Weasels Ripped My Flesh
Who said don't look back? Don't believe 'em.
I hadn't heard from Lynn in seven years, then out of the blue I get
an email. Really laying it on, too. "Talking with you, reading your
books, and hearing your perspective on how things work in the world,
made a real difference in how I see things today." She asked if I
was surprised to hear from her after all that time. It took a while
for me to answer, because truthfully I didn't how to tell her that
if she's still working in that job, I didn't make enough difference.
I had succeeded in putting as much distance as possible between me
and that old job - in attitude, image, and attire at least. I can
still see the physical changes, the toll that the job took on me,
every time I look in a mirror. Literally. The only time I ever
talk about that time is when remembering how painfully stressed out
and unhappy I was. I use the damage inflicted on me when Witlessing
in my Mini-Steer-ial Service, making at least some use out of the
poor decisions of my past:
YEA, tho that job may seem a NECESSARY EVIL, do not pretend that it
is not a VOLUNTARY EVIL - and do not pretend that the consequences
of drudging off day after day are limited to the steady loss of your
SOUL. NAY, for you who trade these bits of your soul for the money
to buy the garbage foisted on you by the CONspiracy, the goods that
THEY want you to think you NEED, you who think, "Well, I'll put up
with this shit for a little longer, but once I get the car paid off
I'll start looking for a better job", I say to you that YOU are the
strong ones. That's right, YOU are the ones who I PRAISE, because
you are the ones who have the measure of honesty and the depth of
spirit to at least RECOGNIZE that what you do with your lives, what
you were programmed to do, is EVIL, pure and clear. YOU, who
have said, "I can TAKE THE PAIN", YOU are the ones willing to
SACRIFICE YOUR SOUL to the IDEA, Yea, that GREAT IDEA, to build
that house with it's white picket fence, to buy that Porsche,
to raise those kids and be a good provider, or to start that Punk
band and print that Zine, it matters not, for it really really WAS a
GREAT IDEA. And you fell for the CONspiracy's lie that all it takes
in this world to reach your dreams is to sell just a LITTLE BIT of
your SOUL. Yes, I can see those heads nodding in agreement, I can
relate to the ones who HATE their JOBS but are willing to PUT UP
WITH THE SHIT for the MONEY they pay, because I too have
my eyes a little TOO OPEN to pretend that THAT is not what it
takes. I too was blessed with that EXTRA SPARK that the mindless,
soulless CATTLE you share this planet with did not find important
enough to stand in line for when such things were handed out, too
impatient to get down to this earth and start BUYING all the STUFF.
Oh yeah, you KNOW that the Big Machine is fueled and lubricated with
Soul-Oil but figured, "Hell, I got enough to MAKE IT; I can SPARE
enough until I can GET OUT and then I'll be the Big Winner". You
who STILL THINK YOU CAN TRIUMPH, I salute you, because I know how
tenaciously, how desperately you cling to the illusion that the
Machine will LET you quit, INTACT and FREE, if you simply COMPLY
for a short time. Say, forty years. Or thirty years with
Early Retirement. Yeah, I salute you, you who are about to
GIVE YOUR ALL. You think, "Once I get out, I can recharge;
I can regrow and replace that soul that I gave away." And this MAY
be true. But the Machine is named Blackeneth and will NOT be
satisfied merely with your Soul. I am here today to tell you that I
too was a SINNER; I too WORKED at a JOB that I HATED. And I stand
before you, SHAMED, that I gave fuel unto that Machine that now has
you in it's inhuman GRIPTION. But I learned the Truth, and I stand
before you today repentant, to cast the Shining Light of
"Bob"'s Truth upon the darkness of the CONspiracy's lies; to
TESTIFY that the Beast Machine is NOT SATISFIED with merely your
Soul. I need a volunteer as I demonstrate the PROOF of what I
say. Alright, I have the time, I will demonstrate to you ALL what
the Machine will do to YOU, slowly, inexorably, inescapably.
