Ask and Ye Shall Reprieve

By Cookie "Chainsaw" Randolph
Photos by Brevin Blach

(Published in the December 2010 issue)

We all know someone like Chris Boyer: the eccentric at work that says outrageous things, but he's 

so honest and childlike, you love

him anyway.

Boyer doesn't believe in Christmas, but he'll 

come to the parties. He'll even get you a gift if he

draws your name at the office pool-and you'll

never be disappointed, because if you like him,

you'll like anything.

He's one of my best friends of all time, yet 

sometimes he drives me nuts. But, you know

something? It's my own damn fault.

Allow me to share one of my favorite Chris 

Boyer Christmas stories...

First, a little character background:

I have worked with Boyer since 1987, and 

not one day has gone by since then that he's

acted conventionally. I take that back. In 1994,

he acted conventionally for three straight days,

but that was only because he was attending a

convention at the time.

It was the 1994 Consumer Electronics Show 

in Vegas, where, after a long day of fondling the

latest VCRs and Donkey Kongs, Boyer and his

Gadget Brigade went searching in vain for a strip

club some other tech-nerd had recommended.

The place was called The Boys and Girls Club

-

which sounds skeevy even by

Vegas standards.

After snagging the address 

from the White Pages (a pre-

Internet search engine made

from paper products) dangling in

a telephone booth (an outdoor

glass closet once-upon-a-time

used for coin-op land-line calls),

Boyer and company loaded into a cab, their

black socks and pen-protectors chock full of

$1 bills. Nearly an hour later, after navigating

through a series of Vegas suburbs, they arrived at

their destination: an unlit facility surrounded by

a chain link fence and the faint whiff of chlorine.

Yes, these bozos had mistakenly taken their 

jollies to an actual Boys and Girls Club.

Yikes.

Back to the Red Roof Inn for a late-night 

consolation of vending machine Nutter Butters,

Diet Dr. Pepper and MST 3000 on the Zenith.

They were happy as clams. Why didn't they

invite me?!

Like I say, eccentric.

Fast forward to a holiday party last year, 

before which I called the hostess and asked if

she needed me to pick up anything on the way.

"The only thing I couldn't find was Boyer's

favorite beer, Beck's Dark," she said.

I said, "No problem, I'll go to BevMo

and pick him up a six-pack-see you

tonight."

Problem.

BevMo is the United Nations of beer. 

They carry 34,596 different brands of beer

from around the globe. All your favorites,

plus some of the more wildly obscure

brands like Burmese Lite, Darfurian Stout

and Siberian Summer Ale.

Guess what brand this BevMo didn't 

carry? Yep, Beck's Dark.

I immediately dialed Boyer on 

my phenomenal iPhone, which only

dropped the call thrice as I strolled down the

Ugandan beer aisle. Boyer didn't answer. Thrice.

Left him a message: "Call back quick."

He didn't call back quick. I figured, screw it. 

Why buy him some random beer he probably

won't like anyway? "Let him drink out of the

toilet like his dogs," I thought to myself with

tremendous maturity.

As I get to my vehicle in the BevMo parking lot, 

I receive a text from Boyer: "At lunch, wassup?"

"About to navigate out of jam-packed Mission 

Valley parking lot empty-handed in a futile effort

to make you happy, you non-answering douche

bag," I thought to myself, but instead replied,

"Never mind, buddy, see you tonight."

Later that evening, tardy and gracious as 

usual, Boyer was perfectly content with the

beverages on hand, charming one and all with

his good cheer and freshly unwadded Hawaiian

print shirt.

And there I was, gritting my teeth in his

direction for an unfulfilled favor attempt he

didn't even ask for. He never asks a favor, yet is

always quick to offer one.

He drank one of the Guinnesses I bought as 

a backup and I joined him. His happiness made

me happy and I forgot all about my hostile

thoughts. I wish I could be more like him-

smile at the world and have a good time.

Imagine an atheist making someone act more 

like Jesus. Miracles can happen, I suppose, if you

ask the right question:

What would Chris Boyer do?

Copyright © 2018, Pacific San Diego
47°