Post by jeff on Jan 22, 2022 3:56:16 GMT
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
"Jeez, man, you know you can take a break, right?"
Wardlow waves him off.
WARDLOW: I'm fine, Dave.
He picks up another giant bag of rice from the truck and carries it over to the cart. The other man, Dave, cocks his eyebrows and nods.
DAVE: Wish all of our volunteers had your kind of work ethic… and physique. How much you benchin' these days?
WARDLOW: I dunno.
Wardlow easily picks up another bag. Dave finds it a little more difficult.
WARDLOW: How many more trucks after this?
DAVE: Four or five, but like I said before, you've done more than enough, Mike.
Wardlow tosses the bag down on the cart.
WARDLOW: No I haven't.
An undisclosed amount of time later, Wardlow carefully places a couple of paper bags on a table.
WARDLOW: Here good?
An older woman nods her head with a smile.
WOMAN: That's perfect, Michael. Thank you.
Wardlow grabs a bandana from his back pocket and dabs the sweat from his forehead.
WARDLOW: You're welcome, Mary.
MARY: You really went above and beyond today. I can't begin to tell you how much we appreciate everything you do for us.
WARDLOW: No problem. Happy to help.
MARY: Have you had anything to eat yet?
WARDLOW: I had a protein shake earlier. I'm good.
The older woman looks appalled. She grabs Wardlow by the hand.
MARY: No you're not. That's not a meal. Here, come, take a seat.
Wardlow initially resists her pull.
WARDLOW: I can't. I have somewhere else to be.
MARY: Not on an empty stomach you don't.
WARDLOW: I promise I'll have something later.
MARY: I don't believe you. Come, eat.
She gestures to a table that's been set up buffet style. Fried chicken, mac and cheese, corn, various mixed vegetables, biscuits, it all looks very tempting. But again, Wardlow shakes his head and refuses to move.
WARDLOW: Really, I can't. I'm already running late.
Mary shakes her head and grabs a Tupperware container. She begins to fill it with a little bit of everything.
WARDLOW: Mary, that's not --
MARY: Hush. You'll take it and you'll enjoy it. Or else.
She laughs to herself as Wardlow shows the smallest sign of a smile.
WARDLOW: Yes, ma'am.
Wardlow stands a couple feet away from Maxwell Jacob Friedman, who is surrounded by reporters outside of the Vivint Arena. There are cell phones, voice recorders, and microphones in his face but MJF doesn't seem to mind. It's almost like… he enjoys the attention? He points to someone.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: Yeah. You.
REPORTER: Max, we know you've never lacked in confidence before but there's a lot of high end competition in the upcoming battle royale. Have you prepared for the possibility that you might not win?
MJF looks back at Wardlow. The two share a look of amusement.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: No, I haven't. Have you prepared for the possibility that another stupid question like that and Wardlow here will turn those glasses into contact lenses?
REPORTER: Max, you've got a bit of a reputation already. Are you worried that the rest of the participants might gang up on you?
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: No.
REPORTER: … any reason why?
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: Yeah, one reason. Look behind me.
MJF jerks his head in the direction of where Wardlow is standing. Everyone's attention turns to Wardlow, who remains stoic.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: Anyone who thinks of going after me is going to answer to Wardlow here and in case you guys have been living under a rock the past couple of years, there is NOBODY more physically dominant than the man behind me. You mess with me, you mess with him. And I wouldn't recommend that to anyone.
REPORTER: Speaking of Wardlow, what happens if it comes down to you two in the end?
WARDLOW: I --
MJF quickly puts a hand up.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: I got this one, big man. Don't want you overthinking and hurting yourself! Ha!
MJF quickly slaps Wardlow's chest. The big man takes a deep breath in and exhales.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: In the event it comes down to me and Wardlow, he knows what the plan is, don't ya?
WARDLOW: … yeah.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: See? But the chances of that happening are as likely as any of you seeing a pair of women's breasts sometime in the next five years. For as big and strong as Wardlow is, he's not the wrestling savant I am. He doesn't possess the same ring awareness or IQ that I do. He can toss guys around the ring all day long but when it comes to strategy and planning, I'm afraid Wardlow here is towards the bottom of the food chain.
Wardlow takes another deep breath and exhales.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: I think we've taken enough questions for now. Let's go, Wardlow. We've got planning to do. Well, I've got planning to do. You've got weights to pick up and put down until your arms fall off.
MJF quickly parts the reporters but before Wardlow can leave, he's hit with a smattering of questions.
REPORTER: Why do you let MJF boss you around?
REPORTER: What happens if you get the chance to toss MJF out?
REPORTER: When are you going to be your own man?
MJF is long gone by now. Wardlow has the chance to answer any and all of the questions that have been asked. He steps forward and clears his throat as a silence falls.
WARDLOW: No comment.