Look closely at my face - this is NOT the face I started with when
I SOLD myself for my DREAM. LOOK at how square my jaw is - Christ,
I look like Monica Lewinsky, don't I? And it was not the pursuit of
esteem from a series of executive blowjobs that did this to me.
It was JOB STRESS. Yea, it was the mighty CLENCHING, and the Biting
of Tongue to keep from SCREAMING that caused my jaws to develop so
abnormally. OK, line up for the demo. Now just feel this jawbone,
yes, just lay a finger where the jaw hinges...<Clenching my jaws>
"Feel the size of that jawbone?", I say while biting down. Nods and a
curious "So what?" expression. NOW <relaxes the jaw>. And as the
finger sinks in a full INCH as the rock hard "Bone" reveals itself
to be overdeveloped muscle, I hear the inevitable *GASP* and see
the eyes widen in horror. THAT'S RIGHT, what you are seeing is the
IRREVERSIBLE DAMAGE inflicted by my own refusal to acknowledge
just what the Machine is REALLY doing to me. You who think that
you will escape INTACT, LOOK UPON THESE MOLARS GROUND TO POWDER,
LOOK UPON THIS MASSIVE, OVERDEVELOPED JAW. Think upon the senior
members of your workplace and OPEN YOUR EYES to the pinched
shoulders and aching neck, the evasive expressions and receding
hairlines, the downcast eyes and the shuffling, bounceless steps
as they trudge towards their dreams. You think that they didn't
start with much Soul, and I agree, and now even THAT is gone. But
LOOK as well at what they have accepted PHYSICALLY, degree by
degree, and KNOW WELL that THIS damage is NEVER to be replaced,
NEVER to be outgrown. OPEN YOUR EYES to the inevitable damage
inflicted upon YOU, damage that you deny, the payment that the
Machine implied could be avoided if you only contribute just a
little bit of your Soul. AVOID NOT the realization that what
happened to ME is HAPPENING TO YOU. That you PAY, oh yes YOU PAY.
The STRONGER you are, the MORE you pay, but the CONSPIRACY has got
you thinking that you can AFFORD it, that you will gain it back one
day, that the COST is ONLY a bit of INTANGIBLE SOUL that will be
replenished when you achieve your dreams. LIES! You pay to oil the
jaws and sharpen the teeth of that Beast Machine so that it can
devour you, and devour you it will, slowly and certainly, all the
while telling you that YOUR DREAMS are WORTH THE SACRIFICE. Well,
children, your dreams ARE worth the sacrifice. This is truth and
you know it. This is the logic used to gain that internal
agreement, that commitment to keep going back to that job day
after day after day. YOUR DREAMS ARE WORTH THE SACRIFICE. Only,
WHO is it who set the RULES so that you HAVE to SACRIFICE in the
FIRST PLACE? Who uttered that unwritten law that you MUST sacrifice
in order to meet those dreams? Just who exactly was it that
convinced you that the ONLY WAY to GAIN YOUR DREAMS was to PAY and
PAY and PAY and PAY? Who convinced you that the CLEAR logic of
giving THEM your MIND, BODY, and SOUL in exchange for the MONEY
needed to BUY YOUR DREAMS is in any way the CORRECT logic, the
NECESSARY logic, the ONLY WAY TO GET THE JOB DONE? Who convinced
you, when you look at the vast majority of the unfulfilled and the
unsatisfied, the damaged and dreamless, that THEIR WAY will actually
PAY OFF in that distant future? Who suggested that their way is the
ONLY WAY let alone the BEST WAY? I say to you REPENT! REPENT NOW!!
