The Belladonna: Daily Itinerary of the Oscars Accountant

7:15am I wake up next to my wife Susan feeling confident. Today is MY day. Every other day I’m just an accountant, type type type, taxes, taxes, budgets, budgets, blah blah, but today I’m THE accountant. For the Academy Awards. No one can bring me down.

7:23am I carefully pack my formal briefcase and my tuxedo for the night. I haven’t worn it since my wedding to Susan 30 years ago. Earlier this month, she told me that we lost our spark, and she was bored…by me. Well, wait until you see me on TV, Susan.

8:30am I’m stuck in traffic in my Toyota Camry (practical, reliable) on the way to the Dolby Theater. People honk, but little do they know that they are honking at the man whose briefcase will hold the sealed envelopes with all of the names of the winners. The man who will know who the winners are before anyone else in that theater. Before Steven Spielberg, Ryan Murphy, and Oprah. The man…Ok, stop honking, I’m merging! Jesus.

9:23am I walk through the doors of the Dolby and the stage management team flocks to me…they can’t start the rehearsal without me. That’s right. I tell everyone to back off as I open the safe where we keep the dummy envelopes for rehearsal and the real envelopes for this evening. I have the code memorized. I’m good with numbers. I’m an accountant.

10:16am The dress rehearsal is going smoothly. I stand backstage with my briefcase next to a fresh Reese Witherspoon, no make-up, as she waits to practice presenting the Award for Best Actress. I hand her the dummy envelope. She says: “You’ve got a tough job, huh.” Our chemistry is potent…and this is just the rehearsal, baby, wait until tonight.

11:30am I get a “good luck” text from my colleague Margaret. She’s jealous of me. They all are. Only two accountants get to leave the office for the limelight, and it wasn’t her this year. I have my read receipts on for accountability, and I leave her on read.

12:45pm The rehearsal ends, and I grab a chicken salad wrap at craft services. Oh yeah, lunch is on the Academy. I check my email. There is one from my boss about a report he wants on his desk for Monday. It’ll have to wait. The only report I’m doing today is the Hollywood Reporter.

2:00pm I return to my hotel room at the Hollywood Holiday Inn. I’d like to thank the Academy for my suite and the two whiskey shooters I took from the minibar. I have a few hours before it’s go-time so I take a nap. I need my beauty rest. I have a dream that it’s career day at my son’s middle school, and I’m not invited because my job is “boring” and “no one cares.” Also, I’m naked. Well, son, daddy’s the most important person in the entire world tonight.

4:35pm It’s time to get ready. I have a hair and make-up team meet me at my suite. Susan thought it was an unnecessary expense, and we’ll be over budget for this month. Well, Susan, I’m the accountant, and I can make the decisions about money for our household. The stylist asks me what I want to do for hair…since I’m bald. I say: “Make it shine. Like an Oscar.”

5:05pm I put on my tux and take one final look in the mirror. I think about the accountants who came before me, especially the guys from 2017. Envelopegate. I shiver. Then I shake it off. I say out loud: “I am the man.” Then I scream it: “I AM THE MAN!”

6:15pm Time for the Red Carpet. I get to walk before all of the celebrities and before the E! hosts set up so there aren’t any distractions for the photogs. Just me and their cameras. As their shutters click, they yell “Who are you?” I show them my pass. “I’m the accountant.” “I’m the accountant.” I was born for this.

6:47pm I tell everyone to get back as I open the safe one last time. “Get back!” This is it. The envelopes. I put them in my briefcase while everyone stares. They all want to be me.

7:26pm Chris Rock says “Thank you to our accountants” as the cameras cut to me triumphantly holding my briefcase for a full 6 seconds live on ABC. It’s the best moment of my life. Better than when I said “I do,” better than the birth of my son. I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I…glow. Cut to commercial. What. a. rush.

7:27pm I get a text from my colleague Margaret saying “congrats, you looked great up there.” Of course, I did Margaret. Get a life. I read and don’t respond. I’m an accountant, I keep the receipts.

9:40pm I take a photo of Emma Stone and post it to my Instagram. The comments come flooding in. My 236 followers are losing their goddamn minds. Stage Management rushes over. “Where is the envelope for Best Cinematography?” They’re obsessed with me.

10:03pm It’s the Best Actress category, and I hand Reese the envelope. It’s the real thing — the envelope and the tension between us. I say, “See you at the after party?” She says, “Huh?” She’s stunned that someone as important as me is going to party later. Work hard, play hard, Reese.

11:00pm The Ceremony ends to wild applause. It went off without a hitch. A PA tells me “Congratulations” as she takes my badge. As they say in Hollywood, it’s time for a costume change. I’m about to get loose.

