Dervid Hamson or not Dervid Hamson? - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Vacation vibes are in full swing, and I, Dervid Hamson, have been given the unique opportunity to fill in for the regular writers of The Chaff while they enjoy a well-deserved break. In a stroke of what can only be described as impeccable timing, I managed to snag a telephone interview with Scott Stephenson, The Chaff’s infamous and also, somehow, completely-unknown lead writer, who’s soaking up the sun and sand. 

 

DH: Thanks for taking the time to chat with me. How’s the vacation going?

 

SBS: Oh, absolutely marvelous. We’re currently lounging on a very real beach where the sand is so fine, you can practically eat it. We’ve also managed to negotiate a detente with the local seagulls for uninterrupted sunbathing and sandwich-eating sessions. We highly recommend this exotic-as-heck location to anyone looking to escape the drudgery of community newspaper column writing.

 

DH: What location is that, exactly?

 

SBS: Oh, it’s, ummm. It’s the best one. It was voted “top one” in a magazine. All the valets here are millionaires. It’s a very-impressive, very-real place.

 

DH: Sounds delightful! I’m curious - how do you feel about leaving your beloved column in my questionably-capable hands?

 

SBS: Well, Dervid, we had to take a leap of faith. After all, we’re familiar with your work, and while it may not be as polished and straightforward as our usual fare, it’s certainly… something.

 

DH: Ah, the bar is set incredibly high, I know. Speaking of high, any vacation highlights you’d like to share?

 

SBS: We had the unique pleasure of witnessing a local festival celebrating local festivals called the “Local Festival of Local Festivals”. It was locationally festive and undeniably local.

 

DH: Fascinating! How are you finding the transition from your usual column-writing duties to this vacation?

 

SBS: Oh, the transition has been fully seamless, Dervid. In fact, we’ve found the lack of deadlines and the constant barrage of creative ideas from our legitimate beachside location to be quite invigorating. The only downside is the occasional surprise encounter with an overzealous sand sculptor/gourmand who insists on discussing the philosophical implications of their work.

 

DH: Thank you so much for your time. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!

 

SBS: Thank you, Dervid. We’re sure you’ll do a jib-jab job.

 

Well that’s about it for this week’s Dervid’s Chaff. We hope the absence of the regular writers wasn’t too jarring for all of you Chaff heads, Chaff fiends, Chaff-alanche Jacks, Chaff-ters in the rafters and all those Chaff Town down-frowners gowned or ungowned. Until next time, this is Dervid Hamson signing off.

 

Additional note from Dervid Hamson:

 

It turns out that while I was conducting this interview, Scott and the team weren’t exactly on a sandy beach. As it happens, they’ve been hiding out in a less glamorous corner of the office - apparently, the idea of sand and crowded beaches was 
less appealing than the lazy and hazy comforts of their own office chairs.

 

It seems like Scott and the crew have been ensconced in the basement office, where the “beach” they spoke of is, in fact, a rather uninspiring stretch of moldy linoleum floor. The “sand” they yammered on about is actually the result of some very messy use of coffee grounds, and the “local festival” is just an uninspiring leftover lunch of half-eaten meat nuggets and decrepit, stinky carrot sticks, complete with a broken disco ball for decoration. They’ve also invented a rather infantile game called “Desk Chair Paint Racing,” which involves wheeling around the office while slopping around open buckets of paint. 

 

It seems that their aversion to sand and crowded places led them to retreat to their more familiar, dustier confines. So, as I, Dervid Hamson, wrap up this report, it’s clear that the regular writers of The Chaff have taken a rather unconventional approach to their so-called vacation. While they might not be sunbathing by the ocean, they are certainly finding creative ways to avoid the great outdoors from the comfort of their office hideaway. 

 

Additional, additional note from The Chaff staff:

 

When we returned from our vacation, Dervid Hamson found himself spiraling into an identity crisis of existential proportions. As he stared at his reflection in the cracked office disco ball, a gnawing doubt began to erode the edges of his carefully constructed persona. “Am I truly Dervid Hamson?” he mused, “or merely a figment of someone’s imagination?” The realization hit him like a poorly-thrown water balloon. How could he ever be sure of his authenticity? For that matter, how could anyone else be so sure of theirs?