QUIT YOUR JOB!!! As a Licensed Minister of the Mighty CHURCH of the
SubGenius, I am SICK and TIRED of seeing those damaged meatshells
sleepwalking through the workweek, those dying eyes vaguely focused
on the distant future, the PARALYSIS when the Boss demands yet
another degrading display of obsequiousness, the exhaustion at the
end of another day of fighting to maintain DEDICATION to an
ever-receding dream. Yes, *I* too WILL ask you to pay, for the
Church asks you to pay. But only $30, and only once. In return, we
will provide you with ALL YOU NEED to attain those dreams. And an
EXCUSE to REFUSE THEM those bits of your Soul. And WE just MIGHT
leave you with the physical resources to enjoy your dreams...
So, yeah, Lynn wrote me, and asked me if I was surprised to hear
from her after seven years. I decided to answer honestly and wrote
back that it creeped me out; what the hell was she thinking about
ME for? I don't believe that this was quite the response she
expected. I may have imagined it, but her reply seemed a bit
defensive as she explained that she had recently been to a quilt
exhibit near the Gription Garden and thought of Pam and me,
wondered how we were doing and what I've been up to.
So I told her I was now a Licensed Minister with greasy hair down to
my scrotum and a cleric's collar, that I work the absolute minimum
that I have to, that I play all week in the Garden and in the
Nursery that we are just getting underway, and that I have found
True Slack and basically that life couldn't be better, making the
most even of the minimal work situation by 1) not showing up at
all, or 2) writing to alt.slack when I get the chance. I told her
about Reverend Pam leading a Choir for so many years, I mentioned
our Noisy music and the Gription Clench recordings, and Pam
becoming a popular author of garden literature.
We are far more busy now than even a year ago, but it's GOOD busy.
Starting a business that we know we are going to enjoy and do well
has been a slice, pure Slack, and watching Pam's business skills
resurrect from so many years ago when she ran a half-million
dollar a year company before chucking it to found a Real Life(tm)
is damn heartening. I credit the CotSG for our ability to
recognize the CON and refuse it our Slack. What we've had to pay
in various fees, taxes, titles, and bribes has been MORE than
offset by the REAL CASH BENEFITS that we have stumbled into simply
by enjoying our work and taking the time to follow up on things
that MIGHT be worthwhile. The slimy fuck that charged $1400 to
poorly install a 400amp meter base (electric co wouldn't let me do
it, this was the BEST quote) pissed me off, but the next day we
saved $3000 on another deal. Legally. Dumbasses nearly kept us from
obtaining some really rare plants this spring, then the company
accidentally sent us TWICE what we ordered. Another company loses
our order, then accidentally sends us a catalog from THEIR suplier
(much cheaper) with the reorder info. Pam donates some design time
to Duke Gardens and the Head Man gives her his entire collection
of seeds from an Asian research expedition, plants never before
seen in this country, for her to take what she will.
I've built four 22'x100' greenhouses to date and am building
really nice 100' tables so no one has to bend to move plants.
Three greenhouses are chock full, and I gotta sprint to stay ahead
of the plants. I was losing a LOT of sleep while watering all this
by hand daily, but two weeks ago got a BIG irrigation tank and
installed pumps and now three of the greenhouses have automated
sprinklers. It's weird - I'm learning to do a hell of a lot that I
had expected to pay others to do, simply due to the fact that
others are often incompetent idiots and it is easier in the long
run to do the job correctly myself. I won't talk about the
sprinkler folks who were supposed to be EXPERTS at sprinkler
installation, except to mention that I simply asked them to leave
when I realized their LACK. I was inspired by the Three Stooges.
You know how the Stooges would start fucking up a job, then the
owner would say NO NO NO, You need to do THIS, THIS, and THIS and
have it done BEFORE I GET BACK, I'll be gone for three hours, right?
Well, I saved a LOT of Slack by NOT doing that.
The incompetence that we have encountered in nearly every
goddamn business deal might have left me a frazzled wreck, except
for the fact that I was primed and ready for it AND on the lookout
for stray Slack the whole while. When we needed a particular type
sprinkler head by Friday for the Stooges, and Pam said on Monday
that she finally located them in Smithfield, I said "I better just
drive out to get them." Pam said that the guy in Smithfield
COMMITTED to ship them UPS that morning, that he KNEW we needed
them Friday morning. He PROMISED that they would be here by
Wednesday. I simply said OK, I'll drive out to get them Thursday.