11:35pm The entire crew is throwing back shots at the after-party at a dive bar. The celebrities will probably be here later. This seems like the after-after-party, and I’m cool enough to know where to be before everyone else.

12:13am LET’S GOOOOOO I had 13 whiskey gingers. Yeah, I counted how many even though I’m litty — I’M THE ACCOUNTANT, BEEEOTCH!

12:14am I send a message to Reese’s Instagram with my number and the address of my suite. Let’s just cut to the chase here. Time is money, and I would know, I’m an accountant HELL YEAH, I’m an accountant.

2:03am I wake up to Susan shaking me. I fell asleep at the bar, and its last call so Stage Management reached out to her. They always come crawling back. I ask her if she saw me on television. “Yes, you looked very shiny.” Wow, she thinks I shone. That’s the nicest thing she’s said to me in months. And I realize that actually the greatest award isn’t an Oscar, it’s my beautiful wife…sike, the greatest award is an Oscar, and tomorrow I’m taking our savings and signing up for acting classes. Next year, I won’t be handing out envelopes, my name will be printed in one, suckers!!!

Tiny Love Stories: ‘The Vanishing Magician'

I was smitten with the magician. Unexpectedly alone at his show, I volunteered to be his audience participant. Onstage, he asked me to write an everyday object on a piece of paper. I wrote “electric toothbrush” and sealed the envelope. “Does it vibrate?” he said, smiling, flirting, apparently reading my mind. We went on a few dates, then he sent me an email to break it off. Gmail suggested some responses: “I understand,” “I agree with you” and “No worries.” I wish he had dumped me via magic instead. He could have just disappeared. — Jenny Gorelick

Spooky Stories For Millennial Campers

THE TALE OF THE TARGETED ADS

Every day, Mark would wake up and scroll through the internet for 30 minutes before he got out of bed. He’d check on his feed, his likes, his friends’ events, and his favorite YouTubers’ cooking videos. Then he’d make himself breakfast.

One day, he noticed that among his usual targeted ads for FreshDirect and fancy pots and pans, there were ads for fire extinguishers. He made himself breakfast.

Soon, every morning, during his 30 minutes of scrolling, the only ads he’d see were for fire extinguishers. Friends getting engaged, fire extinguisher, improv comedy show invite, fire extinguisher, Buzzfeed Quiz, fire extinguisher. He made himself breakfast. He forgot to turn off the gas.

On the day of his funeral, a package from Amazon was delivered to his doorstep. It was a fire extinguisher. He hadn’t ordered prime.

THE TALE OF HBOGO

It was Sunday at 9pm. Lauren opened her laptop and typed in the web address for HBOGo. It was time to watch Big Little Lies.

On the webpage, her login was not accepted. Her friend had changed the password.

THE TALE OF THE INSTAGRAM STORIES

Ben loved Instagram. He posted once a day and added stories even more frequently. He did it to distract himself from how bad his break-up had been.

They hadn’t spoken since they’d broken up, and he muted her so that he wouldn’t see her in his feed, and she unfollowed him. But even though she ghosted him, she still watched all his stories. He’d scroll down and see her picture in the views. And it made him happy to know that she still cared.

One day, after they’d been broken up for a month, he took a deep breath and looked at her feed. Her last picture was one that he recognized. She posted it before they had broken up. He looked at the comments, they were all condolences, RIP. She died a month ago.

Devastated, he posted a story, speaking directly to the front facing camera expressing his sorrows about her passing. In the views… he saw her picture.

THE TALE OF THE RIDE SHARE

After a late night drinking, Samantha ordered an Uber to take her home. She played with her new necklace as she waited for it to arrive.

The driver pulled over. He said: Uber for Samantha? She got into the car. She didn’t check the license plate. There was another man in the front seat and one in the back. Weird, she didn’t order a pool.

In the back seat, she played with her new necklace, in script, it read SAMANTHA. 

THE TALE OF THE TINDER DATE

Grace decided to get back on the dating apps. She swiped a bunch on Tinder. Matching with a few guys and chatting back and forth.

One guy, Brian F, handsome with no fishing pictures in sight, asked her on a date. She met him a nice spot for cocktails, and they hit it off. They flirted and drank all night. He put everything on his tab – Brian Fieldstone. When he said goodbye, he kissed her. When she got home, he texted her to say he had such a great time, can they do it again soon?

Smiling as she opened her Instagram, she types in his full name to search for him. As she scrolled down his feed, she was reminded of how cute he was in person and how great their first kiss was. Then, she came to a photo and her blood went cold and her cheeks turned bright red… as red as his MAGA hat.