Thud.
Thud.
"Jeez, man, you know you can take a break, right?"
Wardlow waves him off.
WARDLOW: I'm fine, Dave.
He picks up another giant bag of rice from the truck and carries it over to the cart. The other man, Dave, cocks his eyebrows and nods.
DAVE: Wish all of our volunteers had your kind of work ethic… and physique. How much you benchin' these days?
WARDLOW: I dunno.
Wardlow easily picks up another bag. Dave finds it a little more difficult.
WARDLOW: How many more trucks after this?
DAVE: Four or five, but like I said before, you've done more than enough, Mike.
Wardlow tosses the bag down on the cart.
WARDLOW: No I haven't.
An undisclosed amount of time later, Wardlow carefully places a couple of paper bags on a table.
WARDLOW: Here good?
An older woman nods her head with a smile.
WOMAN: That's perfect, Michael. Thank you.
Wardlow grabs a bandana from his back pocket and dabs the sweat from his forehead.
WARDLOW: You're welcome, Mary.
MARY: You really went above and beyond today. I can't begin to tell you how much we appreciate everything you do for us.
WARDLOW: No problem. Happy to help.
MARY: Have you had anything to eat yet?
WARDLOW: I had a protein shake earlier. I'm good.
The older woman looks appalled. She grabs Wardlow by the hand.
MARY: No you're not. That's not a meal. Here, come, take a seat.
Wardlow initially resists her pull.
WARDLOW: I can't. I have somewhere else to be.
MARY: Not on an empty stomach you don't.
WARDLOW: I promise I'll have something later.
MARY: I don't believe you. Come, eat.
She gestures to a table that's been set up buffet style. Fried chicken, mac and cheese, corn, various mixed vegetables, biscuits, it all looks very tempting. But again, Wardlow shakes his head and refuses to move.
WARDLOW: Really, I can't. I'm already running late.
Mary shakes her head and grabs a Tupperware container. She begins to fill it with a little bit of everything.
WARDLOW: Mary, that's not --
MARY: Hush. You'll take it and you'll enjoy it. Or else.
She laughs to herself as Wardlow shows the smallest sign of a smile.
WARDLOW: Yes, ma'am.
Wardlow stands a couple feet away from Maxwell Jacob Friedman, who is surrounded by reporters outside of the Vivint Arena. There are cell phones, voice recorders, and microphones in his face but MJF doesn't seem to mind. It's almost like… he enjoys the attention? He points to someone.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: Yeah. You.
REPORTER: Max, we know you've never lacked in confidence before but there's a lot of high end competition in the upcoming battle royale. Have you prepared for the possibility that you might not win?
MJF looks back at Wardlow. The two share a look of amusement.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: No, I haven't. Have you prepared for the possibility that another stupid question like that and Wardlow here will turn those glasses into contact lenses?
REPORTER: Max, you've got a bit of a reputation already. Are you worried that the rest of the participants might gang up on you?
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: No.
REPORTER: … any reason why?
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: Yeah, one reason. Look behind me.
MJF jerks his head in the direction of where Wardlow is standing. Everyone's attention turns to Wardlow, who remains stoic.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: Anyone who thinks of going after me is going to answer to Wardlow here and in case you guys have been living under a rock the past couple of years, there is NOBODY more physically dominant than the man behind me. You mess with me, you mess with him. And I wouldn't recommend that to anyone.
REPORTER: Speaking of Wardlow, what happens if it comes down to you two in the end?
WARDLOW: I --
MJF quickly puts a hand up.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: I got this one, big man. Don't want you overthinking and hurting yourself! Ha!
MJF quickly slaps Wardlow's chest. The big man takes a deep breath in and exhales.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: In the event it comes down to me and Wardlow, he knows what the plan is, don't ya?
WARDLOW: … yeah.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: See? But the chances of that happening are as likely as any of you seeing a pair of women's breasts sometime in the next five years. For as big and strong as Wardlow is, he's not the wrestling savant I am. He doesn't possess the same ring awareness or IQ that I do. He can toss guys around the ring all day long but when it comes to strategy and planning, I'm afraid Wardlow here is towards the bottom of the food chain.
Wardlow takes another deep breath and exhales.
MAXWELL JACOB FRIEDMAN: I think we've taken enough questions for now. Let's go, Wardlow. We've got planning to do. Well, I've got planning to do. You've got weights to pick up and put down until your arms fall off.
MJF quickly parts the reporters but before Wardlow can leave, he's hit with a smattering of questions.
REPORTER: Why do you let MJF boss you around?
REPORTER: What happens if you get the chance to toss MJF out?
REPORTER: When are you going to be your own man?
MJF is long gone by now. Wardlow has the chance to answer any and all of the questions that have been asked. He steps forward and clears his throat as a silence falls.
WARDLOW: No comment.