Sure enough, a call to the company on Wednesday to ask why we
hadn't seen UPS with our order got the reply, "I hadn't got around
to that yet." So I set the alarm for 5:30am, drove for four hours.
I stopped for gas and received a free contest/instant winner/
scratch here for $100,000 maybe card. Hmmm, I thought, but no, it
was not to be. And yet, Smithfield - the lovely NC town with the
huge "HOME of the KU KLUX KLAN" billboard at the city limits - did
have some Slack for me. In the McDonalds. I don't frequent fast
food places, and still have not recovered from my last visit to
Arbys, but I had to take a shit. Inside, a glass display case with
an original Fredric Remington bronze. Original edition, not a lost
wax reproduction, tho there is not a thing wrong with the repro's.
Original Remington. In Smithfield, in the McDonalds. SLACK!
So last weekend I finally had the time to pull together a special
packet for Lynn from the Handbill Mill of the Gods. She wanted to
read my stuff, so I gathered up a few of my posts, a few of SisPam's
posts, and a few others that I knew she would enjoy. I made a tape
of Pam's singing stuff, and a copy of our Gription stuff, and
packed it up in a Fed-X box with Dobbsheads on front and back. I
emailed her a copy of the Face Fucking Bat Sperm Antidote Pudding
Enigma so that when she awoke Monday she would know it was gonna
be a special week. When I got off work at 6am I headed over to the
place where I used to work. I still had my old badge, yet was
kinda leery about how policy may have changed during my seven
year absence. I remembered the security as being really lax, how
every few weeks a new security company was hired once the old
company guards were caught stealing computers, furniture, company
secrets, what have you. I also knew that I had changed considerably
as a result of my Ordination, that just the PSTENCH was going to be
enough to attract attention. There would be no way to be incognito
on this tour. I was going into the Heart of Pinkness, going openly
and brazenly with no suit, no necktie, no shiny shoes, no haircut.
Coupla weeks beard and dirty jeans & t-shirt. I had the column
number nearest Lynn's desk. I parked the truck where I once used to
park, limped, for I had wrenched my knee three days earlier and it
was tender and throbbing, confidently up to the guard station and
flashed my badge. Expressionless, he unlocked the door.
I was inside.
To my surprise the place was enormous. H-U-G-E. I had spent
the first three years of my life in St. Margarets hospital near
Chicago, and had had the wondrous experience of revisiting the
place many many years later. I have way many memories from even
that far back, and I had still known my way around. Then, I had
made my way to the play room that had seemed large, only to find
that it was an 8'x10' space. I remembered climbing up stairs and
each stair was half my size. This was the inverse experience. I
knew every hall, every area, but was astounded by how everything
had grown so. As it was still 6:30am I had plenty of time to walk
around, and soon figured out that Lynn's desk was at the farthest
reaches of the manufacturing floor. I had attracted more than a
few curious glances as I strolled through the building, but no one
had moved to stop me. I saw an assembly line crew all standing in
a semicircle facing a supervisor, and just for the ambience I
limped over and positioned myself where I could hear the morning's
instructions. I heard the supervisor say, "I want you to
do a thorough job here; now stretttttcccchhhhh" and the whole
fucking crew lifted their arms over their heads.... Exercises!?!?!
Mandatory Exercises first thing in the morning. Oh "Bob" get me OUT.
I limped the hell out of there, fast. It took like ten minutes to
make my way across the manufacturing floor. At quarter to seven I
located the correct column.
