Chapter 16: The One with the Candy Convention
Place Change: Monica's Apartment, March 1995 (POV: Chandler Bing)
The air in Monica's apartment, usually a pristine, organized sanctuary, was currently a whirlwind of chaos and impending disaster. Monica, with a crazed glint in her eye, was meticulously folding napkins into the shape of swans for the upcoming candy convention. She was in a state of high-strung, culinary and competitive bliss.
"
Chandler Bing, however, was in a state of pure, unadulterated dread. He was slouching on the couch, his face a mask of misery. He was not dreading the candy convention. He was dreading… his mother.
"Okay, Chandler. Breathe. It's just your mother. She's just a famous author. She's just a woman who writes books about… women. Who have sex with other women. And she's just coming to visit. And she's just going to be here for a few days. And she's just going to embarrass me in front of all my friends. In front of all the beautiful, beautiful women who are going to be at this candy convention. This is going to be the worst week of my life. The worst week of my life. And I haven't even been to the candy convention yet."
Joey, meanwhile, was in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. He was in the middle of a full-blown candy monologue. "I'm going to eat all the candy! I'm going to eat all the candy in the world! I'm going to eat the hard candy, the soft candy, the chewy candy, the chocolate candy, the… the candy that is shaped like a fish! I'm going to eat it all! I'm going to be a candy king! A candy king who has a lot of… cavities."
Adam, however, was in a corner, a quiet, amused smile on his face. He had a plan. A System-driven plan. He was going to charm Monica Bellucci.
[SYSTEM: GIFT MONICA BELLUCCI A CUSTOM CHOCOLATE BOX AT THE CONVENTION, MARCH 15, 1995. MENTION ITS ARTISANAL QUALITY.]
"A custom chocolate box. Perfect. A little bit of romance, a little bit of charm, a little bit of… a prank." He then discreetly reached over and, in one smooth motion, swapped Monica's convention tickets with fake ones. He then grinned, waiting for the chaos.
"Okay, everyone," Monica said, grabbing her stack of tickets. "Let's go to the candy convention of our lives! Let's go to… hey! What is this?! Adam! These are… these are not tickets! These are… these are… coupons for a pet grooming salon! These are… a disaster! I have to go to the candy convention! I have to be the queen of the candy convention! And I have to get there on time! I have to get there on time!"
The group, of course, was in hysterics. Even Ross, who was moping, had to stifle a laugh. Chandler, meanwhile, was just shaking his head, a long, sarcastic sigh escaping his lips. "Oh, look, a prank. I haven't seen one of those since… well, since Adam put decaf in Monica's coffee beans. This is… this is groundbreaking. This is a game-changer. I'm going to go call my mom and tell her about this. She's going to be so proud."
Rachel, however, was in a full-blown panic. She was getting ready for a job interview. She was frantically rummaging through her purse, her hands trembling. "I can't do this," she stammered, her voice high and tight. "I can't do this. My resume is all wrong, my outfit is all wrong, and I'm going to make a fool of myself. I'm going to go in there and they're going to be like, 'So, what are your qualifications?' and I'm going to be like, 'I'm really good at making coffee.' And then they're going to laugh at me! They're going to laugh at me and then they're going to hire a man! A man who is not good at making coffee!"
The group just looked at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. Ross, meanwhile, just sulked. "You'll do great, Rachel. You'll do great. But you know, it's not really a job, it's a… a career. A real job. A job that a man would do. And I know a lot about… jobs. I know a lot about… everything. So if you need any advice, just ask me. I'm an expert on everything."
Place Change: Central Perk, March 1995 (POV: Chandler Bing)
The air in Central Perk was a chaotic symphony of coffee grinders, clinking mugs, and the frantic, high-pitched whining of Rachel Green. Chandler, still fuming from the anticipation of his mother's visit, sat on the orange couch, clutching a mug of coffee as if it were a life raft in a sea of despair. He was trying to listen to Rachel's panicked monologue, but his mind kept drifting back to his mother. The pranks. The smug smirk. The utter audacity.
"How dare she? How DARE she? I spent an hour trying to figure out how to avoid her. An HOUR. And she just… she just says she's coming to town! And she thinks she's so clever. She thinks she's so funny. Well, I'll show her. I'll show her what a real prank looks like. I'll show her what it means to mess with Chandler Bing. I'm a master of revenge. A master of… sarcasm. And I'm going to organize her life into a series of horrible, terrible pranks. And she's not going to see it coming."
Rachel, meanwhile, was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. "I just… I just don't know what to say! What if they ask me about… fashion? What if they ask me about… fabric? What if they ask me about… the difference between a high-waisted pant and a… a regular-waisted pant? I don't know! I don't know the difference! I just wear the pants! I just… wear them!" Rachel's voice was high and tight, and she was gesticulating wildly, almost knocking over a small pile of muffins on the counter.
