Trash Talk

by Robert Gussin

  “False advertising!” cried Jordy. “You loved my ad.”

  “Come on, guys,” Pam broke in. “Forget the finger pointing. We’re all in deep trouble here so let’s figure out what we can do.”

  “Yes,” said Melissa, “let’s think.”

  The loud bang on the door almost scared them out of their chairs.

  “What the —?” cried Arnie, but before he got any farther the door flew open, and four of the giants charged in. The last one was so wide he came through the door sideways. Arnie and his colleagues reflexively jumped up from their chairs and backed toward a corner of the room.

  “What the hell is going on here?” shouted Barkey. “This is no trash talk meeting!”

  “It certainly is,” Arnie squeaked as he backed into Jordy and Pam in their continued slow retreat toward the corner.

  Melissa, looking up at the large intruders from her position behind Jordy and Pam, said, “This is a very important meeting. Trash is a major problem in this country. We need to do something.”

  Too Fat’s eyes widened. “You mean trash — like fuckin’ garbage?”

  “Yes, of course, garbage and other refuse,” said Melissa.

  At this point, Mr. Schriff, eyes wide with excitement or maybe fear, announced with a more pronounced Indian accent than usual, “Well, I am believing that things are under control here, and so I will be taking my leave. All is in good hands. Good luck. I will be back for the opening session tomorrow. I must go now to attend to other very important matters —”

  And he was gone before anyone could comment.

  “Shit,” said Wilson. “You mean you conned us into coming all the way to Sarasota to hear about garbage?”

  “We did not con you,” shouted Jordy. “Our ads and information were perfectly clear. We can’t help it if you couldn’t understand that this is an environmental meeting.”

  “Couldn’t understand!” shouted Barkey, glaring at Jordy and taking a step forward that caused Jordy to jump back and forced Melissa up against the wall behind them.

  Melissa tried to push Jordy off her feet, but he was frozen there.

  “Why you little asshole,” bellowed Barkey. “You’ll understand what I got from your ad when I put my fist in your mouth.”

  “Wait, wait!” cried Pam, who had faced tense situations on occasion when some of her protest groups were challenged. “Stop screaming and calm down, and we’ll figure out a way to accommodate you.”

  “How the hell you gonna do that?” asked McCann.

  “We could give you your money back,” Melissa croaked as she was being squashed against the wall by Jordy who seemed to be trying to back through the wall and disappear.

  “Hell, that’s no help,” said Wilson. “We’re here and we need credit for the league requirement. We’re not backing out of this meeting,” he said adamantly.

  “That’s right,” said Gordon. “We want this meeting to satisfy our shit requirement. We ain’t gonna leave without attending.”

  “Well, I agree,” said Barkey. “But we’re not sittin’ through all these bullshit sessions either. You better change your program and get some real trash talkin’ sessions in here.”

  Arnie finally regained some composure, although he was still deathly pale. “Look guys, let’s all sit down and talk about this. If you really want to stay for the meeting, and you think your buddies out there will stay, let’s see if we can adjust the program.”

  “Yeah,” said Wilson. “Let’s adjust the program.”

  “Okay,” said Arnie with a sigh. “Let’s act as an ad hoc committee and go through the agenda.”

  “What the fuck kinda committee?” questioned Too Fat. “Ad what?”

  “Just a temporary committee,” Arnie responded. “There are four of you and four of us. Let’s sit at the table and see what we can do to make you happy.”

  “Okay,” said Barkey. “Sounds reasonable.”

  They all gathered around the table in Arnie’s office as Melissa gave each person a copy of the program and a pen.

  Four hours later a sweat-soaked Arnie, a pallid Jordy and Pam and Melissa finally sat back in their chairs feeling somewhere between exhaustion, relief, despair, and panic, but at least satisfied that they had reached a compromise on the days that lay ahead. The four athletes looked fairly satisfied but still on the edge of violence.