My GHOD. The "office" was all of 4'x6'. Really. It was upstairs in
an isolated quarter with only one door, opening onto maybe thirty
of these cubettes, each with walls 5' high on three sides. Lynn's
cubette was towards the back, with only one 8'x6' "meeting room"
between her office and the back wall. I scrunched into the space,
sat down, propped the Dobbshead package up on her desk next to the
computer, and considered my next move. There was a coffee pot set
on a small lateral file cabinet directly across from a miniature
desktop with a phone, bulletin board and calendar. Pictures of
Lynn's niece, now teenage; a cartoon of a cat saying "Bite Me".
A computer monitor on a table that jutted out so that if the file
cabinet hadn't been positioned firmly against the endwall, there
would be no room to retrieve the contents. As it was, the drawer
barely cleared the computer, and it was obvious that one could not
sit in a chair and open the file cabinet simultaneously. The back
of the chair rested firmly against the drawer of the file cabinet
when seated at the desk; the arm of the chair rested firmly
against the table holding the monitor.
There was one Weasel in the immediate area, an older guy who I
didn't know. The Flex Time policy, I knew, allowed him to show up
at work at 6am or 6:30am, fuck off until the boss arrived at
7:30am, and still go home at 2:30pm or 3pm. He was eating donuts.
He was watching me as I walked in, but I ignored him and went
directly to Lynn's cubette. I decided to wait fifteen minutes to
see if Lynn shows up at 7:00.
I was wishing then that I had brought a handfull of Dobbsheads and
stickers. I jiggled the mouse on her computer and tried typing
"Face Fucking Bats" in the login screen, just to leave the
message, but the screen just showed asterisks. Damn. It was then
that I got the idea to leave some notes. I grabbed a post-it pad
and pencil and started writing little one-liners. Lots of 'em.
Anything that popped into my head, mostly "Bob" oriented or Slack
stuff - "kNOw "BOB" kNOw SLACK", that sort of thing. Or lyrics:
"Spontaneous Human Combustion / Whoops, there goes another one / A
raging fire, a funeral pyre / An Unexpected Cremation - the Bobs"
I put them on the walls, in the file cabinet, behind stuff, in
books. I found Lynn's schedule book and left her Slackful messages
for the rest of the year. I scribbled stuff on her calendar. The
Office Weasel walked by, then returned, and I looked up, but he kept
his eyes straight ahead and kept moving. Probably leaving something
on the desk across the hall. I drew a bat and wrote "FFB" and
placed it near Lynn's coffee machine, which was autobrewing.
The oppressiveness of the place must have been getting to me,
because my cryptic messages got more and more pointed. I wrote
"Take a look" and then stopped. I was GOING to quote Cobain,
"Take a Look at Who You Are, it's Pretty Scary" but I thought,
"That's pretty abrasive for someone I haven't seen in years."
But I had already started, so I wrote "Take a Look Around /
It's Pretty Scary - Kurt Cobain (DEAD)" * and wondered if she would
tag me for the mis-quote. I left this note next to the coffee
machine, wrote a few more. I waited until 7:10, thinking how
Lynn always used to be late dragging her lazy ass into work, then
decided she probably comes in at 7:30 or 8:00, and I headed out to
the cafeteria, which was on the far side of the plant.
My knee was throbbing and I had to rest every few steps. I
recognized several people and enjoyed the fact that they walked
right past me without a hint of remembrance. I saw Sherry D. in the
cafeteria and stopped by to say hi. I had to prompt her memory,
then she kept saying that she COULD NOT believe how much I had
changed. While talking to her I got this weird feeling, and looked
around in time to see the Office Weasel staring at me from the
other side of the room with what looked like fear, eyes wide,
before he turned and scurried off. Strange dude, I thought.
I made my way slowly back across the building, up the stairs to
Lynn's desk. It was nearly 7:30, and I had an idea. I went instead
into the meeting room next to her cubette, thinking I'd wait for
her to arrive. I thought I would just slowly peek up over the
cubette wall, or maybe make grunting, mooing noises until she
investigated. I sat down and read the motivational posters lined
up on the walls, until they began to really piss me off. I wrote
more notes, on larger paper, to offset the obvious lies of the
The Company Wants You to Get What You Want, Just as Long As You
Want What THEY Want You to Want.
