Signal Panic, Inc. Presents:
Action Saxton
In
"My Dinner With Action"
The life of an interviewer is tough. It’s not easy like people seem to think. You spend all this time studying at broadcasting school, and no one puts you on TV except for in five-second backstage segments. Things happen to you – I got kidnapped – and no one remembers. You spend your days looking for that scoop, that next big interview that will push you up the corporate ladder, make the people in charge realize your true potential, and force them to give you the chance you know you deserve.
This is the reason I find myself standing inside an old restaurant, one of the oldest in Knockemstiff, Ohio, waiting for my next big source to arrive. He said he would be on time, but he’s late. He’s always late. There were reasons I had been avoiding him for so long, but it didn’t matter now. I needed this job.
I sigh, and glance around, wondering if I should just leave.
“No,” I say to myself. “No, this could be a big break. This could change everything. Everything.”
The bell that marks when the front door of the restaurant opens rings. I wheel around in time to see him strolling on in, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Lucky. One day he’s going to wake up and realize that the world isn’t all…
“Chicken and waffles, Roscoe!” Action Saxton says to the owner with half of what could be called a smile on his face. “Fix me up a big plate of those good-ass chicken and waffles.”
He turns his head towards me, and nods in recognition.
“And, uh, fix up a plate for Leon there, too, and give us a pot of your coffee while you’re at it.”
Roscoe nods his head at Action Saxton before turning back to prepare our meals. I don’t particularly like chicken and waffles, but I say nothing as I follow Saxton to our booth and sit opposite him. He stretches slightly, flexing his large arms conspicuously before placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward.
“Sorry I was late, sucka,” he says. “I was on a mission. Have you ever heard of a country called Timbuktu? Well, it turns out they were having some real problems there with a secret agent group and I had to go and take those suckas out, using only my bare hands and a rusty pipe I found in Los Angeles on my way there.”
I withdraw my notebook and a pencil from my pocket, ready to write all of this down as Action Saxton continues talking.
“They had me surrounded, but little did they know that I had a few friends in the caramel industry. That’s the best part of being Action Saxton, everyone wants to be your friend! Anyway, I just hit a button, and bang! Those suckas stood, covered head to toe in the sticky stuff, allowing me to rescue the princess the big boss was keeping captive. Her name was Apricot or something Chinese like that, and at her urging I spared the life of the big boss, choosing only to break half of his ribs. I am a compassionate man when I want to be, Leon. You understand.”
I clear my throat. No, I didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter now. The only way to make this evening bearable would be to ask the man the questions. Asking questions always relaxes me.
“Action Saxton,” I begin to say, only to be interrupted by Roscoe serving us our coffee and meals.
“Here you go, brothers, two plates of my best,” says the restaurant owner, an older African-American man in golfer’s hat. He has a kind smile for Action Saxton, something I rarely see these days.
“Thank you, my man. You always had the best stuff in town,” replies Action Saxton, before starting on his meal. I try again.
“Action Saxton,” I say over the sounds of the man devouring his food. “You have a big match coming up this week, teaming up with Alex Bowen against Brothers in Arms. How do you feel coming off of your big victory last week?”
Action Saxton thankfully swallows his mouthful of food before responding.
“I feel like my usual sucka-licking, ass-kicking self.”
I sigh internally, sipping my coffee. It tastes like someone is repeatedly punching me in the mouth.
“Would you care to expound upon that?”
Action Saxton sips his coffee as well, slowly, savoring it.
“Son, let me tell you something about Action Saxton. You know what I do when I’m having a bad day?”
My pencil is ready.
“I sit up, stop having a bad day, and have a badass day instead. Everyone has rough patches in their lives, sucka, but the difference is I beat the hell out of those rough patches until they smooth. And look where it got me – I got my first WZCW victory last week, and there will be no stopping this domination train.”
Interesting. I write this down as he continues to speak.
“Sucka, the time for Action is now! I remember one time I walked up to the summit of Mount Kilamanjaro and talked to the sage there. I said to him, ‘Sage, why the hell are you up here?’ and he replied ‘Action Saxton, I’m up here to meditate and believe that all things that will be will be.’. And I said ‘Aw HELL no,’ and I jumped off of the mountain to do a perfect swan dive into the closest ocean, don’t remember the name, it was some Chinese word, and I swam to safety on an island where the last of the dinosaurs lived. I spent time with those dinosaurs, learning their customs and their language, until I was adopted by one T-Rex, name of Harold Smith. I loved that scaly mu’sucka, so when the meteor came I knew I had to stop it. But it was to no avail, as the meteor was no meteor but a robot ninja designed to assassinate every dinosaur on Action Island. I fought valiantly, but it was too strong.
That was my greatest failure.”
Action Saxton pauses to wipe the tears from his eyes that has sprung up during the last lines of his story. He takes another sip of his coffee.
“I will not make that mistake again. In the name of Harold Smith, I will take down the Brothers In Arms. I’m as savage as a macho man right now! Those suckas will get what is coming to them – My fists in their faces!”
I poke lazily at my food with one hand as I write with the other. He continues his nonsensical tirade, a strange light in his eyes.
“Remember the War of 2098, and how the Zodarks won? Remember how afterwards, everything went haywire? Things never go haywire anymore, and sucka I am going to change that. People have become too complacent. If you ain’t close to dyin’, you ain’t close to tryin’.”
He shifts his mug from hand-to-hand and back again as he starts to talk faster and faster. I can barely keep up with what he’s saying, let alone actually understand his content.
“Action Saxton is going all the way to the top, sucka! All the way to the stars after I beat the Brothers in Arms and beat the hell out of Alex Bowen and hoist that Mayhem Championship high! Sucka, Bowen may be my friend but I am the man no one can stop when he’s lookin’ to make his mark at the top. I am the man that no one can fell or else I’ll be punching them suckas straight to Hell! I am the man that wins the fight, the man who always will stay in the spotlight!”
The thankfully empty coffee mug that he was holding shatters in his grip, sending shards of china everywhere. The madman doesn’t seem to notice.
“I am Action Saxton! And I’m going to knock their brains out!
Can you dig it?”
He is breathing heavily. I finish writing as he slowly comes back down to Earth, or whatever planet he usually is on. He looks around at the remains of the cup he had formerly held in his hand.
“Man, what the hell happened to my cup?”
“You shattered it,” I reply.
The man looks confused for a moment, before relaxing.
“That sucka Roscoe must be cutting the cost again,” he chuckles. “Next thing I know he’ll be taking out this place to collect the insurance money. Of course,” he says, suddenly looking deadly serious, “if he does that I’d have to kick his ass.”
I stood up. I knew that I had gotten everything I could out of this interview. It wasn’t perfect – it may not even have been adequate – but it was definitely something. I offered my hand and he shook it, his grip strong and firm, as if a gentleman hid behind his gruff exterior.
“Thank you for your time,” I say, as per custom.
“The pleasure was all mine, sucka,” he replies. “Now you go on out. I’ll pay.”
I thank him again and leave, taking my notebook with me. I hear him go up to the counter and pay for our meals, laughing with Roscoe the whole time. Thoughts rush through my head as I push open the door to go outside.
I treat myself to a taxi. I ride home through the city streets, thinking about what had transpired. I watch through the rearview mirror the restaurant I had just dined at explode, thoroughly lost in my thoughts. Perhaps this was my lucky break after all, unprecedented access into the mind of Action Saxton. He certainly had said some interesting things, but would it be enough?
The taxi stops at my home. I get out, I pay the fare, and I go inside. I've decided. I can’t wait to type this up and tell the world.
Tell the world, about my dinner with Action.
