanie better than anyone. But she'll settle down, and she knows where everything is. Dave stood at the front door, and he watched Jim and Ron to bustle into their black sob. Have a good time, he said. We'll be fine. But they didn't hear, and they didn't wave back. Dave turned and he shut the door. The silence of the house overwhelmed him. Dave looked at the knapsack leaning against the small television. It held his babysitting supplies, the two movies, his cream soda, the French cheese, the jalapeno peppers, and the Doritos, and he looked at his watch. It was 6 30. If he could get everyone in bed by nine,

the night wouldn't be a complete loss. He took a tentative step toward the living room, and then his his shoulders sagged, and he turned for one last look out the window. He saw the Madden's red taillights disappearing down the street, carrying his grand plans with them. Dave was about to turn away when something caught his attention, and he leaned against the glass, and he squinted. Something was following the car. It was a small thing. This thing that was running after the car, a small thing in pajamas, running with its arms outstretched in front of it. Kenneth, said Dave.

Kenneth, he screamed. Dave was halfway down the walk before he turned and he raced back to the house. I'll be right back, he yelled into the silence. And then he slammed the front door and he bounded down the street. He caught up to Kenneth at the end of the block. Kenneth, standing beside a stop sign, pointing at the red taillights of his parents' cars, had vanished around a corner.

Mommy, he said as Dave picked him up. Mommy. It was only when Dave got back to the Madden's and walked up to the front door with Kenneth slung over his shoulder, kicking and still screaming for his mother. It was only when Dave reached the door and pulled on the faux antique door handle that he realized that in his rush to retrieve the boy, he had locked himself out. Mommy, howled Kenneth. Dave rang the doorbell and waited. I want my mommy, screamed Kenneth. Dave jabbed at the doorbell again impatiently once, twice, and again and again, and then he leaned on the doorbell, but still no one came.

He put Kenneth down on the stoop, and he walked across the front lawn with the moths of anxiety stirring in his stomach. He peered through the living room window. He couldn't see a soul. And when he turned around, there was Kenneth rocketing down the street again, his determined little feet pounding along the sidewalk. Dave didn't catch him until they were halfway to the stop sign. When they got back to the stoop, Dave got down on his hands and his knees and he peered through the mail slot holding Kenneth to his body like a marsupial. He could see right across the front hall. He could see all the way to the staircase.

And sitting there on the third stair, he could see seven-year-old Jade Madden glaring back at him. Jade, who liked Stephanie better than anyone. She had Dave's opened knapsack beside her. She was eating his Doritos. knapsack beside her. She was eating his Doritos. Jade said Dave through the mailbox, open the door please. No. Mommy, screamed Kenneth. Jade said Dave. Mommy, said Kenneth. No, said Jade. Shut up, said Dave. It was the neighbors who first heard and then spotted the stranger, Dave, holding the screaming baby, Kenneth,

while he tried to jimmy open the Madden's patio door with a tire iron. It was the neighbors who called the police. And it was the police who eventually convinced Jade to open the front door. Are you going to be okay? asked the sergeant. There are three of them, after all. Maybe I should call for backup? Har, har, har, said Dave. As he stood on the stoop and he watched the cops drive away,

the cops didn't wave back either. Well, said Dave to Jade, I was hoping that we could be friends. Jade sniffed and walked into the family room and snapped on the television without a word. Kenneth struggled onto the couch and sat beside her. And that is when Warren started to whimper. Four-month-old Warren. Dave had forgotten about Warren. Warren, he said. Warren, he said, as he bounded upstairs and found Warren's bedroom. When he opened the door, Warren was standing in his crib holding onto the rails.

Dave walked in and smiled. Hi, he said. My name's Dave. I'm the babysitter. Warren let go of the rails, dropped down onto his mattress like a stone, and started to scream. I'm sorry, said Dave, but Stephanie couldn't make it. She's your favorite, right?

Getting an angry baby out of a dirty diaper may be one of the cruelest jobs in the world. Dave looked like a mud wrestler by the time he had Warren cleaned up. Standing with one hand on the squirming baby's chest, Dave looked desperately around the room for clean diapers. Couldn't see them anywhere. He put Warren back in the crib and he ran downstairs. Jade, he said, where does your mummy keep the clean diapers? Jade didn't even flinch.

Her determined little eyes never strayed from the television. It was as if Dave didn't exist. Dave ran back upstairs and he lifted Warren out of the crib. They were halfway across the room when Warren started to pee. And I'm not talking about polite little tinkles. I'm talking about a geyser of urine squirting around the room like water from a loose fire hose. Dave did the only thing he could think of doing under the circumstances. He grabbed the fire hose and clamped the nozzle shut.

