When I entered Feige's outer office, I saw a rather scrawny, fey looking blond young man seated behind a small wooden desk in front of the inner door. I rolled over to him and introduced myself.
"Hello, I'm Charles Xavier."
"Oh, yes, I know," he said in a high-pitched mousy voice.
"I would like to see Mr. Feige, please."
"I don't what you are thinking."
I was rather startled by that response. "Excuse me?"
"I think he's the biggest fathead in the world."
" . . what did you just say?" I couldn't believe what I had just heard.
"One of these days someone is just going to take a gun and do us all a favor. Okay, then. Buh-bye." And with that the assistant turned to face me. He looked me up and down for a moment, removed his headset and asked, "Can I help you?"
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were on the phone."
"I forgive you. What do you want?"
"To see Kevin Feige."
"And you are?"
"Oh, um, I'm Charles Xavier."
"Leader of the X-Men."
"Never heard of them."
"Really? Your employer has made two rather successful blockbusters about us and are currently working on a third."
"I don't really see those kinds of movies. I prefer the foreign classics."
"That is wonderful. I would like to see Kevin Feige, please."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I just happened to find myself in town and wanted to . . "
"Mr. Feige is a very busy man. He doesn't see anyone without an appointment."
"Yes, well, I would appreciate it if you would let him know I'm here. I think he will see me."
The little troll stared at me with as much loathing in his eyes as I have ever seen. Finally and he told me to go wait in the sitting area. I sat patiently for the first half hour. The second half hour I was starting to grow rather impatient. By the third half hour I was, quite frankly, ready to explode.
Normally I do not use my telepathic powers to meddle with people's minds except, of course, for special emergency situations. Ethical considerations and all that. This little maggot though was about to cause me to have an embolism. That certainly falls into my definition of "emergency."
After taking control of the assistant's mind, I was shown into Mr. Feige's office.
"Hey, Chaz! Good to see you big guy! You are looking fabulous!" It just turns my stomach how phony all these Hollywood types are.
"It's good to see you to Kevin," I answered.
"You are just going to love this new movie! It's got tons of action, tons of mutants - and lots of Wolverine!"
"I'm sure it does. What I wanted to talk to you about though was my character."
"You are just going to be thrilled when you see all the cool things we have Xavier doing. He's much more active in this baby!"
"That's great. What I want to talk about though is his accent."
That gave Feige a pause. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he talks with an English accent. I was born in Alamogordo, New Mexico. I am not English. I have never spoken in an English accent. The actor playing me should have an American accent."
"Look, Chaz baby. Patrick Stewart is an awesome actor. He's English. He's got an accent."
"Well if he's such a good actor, why can't he do an American accent?"
"But it's like this. English accents are movie shorthand for intelligence. Your character is suppose like really, really smart. Right?"
"Well the way we tell audiences that a character is really smart is to give them an English accent. 'Cause English people are smart, you know."
"I'm sure they all are. But I'm an American so the actor playing me should have an American accent."
"That's how it is, Chaz. Sorry. Nothing I can do about it. Thanks for coming by. I'll be sure to send you some tickets for the premiere. See ya."
And with that I found myself pushed back out into the outer office. What a colossal waste of time. I hope Gaia has had better luck on Oprah. As soon as she's done, I plan to take the X-Jet back to New York.