  The sounds outside the office had gotten louder with occasional shouts and obscenities as more and more athletes realized that what they had signed up for was not what they expected. Several times during the meeting of the ad hoc committee, there were frantic knocks on the door and pleadings by the three temporary employees handling the actual registrations for Arnie to come out and make some kind of announcement to calm down the crowd. Many of the environmentalists in the line were pleading ignorance regarding the situation as they were being threatened by some of the athletes. Four of the hotel security guards, hearing the commotion, had come into the conference lobby, but seeing the size of the athletes and their state of unhappiness, busied themselves by collecting autographs from the enraged complainants.

  After the third interruption by a temporary employee, Chuck Barkey jumped up, grabbed Arnie by the upper arm, and said, “C’mon, you and I will go out there and tell them we’re working on fixing things.”

  They went out into the conference lobby and both started shouting.

  Arnie was hollering, “Attention, attention,” but was totally drowned out.

  Barkey, in a booming, baritone voice shouted, “Listen up, listen up. Hey! Listen up.”

  The crowd quieted, and turned toward the two.

  Barkey spoke. “It seems the meeting organizers screwed something up. We’re working on the program and will fill you all in soon. Be patient. Cool it. Give us another hour or two. Go have a drink or a hot dog. Take a walk. Come back in an hour.”

  With that, and amid a buzz of grumbling and questioning, Chuck pushed Arnie back toward the door and into the office and closed the door behind them. But before they could say a word, there was a loud bang-bang on the door. It opened quickly as a rabid looking Edmund Mundhill stormed in. He aimed his dagger stare at Arnie, not even noticing who else was there, and bellowed, “What the hell is going on here? Schwartz, you’d better have one goddamned great explanation for that zoo out there or your job tomorrow will be counting penguins in Antarctica.”

  Arnie began to stammer, “Mr. Mundhill, we’ve had a . . . there’s been a slight misunderstanding.”

  “It’s a misunderstanding, all right,” Mundhill shouted. “I misunderstood your competency. I want an explanation.”

  A low voice from behind Mundhill said, “Who the fuck are you?” It was Too Fat McCan.

  Mundhill swung around and began to reply, “I’ll tell you who I am,” but he realized he was looking at someone’s huge chest. He peered up into the face of the four hundred six-pound football player. Shocked for a moment by McCann’s size and menacing stare, Mundhill paused.

  Arnie intervened. “Mr. Mundhill is the president of our national society. He is our boss. He’s the top person in this whole organization.” Too Fat responded, “Well, Mr. President, we do have a bit of a fuck-up here. Your boys here had us thinkin’ this was a real ‘trash talk’ meetin’. But we come to find its just a ‘garbage meetin’. So we and your employees here,” Too Fat waved his hand toward Arnie and his team, “are gonna fix it. So don’t get your balls in a sling. We’ll take care of it. You just get your loud ass out of here so we can get to work.”

  Mundhill opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He turned and pointed at Arnie. He was glaring and hyperventilating. He was so red he looked like he might have a stroke. “Schwartz, I’m going to my room. I will see you tomorrow morning. You and your colleagues, Schriff as well, are about ninety-nine percent of the way out of this society. You are hanging by a thread. Fix this quick or you’re all done. I don’t know or want to know how this fuck-up occurred, but it better be fixed by tomorrow mo
rning when the sessions start.” Mundhill turned and stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  In his hotel room Ed Mundhill was a jumble of mixed emotions. He was as angry as a stepped-on snake about the screw-up downstairs. But at the same time he experienced a macabre joy in the suffering he would bring down on that little shit, Schwartz, and that spineless jackass, Rama Schriff.

  Why had he ever hired Schriff? Hell, there were twenty society members that he knew that could do the job better. And they were Americans. Why in the hell did the Sarasota board want to hire an Indian to head up a chapter of an American society? He’d been too busy back then to pay attention to such a small office. But now he savored the pleasure of revenge. Never again would he let the board or any of the seventy-three chapters tell him what to do. That thought soothed Mundhill somewhat.

  The group of eight finally emerged from Arnie’s temporary office and entered the conference lobby. Arnie had called the hotel logistics manager and had her deliver a portable microphone system to him and now stood with the microphone with seven concerned-looking people behind him.