This got posted up on the wall next to a poster. Then another.
Then another. The simple PRABOB's had taken an ugly turn and were
becoming mini-rants. This was unavoidable, because of the posters.
Easily seen from most of the room, I still knew that the 'droids
would probably not even notice them for days. Lynn would probably
be mortified at the thought that the new posters were in any way
associated with her, fearing the hushed whispers and suppressed
giggles of the co-workers as they pointed at her, and so would
probably take them down soon. On the other hand, I know that in
the corporate environment such things are often left in place for
months, as it is nobodys job to clean them up. We have a Bass Club
meeting notice that someone pasted on a wall last October in the
area here as I write. So there was a chance of semi-permanence.
Well, no, not really, because these things would be vaguely
threatening to the office-sheep, being unconventional, and someone
would report the "issue" to management. Not take them down
personally, mind you, but report them. I remember this
well. Management would make a display of ripping them down and
collecting the evidence, get all huffy, and announce an
investigation that would never be followed up.
I was sitting down writing another response to an asinine poster
when I heard movement on the other side of the wall. To my utter,
incredulous HORROR, it was Lynn's boss, Harry P***, and the Office
Weasel, standing at the coffee machine.
All thought processes stopped except for "Oh Gawd.....Oh
gawd.....I...I...OH GAWD....Oh....Ohhhh....GAWWWWD...I... Oh
GAWD..." I had to pick my oversized jaw up off the table.
Jesus-H-Fucking-Christ-On-a-Raft. The indignation had not yet set
in, but the Horror, The HORROR!
The cubette is all of twenty four square feet with probably six
square feet to actually move around in, and as if it is not
degrading enough to spend your workweek shoehorned into a space
that would be unacceptable in a morgue, the entire damn departments
gotta use the office as a coffee area, standing around
bullshiting. Oh Gawd...
I remembered the indignities seen at the copy machine, where the
executives --anyone with any management authority whatsoever--
would cut in with an, "EXCUSE me, I need to copy this," and the
hapless pion would have to let them make their copy first. Office
etiquette would demand that the peed-on make some conciliatory
remark such as, "Go right ahead." I met my good friend Colleen, a
temp in that building, at a copy machine, where she ASKED me if I
needed to go first, then THANKED me, very surprised, for not being
an arrogant prick. I could envision the endless stream of office
sheep bleating, "EXCUSE me, I need a cup of coffee," while Lynn
bows and scrapes as she steps outside of her cubette to allow the
sheeple to relieve themselves, so to speak. Then they block her
re-entry, forcing her into polite, meaningless conversation as
they stand there sipping in her six square feet. Oh GAWD...
I am still dumbfounded as the Office Weasel begins to talk.
"Harry, I think we might have a problem. This morning, there was
this guy in here who didn't belong. He came in and sat at Lynn's
desk." His voice got real low. "He was WEIRD, Harry. I mean, he
looked bad. REAL bad." He says this in a tone of voice usually
reserved for guys following little girls around in the Walmart.
I am sitting literally two feet from them on the other side of a
five foot wall. I can see Harry's eyebrows, can discern his
expression, but can't see his eyes. I'm thinking that they MUST be
able to see the top of my head, as I can see theirs, and at any
moment they're going to be real startled.
"Harry, I think he did THIS. I mean, why would someone do this?"
At first I thought he meant the package, but then I saw he was
looking at the Cobain note. Why would someone misquote Cobain? No,
I think he was making a more general comment.
Paper noises, and Harry is examining the note. The Office Weasel
has obviously worked in a corporate environment for a while,
because he immediately retracts his statement. "Wait, I guess I
should say that I didn't actually see him writing this. But he was
sitting at Lynn's desk, writing something on that paper, using a
pencil." Never accuse, never commit. "What I don't understand is,
why would anyone DO something like this?" Harry said "I dunno".