Warren looked at him in stunned wonder as they ran for the bathroom. A half hour later, Dave had cleaned himself up, and he had changed his messy clothes for one of Jim Madden's shirts and a pair of Jim Madden's pants. A half an hour later, Warren was still crying and Dave was rummaging through the kitchen looking for baby formula. He was getting desperate. Dave didn't need Dr. Spock to tell him that four-month-old Warren was starving. Dave didn't need Dr. Spock to tell him three-year-old Kenneth, who was trashing the living room, was wound up tighter than a seven-day clock. Dave didn't need Dr. Spock to tell him three-year-old Kenneth, who was trashing the living room, was wound up tighter than a seven-day clock. Dave didn't need Dr. Spock to tell him Kenneth was up past his bedtime. It's your bedtime, said Dave. No, it's not, said Kenneth. Kenneth didn't know much,

but he knew enough to know Dave didn't know much either. know much either. For Dave, it was a matter, as they say at the management seminars, of setting priorities, a matter of first things first. Kenneth wasn't the first thing. Warren was the first thing. Dave had to get some food into Warren and get Warren to bed before he could work on Kenneth. Or more to the point, he had to stop Warren crying before Warren drove him crazy. But he couldn't find baby formula anywhere. He did, however, find a bottle of golden corn syrup. Dave remembered his grandmother feeding his younger sister Annie corn syrup off a spoon. He shrugged, he opened the bottle of corn syrup, and he squeezed some onto a spoon. Warren wasn't interested in the spoon of corn syrup.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. In desperation, Dave dipped his finger into the sticky sap, and he stuck his finger into Warren's mouth. Warren's eyes bulged. He stopped crying, and he began to suck on Dave's finger with frightening strength. When he finished, he plucked Dave's finger out of his mouth with his little hands, and he stared at it, and he said, More. and he stared at it and he said, more. Dave squeezed more syrup onto his finger and he rammed it back into Warren's mouth.

There was a baby bottle and some nipples on the counter. Dave considered putting a nipple on the bottle of syrup and just plugging Warren in. When Kenneth saw what was going on, he said, can I have some of that? And Dave said, sure. And he got out a bowl and he poured about a half a cup of corn syrup into the bowl. And he gave Kenneth a spoon and he said, be my guest. Kenneth carried the bowl earnestly over to the kitchen table as if he was about to take his first communion. This is good, he said. Can I have more?

And it was during this unexpected moment of harmony that Dave decided it wouldn't hurt if he couldn't find formula to give Warren a bit of warm milk. Oh, he knew the baby mightn't take milk right away, but he'd seen some chocolate syrup in the cupboard. And Dave figured if he flavored the milk with a bit of chocolate and a bit of the corn syrup, maybe Warren would take it. Actually, he was thinking maybe he could be Warren's favorite. At first, all he could see in the fridge were cartons of soy milk. Unfortunately, he kept looking, and finally he uncovered a jug of milk behind a bottle of ketchup. How was Dave supposed to know the Madden's kids were all lactose intolerant?

On its own, the milk probably wouldn't have made Warren sick. On its own, the milk might have given Warren gas, maybe diarrhea, and not until well after Dave had left the scene of the crime. But when Warren finished his bottle of milk, and I tell you no baby in history has inhaled a bottle of milk with a gusto Warren sucked down the chocolate-flavored syrup-laced milk that Dave prepared. And when he finished, Warren sighed and farted. And a look of great joy settled on his little face. And Dave held him up over his head and shook him back and forth

and said, well done, Warren. And then he threw Warren in the air and he caught him and Warren giggled. So Dave threw him higher and Warren giggled again. And because this was the first joy Dave had elicited out of any of these miserable children, he began to dance around the kitchen holding Warren over his head and shaking him up like a pair of maracas which Warren seemed to enjoy at first and then a peculiar expression settled on Warren's face an expression that seemed to say he was experiencing a sensation he had never experienced in his little life

Dave had heard about projectile vomiting but seemed to say he was experiencing a sensation he had never experienced in his little life. Dave had heard about projectile vomiting, but he'd never witnessed it before. And when he noticed how pale Warren had turned, Dave frowned and he said, Warren bringing him down in front of his face. him down in front of his face. Warren burped. His breath had the sour smell of milk that had been left in the sun, and Dave held him at arm's length, but still in front of his face. And then a sound began to roll out of Warren's little body, a sound Dave associated with things like werewolves and mummies. And then Warren opened his mouth and a ball of vomit flew

out of him right toward Dave's face. Dave ducked. The ball of vomit flew over his shoulder. Jade came into the kitchen. Dave said, duck. Jade said, why? The vomit hit her in the chest. Dave said, because. It hit her like a bowl of pea soup. It was the most disgusting thing Dave had ever seen in his life. The rest of the night was more or less a blur. After they got Jade

cleaned up and into her pajamas, Dave phoned home and talked to Stephanie. Just as long as you don't let Kenneth eat anything sweet, she said, or he'll be up all night. Don't worry, said Dave. I'm not that stupid. The Maddens didn't come home until after midnight. They let themselves in the front door quietly, and they stood in the front hall for a moment listening. The house was dark. They could see the glow from the television flickering against the kitchen wall.

