In Search of that Elusive Flash Mob
The clerk at a neighborhood UPS Store was severely friendly. He greeted me like an old amigo. (Ah, yes, a benefit of having one’s mug shot published weekly!)
“So, dude, what’s up with this flash mob thing?”
I’m thinking that’s a vaguely familiar term — flash mobs — and that I need to fashion a clever retort. I’m also thinking this Culture Maven schtick can sometimes be a heavy burden.
Nonetheless, the Rolodex of my head spins to “fl.” I’m accessing flash memory, if you will, a play on words I hoped to save for at least a couple more paragraphs.
Let’s see, there are flashbulbs — the generic term known to doting parents with youngsters celebrating birthdays. But I’m conjuring, more specifically, the flashbulb building, as it was described by my broker, on Shelbyville Road where I applied for a mortgage once upon a time.
And flash pots, the venerable ’70s rock ’n’ roll accouterment, now in disfavor after that deplorable nightclub tragedy a while back.
And “Flashdance,” the ’83 flick — has it really been two decades? — about a flashy welder-turned-nightclub-dancer, a film that rocketed unknown Jennifer Beals and torn sweatshirts to the top of the charts. (By the by, whatever happened to that fashion trend? Was it — here we go — a flash in the pan? So, too, Jennifer Beals?)
And flashlight. Which my pal Johnny was aghast that I didn’t have in my car’s glove compartment one night when I had a flat along a dark road. “It’s a necessity,” he lectured in a strident tone, searching for a lost lug nut along the shoulder.
Or flashbacks, guaranteed to be a plague for decades by narcs back in the day when a half-tab of purple microdot turned Thursday night at the wash-o-rama into a neon wonderland. (And one is certainly inclined to ask: Where are those flashbacks now that we really need them? They promised.)
Please note that the dictionary of my mind is not in exact alphabetical order. The reason? See above: flashbacks.
And flashcards, the bane of our youth. It makes one shudder — or, dare I say it, break into hot flashes — upon hearing an utterance of the words “multiplication tables.” As for the hot flashes of today, let’s simply recognize they are an entirely different bane altogether to many of the female persuasion of a certain middle age.
And, just as I was fondly remembering the time long ago when I was flashed by a lovely lady in the parking lot outside Peter Outlaw’s, there came an abrupt flash-forward.
“Uh,” the clerk interrupted my daydreaming. “Can I weigh that package for you?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Flash mobs, huh? That’s where a bunch of people just show up somewhere, hang around for a couple of minutes, then disappear in all directions?”
“That’s it.”
“Well, I’ve never seen or participated in one.” What a lame response.
“Me neither,” he advised. “But I bet it would be a gas.”
Flash mobs — like the candidacy of Howard Dean — are Internet-instigated. A cyberperson in a chat room invites folks to show up at a certain place and time and look for a guy or gal with maybe a red notebook in her hand for further instructions. The group then perpetrates some innocent but stunning act for a few moments before dispersing.
And, uh, well, that’s it.
Kind of silly. But then so were swallowing goldfish, streaking, flagpole sitting and stuffing phone booths. Give youth spare time and a sense of inspiration, and such zaniness will ensue.
The first flash mob materialized this June when a hundred or so gadflies showed up in Macy’s New York rug department, told the salesperson they lived together and were looking for a Persian, then, when he turned his head, they were gone. Flash mobbing went Euro in late July when 300 people appeared in a music/bookstore, all asking for non-existent titles. Such shenanigans have been perpetrated in Singapore, Berlin, Melbourne, Amsterdam, Zurich and Dublin.
In early August, a flash mob almost failed in London when the owner of the sofa store that was the target closed shop for an early pint. But when he saw the crowd gathering outside his store, he quickly reopened for the potential customers. Much to his dismay and confusion, I assume.
Which leaves us with this question: Now that Louisville’s a happenin’ Top 20 town, will this latest craze called flash mobbing land here before the flashover that is U of L/UK on the hardwood?
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