  “Your attention please,” Arnie shouted into the microphone. “May I please have your attention.” With the microphone turned to maximum, Arnie’s voice, although shaky, echoed throughout the large lobby. Everyone, environmentalists, athletes, employees, and security guards, as well as some stray hotel guests who were fascinated by this strange gathering, began to look around to see who was speaking.

  Maxwell Gordon walked over and grabbed Arnie by the waist and lifted him high into the air. Too Fat pointed at Arnie, who almost dropped his microphone, but managed to speak while Gordon held him about four feet off the ground — until Jordy pushed a chair toward them and Max placed Arnie on it.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. I’m sure that by now you have all realized that there is something strangely different about our environmentalist meeting.”

  Before he could go any farther, there began a great rumbling and shouts from the athletes.

  “What the hell do you mean ‘environmentalist meeting’?” yelled one.

  “We came for trash talk,” hollered another.

  “Wait, wait, “shouted Arnie. And he was supported by Barkey and Wilson shouting — without the aid of microphone — for everyone to calm down and listen up. Arnie continued, “There has been a very unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  The crowd quieted significantly.

  “This is the annual meeting of the National Environmentalist Society.”

  Again a rise of unhappy sounds, but Arnie continued and the moans, groans, and griping died down. “The title, which we, that is the planning committee from the Sarasota chapter came up with — Trash Talk — was meant to be a catchy title to attract environmentalists to come to this meeting to discuss the environmental issues related to trash. What it’s doing to the environment, how we can haul it, dispose of it, the various types of trash, hazardous waste, and so forth.”

  A loud, “Oh shit,” was heard from a very large person in the crowd.

  “Holy fuck,” came out of a stunned looking six foot five, two hundred eighty pounder standing in the front row of the crowd facing Arnie.

  Arnie flinched but continued. “We now realize that the title was misleading because to athletes trash talk denotes the activity of verbally insulting each other to affect the opponent’s performance.”

  “You bet your ass that’s what it means,” shouted an athlete.

  “Please,” pleaded Arnie. “Let me finish.”

  There was modest rumbling, but Arnie was able to proceed. “We realized our problem only when all of you arrived here at registration.”

  “What are ya gonna do about it?” came a shout from the crowd.

  “Hang on,” yelled Barkey.

  Arnie picked up again. “We,” and Arnie pointed to the group standing behind him, “spent the last three hours redoing the program to satisfy everyone. Thanks to Mr. Barkey, Mr. Gordon, Mr. Wilson and Mr. Too Fat, I think that we have a modified program that will satisfy both environmentalists and athletes.”

  Now the grumbling came from everyone, athletes and environmentalists alike.

  Barkey grabbed the microphone from Arnie. “Listen up,” he screamed. “You’re all gonna be happy. We’re gonna have presentations by environmental folks and then comments by athletes including invitations to trash talk about the subjects. So everybody’s going to have a chance to learn something. And keep in mind, all you athletes, you will get credit for attending.”

  Too Fat grabbed the mike from Chuck. “And maybe you assholes gonna learn somethin’ new. I mean all you assholes, athletes and environmentees.”

  There were some hoots and catcalls as Too Fat handed the microphone back to Arnie.

  Arnie went on, “Tomorrow morning at the first general session in the auditorium we will pass out new programs that will reflect the changes in both the meeting sessions and the social functions. In the meantime I beg you to finish registering and come to the opening cocktail party and buffet that will begin in about two hours. I apologize for this misunderstanding, but I think we will all benefit and learn and enjoy this meeting. Thank you.”

  Arnie let out an audible sigh and jumped off the chair. Oh man, he thought, at least we’re still alive. He turned to his colleagues, Pam, Melissa, and Jordy. “Let’s get to work finalizing the agenda and make the required arrangements for our modified social program.”