Phoebe, ever the eccentric, offered her support in the only way she knew how. "Rachel, don't worry about it. Just think of the job interview as a performance. You are the star of your own play! And the director, he's not really a director, he's a… a magical unicorn. And he's going to give you a job because you have a beautiful soul! And… and you're wearing a beautiful dress! A beautiful, beautiful dress!" Phoebe then took a deep breath and looked Rachel in the eye. "And if he asks you about the pants, just tell him that the pants are a metaphor for the human condition. The high-waisted pants are a metaphor for our dreams. The regular-waisted pants are a metaphor for our… our legs. Our very, very regular legs."
Across the couch, Chandler was in the middle of a long, sarcastic monologue, aimed directly at Joey, who was still boasting about his candy-eating skills. "'Joey the Candy King.' That's what they call you, huh? That's what they call you because you eat a lot of candy. You know what they call me? They call me 'Chandler the Wit.' Because I am witty. I'm so witty, I can make a joke about you being 'Joey the Candy King' for at least five minutes straight. And I'm not even done yet. So, I have a new nickname for you. I'm going to call you 'Joey the Loser.' Because you're going to lose all of your candy to me. I'm going to eat all of your candy."
Joey just looked at him, his face a mask of simple confusion. "What? But I'm 'Joey the Candy King.' You just said that."
Adam, meanwhile, was sharing his chocolate box plan with the group. "Wait, hold on a second. System, I have a new question. What's the optimal time for the candy convention meetup? I don't want to seem too eager."
[SYSTEM: OPTIMAL TIME IS 4:00 PM. MONICA BELLUCCI WILL BE Browse THE ARTISANAL CHOCOLATES SECTION.]
"I'm meeting a friend at a candy convention," Adam said, a casual shrug of his shoulders. "She's got a new project, and I just want to talk about her favorite candy."
Chandler, ever the mocker, just shook his head. "A candy convention? Adam, you're not a candy guy. You're a… a prank guy. You're a guy who puts coupons for pet grooming salons in other people's pockets. You're not a guy who reads books. The only book you've ever read is a comic book. A comic book about a guy who has a dating system."
Just then, Rachel, who had been listening intently, just stuttered, "M-M-M-Monica Bellucci? Y-you're meeting M-M-M-Monica Bellucci? The supermodel? The actress? The… the goddess?! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" She then, of course, spilled her coffee all over herself, which was a fitting end to a very, very chaotic scene.
Time Change: The Candy Convention, March 1995 (POV: Adam Stields)
The candy convention was a blur of flashing lights, beautiful people, and the scent of expensive perfume. Adam Stields, a man who was used to the chaos of a sitcom, was a man who was now a part of the elegant, professional chaos of a candy convention. He was wearing a tuxedo. A tuxedo that he had bought with his System money. A tuxedo that he was not going to be able to return.
He was standing next to Monica Bellucci, a woman who was, in fact, more beautiful in person than she was on the screen. She was wearing a beautiful dress. A dress that was a metaphor for… everything.
"Adam," she said, her voice a low, melodic purr. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me."
"Of course," he said, a small, sincere smile on his face. "I'm a big fan of your work. Your performance in this film was… it was a masterpiece. A masterpiece of… acting. A masterpiece of… beauty. A masterpiece of… everything."
Bellucci just smiled. "Thank you. That's very kind of you to say."
The candy convention was a beautiful, beautiful thing. And then… and then it was over. And then it was time for… the prank. The prank that was a part of the plan. The prank that was going to make Monica so, so mad.
Place Change: Monica's Apartment, March 1995 (POV: Chandler Bing)
The air in Monica's apartment was a comfortable, familiar mess, a stark contrast to the high-pressure world of Rachel's new job. Chandler, however, was in a good mood. A really, really good mood. He had just gotten off the phone with his mother, and he had gotten a positive review. A real, honest-to-god positive review.
"Okay, Chandler. Breathe. You can do this. You are a professional. You are a fashion executive. You are not a waitress. You are not a waitress. You are not a waitress. You are a… a success. You are a success in a beautiful dress. You are a success who is going to get a raise. And then you're going to buy a new dress. A new, even more beautiful dress."
He was sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in his hands, a small, happy smile on his face. Ross, who was still moping about Rachel, came in, a small, patronizing smile on his face. "Hey, Chandler. I just wanted to tell you that you're doing a great job. A really great job. But you know, it's not really a job, it's a… a career. A real job. A job that a man would do. And I know a lot about… jobs. I know a lot about… everything. So if you need any advice, just ask me. I'm an expert on everything."
Chandler just looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and pure, unadulterated rage. "Thanks, Ross. But I'm good. I'm… I'm good. I'm… a success. But a good success."
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