Encouraged by this response, he said again, "He was weird, real
weird. I went downstairs and got a Security Guard." Harry's head
snapped up and he was looking closely at the Weasel, who stammered
"Harry, I'm telling you. You should have seen this guy. I got a
security guard, but by time we got back here he was gone."
A security guard. Oh SHIT, more weasels are after me. Hot on my
trail. What am I to do? They have walkie-talkies, and my
description has probably been circulated to every guard in the
plant. They're closing in. And I'm trapped here. They'll
probably...ask to see my ID! Well, OK, I HAVE a badge. "Sorry, sir,
just checking. We had this report..." Haw Haw Haw.
Office Weasel is talking again. "I CONFRONTED him. I asked him
what he was doing, but he just LOOKED at me. He wouldn't say
anything. REAL Weird."
LIAR! I couldn't believe it. The guy would wet his pants if I
stood up and said matter-of-factly, "Boo". If the wall wasn't
there I could have easily reached out and grabbed him.
"He didn't have a badge, but I saw him down in the cafeteria
talking to someone there. I don't know, maybe he works here,
but...What I want to know is why anyone would do something like
AGAIN! OK OK OK. Listen Closely. I thought that Lynn owned the
whole 24 square feet. I didn't know that her cubette was the
coffee room for the entire department. I was leaving the note for
LYNN. Had you bothered to actually TALK to me, you may have found
that I am a considerate, intelligent, hardworking Yeti who
probably knows your job better than you do and who can entertain
you with stories about most everyone in the department. You think
you are concerned NOW, wait until I stand up and say "Hi, Harry"
and you find out that Harry not only knows me, but likes me and
RESPECTS me. Your credibility is AT RISK here. Wait until I call
you out, Weasel Boy.
It's unexpected, but Harry P*** is easily in the top five nicest,
kindest, most genuine people I've met in the company. He was not a
manager when I knew him, and I'm glad to see that he is now
because if I ever WANTED a manager, he would be at the top of my
list. Fair, sharp, interesting, concerned - a Good Guy. I really
like him, always have. Lynn is also in that top five. I'm glad she
has Harry for a Boss.
Harry is saying that this IS strange, that they better keep an eye
out for me and ask me if I have any business there. He says
that he'll alert Lynn, just in case there is trouble. Like I said,
the guy is considerate and truly concerned, and actually unafraid
to INQUIRE before making snap judgements.
I decide to stand up and introduce myself.
Just then, it occurs to me that Lynn will be walking in shortly,
and will tell them that it was me. Harry will be relieved. Hmmm.
Lynn still hasn't set eyes on me, and probably thinks that my
self-description is a big story, that the Ministry is a big story,
that the Pstench is a big story. Would it not be far better for her
to walk in to the big eyes and terror, to hear first hand of the
mutation? She will have just read about the Bats. Would it not
be more damaging to Weasel Boy's credibility if Lynn tells
Harry it was me? Harry still carries a mental snapshot of the
old me. He'll never believe the description. Lynn has the
package on her desk. The stage is set and the players have their
lines. A gift, an I-told-you-so, and a Black Mark for the Office
So I waited five minutes after they walked off, peered over the
wall, then limped to freedom.
Well, I didn't go directly to freedom. I went first to the North
guard station and told him that I was way lost, inquired after the
East parking lot. I made sure they saw me walk off in the opposite
direction from what they just told me. I walked directly to the
West guard station, told them I was lost, inquired after the North
parking lot, and let the guy see me walk South. At the South
station I asked for directions to the West lot, walked to the
East station, asked after the North lot, and THEN escaped to
Rev. Random the Other
*this was a DEVO cover I later learned
ps - it's been a week, and Lynn hasn't contacted me. Several calls
rolled to voice mail. It would be so great if she was on vacation
the whole week. Err, I guess it's possible that she REALLY regrets
ever contacting me...DON'T LOOK BACK, LYNN!