Mr. Crapper’s thin six foot three frame was displayed in his black leather chair like he rehearsed sitting effectively. He was neat in appearance and wore one of his snazzy ties. With the boyish bounce Crapper’s gray hair had and his squinty-eyed good looks, he had a definite aura of Richard Gere. In other words, he seemed gay.
“Ah..ah…Mr. Dykes-” Crapper began. He had sent for Dykes earlier in the day and now was surprised to see him.
“My name is Bacchus. John Bacchus.”
“Hmm. Seems like when I hired you your last name was Dykes.”
“My last name is Bacchus.” Dykes hated having to talk to Crapper and couldn’t bear to listen to him try to spew out a few coherent words. Crapper, self-conscious of his speech impediment, tried to be forceful, sophisticated and smooth all at the same time and this caused his words to bottleneck. Dykes wanted to take a plunger to his face. What Dykes really wanted to do was not deal with Crapper. If he thought it would get him out of this meeting, he would quit on the spot. It wouldn’t.
“Well, wh-what I wanted to talk to you about is th-th-that a lot of people have been complaining th-that you are not friendly and have a bad attitude. You don’t ah-ah smile. You—that-is people have reported to ma-me that you have trouble h-having a con-convers- carrying on a um conversation.”
“So do you.”
“Ah..Ahh..Ahh.”
“Exactly how many people have complained to you?” Dykes fired off.
“Enough people. Well, one. But I wa-want her to stop pestering me so I am coming down hard on you.” Crapper put his hands on his hips as he sat, then felt he was not looking official and folded his hands on his desk. “You need to be more friendly in the elevator. You-you-are you-It seems, well-do you have a prolonged illness that I should know about. The reason I ask is that people h-have been suggesting that I am not letting people have sick days.”
“I get them like I am entitled to.”
“O-okay, but you are depressing the patients by looking sick. T-there I’ve just come out w-with it.”
“I’m not sick and my name is not John Dykes.”
“I am glad y-your not sick, Mr. Bacchus. Y-you are wa-one of my best workers.”
“Call me Dykes.”
“B-but Dykes, I n-need you to stop a-a-annoying the nursing staff by being so quiet in the elevators. You-re fr-freakin’ them out. H-help m-me out here, Dykes.”
“My name is not Dykes.”
“N-now, the way I am g-going to resolve this is by giving you a br-brosh-brochure on our EAP program. You know, the Employee Ass-ssistance Program.”
Dykes felt both suicidal and homicidal at the suggestion. “Maybe that program can help confused gay people. Maybe it really helped you, but I don’t need it.”
“I am not gay,” Crapper hissed. “Uh..see? This is uh..uh.. a p-p-picture of my fiancée.”
“I thought that was a picture of Mama Cass.”
“No.”
“Melissa McCarthy?”
“I wish.”
“It’s okay, you know, to be gay.”
“Because I care, I am handing you this brochure,” Crapper continued, red in the face and reading off a prepared script for dealing with troubled employees, “which details how our referral program helps you overcome personal problems that may interfere with your job performance.”
“Like say denying your sexual orientation or frying your brain with long term marijuana use, for example?”
Crapper blinked his bloodshot eyes and flipped through his script. “It is obvious that you have some problems you need to start to deal with, insert employee’s name here.”
“But if I am not ready to face them, won’t I just throw this pamphlet out?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Hmm. I have another question,” Dykes said, clutching the arms of the chair he was sitting in. “If a nurse is rude to me, can I report that to someone and have something done.”
“Absolutely,” Crapper said instantly. “Just l-let me know. Uh-um, I give you my guarantee.”
Dykes leaned forward. His knuckles turned white in the silence. “Guarantee of what?”
Crapper knitted his brow. “Isn’t a guarantee enough? What’s b-better than a guarantee? C-c-come on, I m-mean, D-Dykes. I am just ass-ass-ass-asking you to be reasonable.”
“My name is John Bacchus.”
Dykes left, leaving the EAP brochure on Crapper’s desk. He had figured his gay comment would have made Crapper fire him on the spot, but if he wasn’t going to be fired, then he might have to do what Crapper wanted to avoid another meeting like that. But Dykes found that he only had to acquiesce to any directive Crapper might give until Crapper lost interest or it escaped his impaired memory. Sometimes Dykes simply ignored the directive and gambled that Crapper didn’t want another meeting with him as much as he didn’t want one with Crapper.
Dykes walked to the elevator and stepped on between two nurses. He smiled at them. He tried to make his mouth say hi, but he couldn’t with the thought that one of them might be the one that complained to Crapper.
“Hi, John,” Mary Eddy said.
Dykes nodded at her. Dykes would not be more friendly because his words were heavy, weighted. He was not strong enough to lift the words with his tongue over the wall of his teeth. Paralyzed, he watched the nurses get out on the first floor.