  They all turned, quickly thanked Barkey, Wilson, Gordon, and McCann, who were already being besieged with questions from some of their athlete colleagues. The original committee scurried into Arnie’s office and closed the door. C h a p t e r

  17

  Monday morning brought new hope and new trepidation to Arnie and his small committee. The new meeting programs were printed and a copy was placed on each seat in the auditorium. In addition, piles of extra copies were evident at various sites around the convention hall lobby. Arnie had a slide presentation of the entire new program and now planned to open the meeting by walking everyone through it and answering any questions from the audience regarding the program.

  The cocktail party/buffet the night before had been fairly successful. The evening started with the athletes gathered around one of the two bars and the environmentalists at the other. The buffet as planned didn’t stand a chance. The athletes had devoured every bit of food within fifteen minutes after the doors to the ballroom opened. The few environmentalists who attempted to get food before it was gone were so intimidated by the wide bodies surrounding the tables and the aggressiveness with which they devoured the shrimp, roast beef, clams, oysters, mini-sandwiches, and every other morsel on the table, that they stepped gingerly away and went to the quiet bar.

  However, a few of the environmentalists, who for years shoveled food down at these affairs like they had not eaten in weeks, were not about to give up so easily. Mark Rhovosky, a professor of environmental science at Ohio State, in desperation, actually knocked “Big Tony” DiNardo aside with a flying block in the back and was able to catch three pieces of shrimp and two oysters that flew off Big Tony’s plate as he stumbled forward. Tony knocked six or seven other athletes away from the buffet table as he tried to keep his balance. Pat O’Malley, another of Rhovosky’s Ohio State colleagues, scooted in and grabbed four shrimp, three clams, and a piece of roast beef and scurried away to the bar before Big Tony or the other athletes could regroup.

  Melissa, ignoring Arnie’s hand-wringing comments about the food situation and their budget, instructed the hotel personnel to reload the buffet table. This was done and fortunately, the second feeding seemed to satiate the athletes, who once again congregated around one bar but left enough food to satisfy most of the environmentalists.

  After a couple of hours, an interesting phenomenon occurred. The groups from the two bars started to mix. Some of the fairly inebriated athletes began to find some of the female environmentalists more attractive than they had at the beginning of the evening.
And some of the somewhat inebriated female environmentalists began to find some of the athletes kind of cute and cuddly looking. Some of the environmentalists were sports fans and began to feel more comfortable conversing with the now-not-so-angry athletes. Overall, the evening went pretty well without any really unpleasant incidents. Everyone was wondering how Arnie and his group could modify the program to satisfy this strange group.

  At 9:00 a.m. the auditorium was full. A few extra chairs had to be brought in since Too Fat McCann sat across three chairs and many of his fellow athletes required two chairs.

  As Arnie waited for the crowd to get seated he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and stood facing the beady eyes and stern face of Edmund Mundhill. “Ah . . . err . . . good morning, Mr. Mundhill.”

  “Good morning,” snorted Mundhill. “How are you going to bail yourself out of this mess?” He stared at Arnie as if questioning his sanity. “You’re going to have to be a magician to prevent this from being the biggest embarrassment in environmental history.” His shoulders hunched up and he leaned forward into Arnie’s face. “Do you realize that? What the press will do to us?”

  “Look, Mr. Mundhill,” Arnie replied in as steady and soft a voice that he could muster. “Just give us a chance. This meeting may be different than past meetings, but I think it will work. And look, we might be able to positively influence a bunch of people who are not professional environmentalists, and may not even be aware of the many problems that trash creates. Maybe they’ll even become more environmentally friendly and be advocates for our work.”

  “Yeah, and maybe camels will fly,” said Mundhill sourly.

  “Look,” said Arnie, “just have a seat and watch and wait. Hopefully, you’ll be pleased.”

  Mundhill turned and began to move toward the seats. Then he swung his head back toward Arnie. “I won’t hold my breath waiting for success,” he hissed and walked away. Arnie took a deep breath and felt a shiver.

  Then Arnie stepped to the podium. He steadied himself by planting both hands on the lectern. “Good morning and welcome. I hope that everyone had a chance to mingle and meet people last night and enjoy themselves.”