You would know him, if you saw him. He's standing on the stairs wearing a periwinkle blue trench-coat and a smirk. The slight wrinkles on his face and high water slacks remind me of kind grandfathers that smile at me on Trax. His mussed up tie and fluffy white cap of hair can not overshadow the beady eyes that are digging at me through the monitors.
I have a love/hate relationship with Matlock. The man both terrifies and intrigues me. Luckily, I was able to avoid his piercing looks and smug smiles through my childhood and most of my adult life--thus far.
Every weekend I see more of Matlock than I ever wanted. It doesn't matter which day it is; Saturday or Sunday night shift, he's there to accuse me in the dark, late nights.
Some days Matlock reminds me of my dad, with over the top expressions and the cheesest puns/lines known to mankind. I wouldn't be surprised if I found my dad watching him in the basement, "Michelle, it's just education; don't tell. No one has to know why I'm so funny."
At that point I could roll my eyes and say, "Sure, Dad. I'll let you stick to your fantasies and imaginary world of humor and awesome-ness that only Matlock and you truly enjoy."
I bet that's true too...Baby Boomers are probably the only ones who enjoy it, that's probably why it still airs in 1960-1970 quality with pinched colors and dulled edges. Or why it airs at 1pm on KJZZ right after a slew of awful Hollywood judge shows.
So every weekend Matlock and I stand off. Well, he stands off and I cower in the corner of the video tape room away from his glaring looks. Maybe if I don't look at the screens, he can't eat any more bits of my soul or laugh at my pathetic fear. You win this time, Matlock.
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