#011 — Ep. 11 — The Mildly Prestigious Awards

Good evening, and welcome to The Daily Absurd. I'm Rohan Mistry, and somewhere, a fridge is judging you. Tonight is a special night. Tonight we host the First Annual Mildly Prestigious Awards, honoring the achievements that no other ceremony will touch because they are too small, too specific, and, frankly, too real. We are broadcasting live from a folding table. The red carpet is a bath towel we found. Please, hold your applause, because there is no one here to hear it.

Our first category tonight is Best Performance By A Person Pretending To Read A Menu They Have Already Decided On. And the nominees are: a man who has ordered the chicken every visit for eleven years but still says "hmm" at the specials. A woman who scanned the entire back page for a wine list at a place that serves only smoothies. And a teenager who studied the menu with the focus of a surgeon and then ordered exactly what his friend ordered. And the award goes to... the man with the chicken.

Field correspondent: I would like to thank the specials, for giving me something to pretend to consider. And I would like to thank the chicken, for waiting.

Beautiful. A gracious winner. Please exit toward the bath towel. Our next category is Achievement In Leaving. This honors the person who says "okay, I should really get going" and is still physically present forty minutes later. This is a competitive field. It is, in fact, the only field where standing in a doorway counts as work.

Field correspondent: Hi. Yes. It's me. The eleven-minute goodbye. I want to accept this award, but first I need to tell a quick story, and then remember one more thing, and then say goodbye to everyone individually, and then reopen the door because I forgot to say a thing.

He has been accepting this award for nineteen minutes. The orchestra has tried to play him off. The orchestra has since gone home. The orchestra started a family. Let us move gently to our next honor while he continues to not leave.

The award for Outstanding Contribution To Being Charged On A Tuesday goes, as it does every year, to your Free Thirty-Day Trial.

Field correspondent: Thank you. I didn't prepare a speech, because I assumed I'd renew into one automatically. I'd like to remind everyone watching at home that this ceremony was free to attend for thirty days, and that period ended nine minutes ago. You are now a Premium Guest. Your card ending in the numbers you forgot has been charged. Enjoy the show. There is no cancel button. There is a button that says "maybe later." It does nothing. It is my favorite button.

Chilling. Truly, the villain we deserve. Let us cleanse the room with a lighter category. The award for Best Supporting Appliance goes to a nominee who has been with us since the very first episode. A performer who needs no introduction, because it will introduce itself, loudly, every time you open it. Please welcome our reigning champion: the fridge.

Field correspondent: Close the door.

That's the speech. That's the whole speech. It has given that speech at eleven consecutive events. It has never once thanked its family. It does not have a family. It has a light that turns off when you stop looking, and a deep, humming disappointment in your meal-prep habits. Give it up for the fridge.

Field correspondent: I saw what you put in me. I said nothing. That was my gift. Close the door.

Moving on before it starts naming the leftovers. Our next award is for Lifetime Achievement In Saying "We Should Get Coffee Sometime." This is awarded to two people simultaneously, who said it to each other, meant it completely, and have not spoken since. They are both here tonight, seated at opposite ends of the room, making eye contact and mouthing "we should catch up," which they will not.

Field correspondent: It's just been so crazy lately. We should really — no, you go. No, you. We should get coffee. We should. We really should.

They will now spend the rest of the ceremony in a warm, sincere standoff. Neither will text first. Both will assume the other is busy. It is the longest-running category in the show, and it will outlive us all. Let us take a brief moment for the In Memoriam segment, honoring the things that left us this year.

We remember the New Year's Resolution, who arrived January first with great energy and was last seen in a drawer. We remember the Free Sample of a hobby you tried once. We remember the phrase "let's circle back," which we all agreed to stop saying, and did not. And we remember the leftovers from a Tuesday, whose only mourner is the fridge, which is still, somehow, judging them.

Field correspondent: They were fine. I never said they were fine. But they were fine. Close the door.

Our final and highest honor tonight is the award for Best Achievement In Being A Person, Generally. There are no nominees. Everyone qualifies. You got up today. You wore clothes with intention or without it. You answered at least one message and left four others in a state I can only describe as spiritual. That is enough. The award goes to you. It is not a real award. It is the feeling you get when you finally close a browser tab you've had open since March.

Field correspondent: I don't know what to say. I've been open since March.

And with that, the First Annual Mildly Prestigious Awards come to a close. Our winners will receive nothing, because the prize was the small, quiet dignity of being noticed. Our host will now fold up the table and pretend this was a normal way to spend an evening. Thank you for attending. Thank you for pretending to consider the specials. And somewhere, a fridge is judging you.

Field correspondent: Close the door.

Close the door. This has been The Daily Absurd. I'm Rohan Mistry. Goodnight, and please — someone tell the eleven-minute goodbye that the ceremony is over.

Field correspondent: Just one more thing, and then I'll head out.

He won't. He never does. Goodnight.