How Bands Got Their Names: Milli Vanilli
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The wafer factory was sweltering that day. Well, it was sweltering most days but on this one it seemed to have been worse. A lone dread worked its way out of Fab’s bulging hair net and whipped an uncooked wafer as it rolled down the conveyor line. He looked over at his friend Rob who was struggling to contain his hair at that same moment. “This is ridiculous!” He shouted over the drone of the assembly line. “Girl you know it’s true!” Rob responded in his effeminate German accent, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sanitation sleeve.
Fab smiled. Rob always knew how to cheer him up. Rather than tuck the dread back under the hairnet, he tossed it over his shoulder in defiance of the heat and the smell of vanilla, butter, and sugar that he now smelled everywhere he went, the shit job he was stuck in, and the fact that the heat and noise strained his voice so much he hadn’t been able to sing at a show in weeks. They’d had to resort to lip syncing. How pathetic.
He started dancing. He and Rob developed what they dubbed the conveyor dance to pass the time. Because they were still working on the line it wasn’t much. They kept their upper bodies straight as they dangled their legs from side to side, much like the kitchy Elvis clock that hung next to the office of Frank, the plant manager.
“This is a hundi times better!” Rob shouted as they danced. “A thousi times!” Fab responded. “Girl you know it’s true!” Rob giggled. Vanilla wafers flew by unchecked as the two danced. Fab’s dread had fallen back down and was jumping all over the wafers gleefully. Suddenly a whistle blew. The assembly line came to a stop. Rob and Frank froze mid-dance.
“What in the wafer is going on here!” Frank shouted as he stepped out of his office. “Rob! Fab! Office! NOW!”
Maybe it was the heat. Or the monotony. Or the fact that they were only doing this job as a favor to Frank, who in return promised to jump start their music careers by having them the sing the new Vanilla Wafers jingle and perform it at WaferCon ‘89. They'd be what Michael is to Pepsi, he promised. Whatever the case, the two friends were slap-happy as they walked to the office.
“I told you two numbnuts to stop screwing around on the line! It’s so simple! You stand. You check the wafers. You discard any ones that are deformed, under, or overcooked. Wafer help me I’m not sure if you guys are cut out to be the group that HOLY SUGAR FAB WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!?!” Frank was furious. His face was purple. His eyes were bulging. A tendril of vein had formed on his temple that now throbbed in sync with his quickened pulse. In the moment, Fab completely forgot to replace his dread of defiance.
“HOW LONG HAS THAT BEEN OUT?” Frank bellowed. “Oh relax,” Rob interjected, “It’s not that bad. It’s not even real hair so it’s totally clean. Besides, we've already hit our quota of checking a milli vanilli an hour ago.” “A WHAT??” Frank’s vein looked perilously close to bursting. “Sorry Frank. He means a million vanilla wafers,” Fab interjected, “Rob likes to abbreviate numbers.” “I'm not really sure why.” Still slap-happy, Rob simply shrugged and said “Blame it on the rain,” then added a quick “Sir” when he saw Frank was not amused.
Frank looked as though his head might pop. Suddenly, though, he collapsed into his oversized leather chair and heaved a giant sigh. “Boys, I’m really trying here, but if you don’t shape up, you’ll be blaming the rain for all those missed opportunities to be the duo to bring Vanilla Wafers to all those hip ‘rhythm and blues’ kids,” he said, using air quotes when he referred to pop as “popular music.” “I’m as burnt sugar mad as you guys, but we're just in a holding pattern until these gosh darn 'PR' suits come up with your ‘image’ and ‘name’” (more air quotes). Then he chuckled. “It does have a nice ring, though. Milli vanilli…”