They heard a gunshot, and then another, and then John Wayne's distinctive drawl echoed through their house. Rhonda Madden looked at her husband and arched her eyebrows. They reached the family room together. Nothing, nothing in God's creation could have prepared them for what they found there. Dave was asleep on the floor, his head tilted back so far and at such an odd angle that at first glance Rhonda Madden thought he was dead. Is he okay, she started to say, but before the words were out of her mouth, Dave snorted.

It was a strangled, snoring sort of snort, and Rhonda realized her babysitter was asleep, not dead, though he was clearly dead asleep. She had taken in the whole sorry tableau by now, the two televisions stacked one on top of the other, John Wayne holstering his gun on one, a heavy metal band leering grotesquely into her living room on the other, and her children, her three precious children, her children who had never watched anything except Barney, Teletubbies, and the Magic School Bus, staring slack-jawed back at the televisions as if they'd been hypnotized. Warren, the baby, was sitting on Dave's chest. His three-year-old brother, Kenneth, sprawled on the floor beside them.

Jade was across the room sitting in a leather chair. The three of them watching that television so intensely that none of them noticed their mother and father standing in the doorway. Kenneth was eating something out of a bowl. It looked like cereal. Jim and Rhonda watched in wonder as Kenneth filled up his spoon and without taking his eyes off the television, held it up over his head for his baby brother. Warren, who had never had solid food in his life, leaned precariously forward and smacked at the spoon greedily.

As she watched, dumbstruck, Rhonda noticed Jade was holding Warren's bottle loosely in her hands. It was full of a thick golden liquid. And that's when Dave farted. In his sleep, he farted and he began to roll over and Warren tottered precariously on his belly. Before he toppled off, Kenneth put down his bowl and he held his hand up. He did this without taking his eyes off the television. He reached over his head and he held on to his brother until Dave had settled.

He did this instinctively. Clearly he had done this many times before. instinctively, clearly he had done this many times before. Rhonda stepped forward and picked up the bowl of brown mush that Kenneth had been feeding Warren, and she sniffed it. It looked like cereal, but it smelled like soy milk and Doritos. And that's when Jim Madden recognized his pants and shirt. He's wearing my clothes, he said out loud. Those are my pants. That's my shirt. Rhonda Madden began to weep. When he got home that night, Dave told Stephanie everything that had happened.

All the humiliating details, including the most humiliating one of all, the moment when Dave woke up to find Jim Madden kneeling beside him, the moment when Jim asked him, how much do I owe you? It will be two and a half months before the Maddens will call Stephanie to babysit again. When she finally gets the call and arrives at their house, Warren will already be asleep. Kenneth will be standing by the door beside his mother as usual. Stephanie will find Jade in the family room watching television. And when she sees Stephanie, Jade will frown and cross her legs and sigh. You'll have to be patient with her, Rhonda Madden will say.

She's been asking for your father. She thinks he's the best babysitter she's ever had. Thank you very much. That was a story we call Dave Goes Babysitting. Some of you may also know it by the name A Night to Remember, and it certainly was that. All right, that's it for this episode. But we'll be back here next week with two more Dave David Morley stories, including this one. He had three glorious days of solitude ahead of him. Wondered if he should go over to the Lobeers and check on their

cat. Lobeers were away too. He had their keys. He was feeding the cat for the weekend. Now that he thought of it, he wasn't sure where he had put their keys, whether he had them with him, that is, or whether he had left them at home. And that is why he dug them out of his pocket, and that is how he came to be holding the Loebier's keys as he stood there on the corner down the street from Kenny's Cafe. Why he dropped them? Who knows? These sort of things happen. That's the part about the world being cursed.

Or Dave's world, anyway. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and he was standing there considering whether he should feed the cat now or later when the keys slipped out of his hand and fell towards the ground in that slow-motion-y sort of way that disasters favor. They hit the sidewalk and bounced into the gutter. Now later, Dave would say you could line up a thousand people and have them drop one thousand sets of keys and nothing more would have happened. And he's probably right. Probably if you dropped 1,000 other sets of keys, not one other set would bounce into the gutter like his, and if they did, would have lain there on top of the sewer grate.

His didn't. His landed on the sewer, balanced there for a moment, like a golf ball balancing on the lip of a golf hole. And then they slowly, unbelievably, and maybe even deliberately disappeared. Vanished. Dave stared at where they had been in disbelief, at where they had been and weren't anymore. Seriously, he said. He got down on his hands and his knees and he peered into the sewer. Nothing but darkness down there. He pulled at the sewer grate. It didn't budge.

If he hadn't been so close to his record store, that probably would have been the end of this. He would have tried to pull the sewer grate free, and he would have failed, and that would have been that. Unfortunately, he was able to walk back to his store in no time flat. Unfortunately, in no time flat, he was back at the sewer with a flashlight and a crowbar. Unfortunately, five minutes after he had dropped the low beer's key down the sewer, he had, with the help of the crowbar, jimmied the sewer cover off and was climbing down the cold steel rungs set into the vertical concrete wall. That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording

engineer is someone who would never fall asleep on the job. Right, Greg? Theme music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeCloote, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.