In social situations, he talked himself out of talking. And if he could not even convince himself to take a chance and say hello in the hallway to someone that he had laid on top of naked (lest he pile up more proof of his loneliness), how did Crapper think that he could tell some EAP counselor his problems. Dykes decided that the only extra talking he would do would be to spread the truth about Crapper having a thing for chubby women. While Dykes loved plus-sized women as well, Crapper was handsome enough that even the chubby women would be disappointed with him.
Chapter 31
Betty stepped into the Butt Hutt carefully as it was her first trip to it. She was afraid that the yellow slime on the walls would drip on her. Then the odor hit her, but she continued in. A collection of nurses, housekeepers, and maintenance guys sat around the center table talking about the union. She was surprised to see Mr. Bowdler from the re-organization company sitting off to the side. She scowled at him, and he scowled back, shaking the loose skin under his chin. She then went to the opposite side of the room where Father Chuck was sitting.
She sat down by him. He read another page of the big, leather-bound book in front of him and then bookmarked his page with the ribbon attached to the book.
“Ever read The Thorn Birds?” he asked.
“Yes, Father. But could I talk to you for a moment?”
“Could I pick the topic? People are always coming to me with something on their minds or they don’t come up to me at all. Just once, I’d like to talk about sports.”
“Actually, Father. I do have something weighing on my mind.”
“Don’t you think I do too? I keep it to myself though and pretend it doesn’t exist.” He sighed. “Tell me, daughter, what is troubling you?”
“Come on now. I just want to talk. You’re objective here. The union would not benefit you, but I know that these new directives are really messing with what you are trying to accomplish here.”
“Thank you. Finally someone notices that. I haven’t been able to hold mass in months. Before I anoint the sick, I have to give a short message from my sponsor. I use to be a man of God; now I’m vice-president of Spiritual Concerns.”
She drove her finger through the ashes on the table. “Everyone here is harassed by all the new directives. But I don’t know that I am the person that should be leading the union. Who am I to tell my employer how things should be run? It’s not my money that runs this place or my job to do anything but type and file.”
Father lit up a cigarette. “But you chose to be a leader.”
“I wanted to do something. I mean the last thing I am is a feminist. If I had a woman bo
ss, I would probably quit. But then, Mr. Grumby-”
“A very religious man.” Father made his fingers do spider on a mirror.
“Tried to get me to touch his penis.”
The cigarette in Father’s mouth fell out and as he tried to catch it, it caught on his grasping fingers and shot across the room. “Holy shit.”
“He did that with his last secretary having walked out and now filing a lawsuit on him, and now, with Petty in charge, one of my friends got replaced because she went on maternity leave. Her boss just goes to her, ‘Girls that have babies come back for a week, then quit to be at home anyway.” Betty looked to where Father’s cigarette lay smoldering on the concrete floor. “So I went to the union meetings out of anger and look where I am. Over my head. I’ve been a secretary for twenty-two years. I can’t lead anybody. I’m not a complainer either. Mostly I’m a worrier. When things go bad, I usually put up with it and sit there and worry.” She looked over to Father who was mouthing the word penis until he finally went to pick up his cigarette. Then he sat down and puffed on it. “Should I pray about this Father?”
“I prayed and prayed and look where I am, but you go try it if it will get you to go.”
Father looked to see Mr. Petty opening the door and made a face that made Betty turn and look. Betty couldn’t fathom why her boss would be out here unless he somehow knew she was talking about the union. She glanced over to see that Bowlder had slipped out of the room. Reaching across the table, she stole a cigarette from Father’s pack and lit it. Father mumbled a complaint about bumming a cigarette from someone who had taken a vow of poverty.
Petty got his first full breath of Butt Hutt air and sneezed. “Bless you,” Father said reflexively.
“Careful, now,” Petty warned. He pointed his fingers in pistol fashion at Craig as everyone turned to stare at him. Then he walked around and put his hands on Craig’s shoulder. “Being on call on weekends is a thing of the past for you, buddy.”
Then Petty raised his hands up. “Come on people. Talk. Smoke. There’s no tension here. You people are looking into forming a union and I support your right. There is no animosity here. There’s no reason to fear retribution here.” He got them to smile. “Yet.”
Then Petty strolled over and sat down by Father and Betty. “Betty, I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t. I never come in here.”
Petty looked at the cigarette in her hand, smoking rising from it. “It doesn’t matter why you’re here. In fact, I have a couple of things to talk to you about and it will be nice to talk outside of my office. For example, I found out that one of the secretaries lost their position while they were on maternity leave. I put in call to have her reinstated. So this woman, I don’t even know if you know who I mean, if she calls my office, tell her that she has her job back with a raise.”
Father Chuck lifted up his ashtray and looked under it for signs of a tap. Then he scanned the room looking for a camera or a spy. Maybe he shouldn’t have taped every episode of The X-files off MeTV, but he wondered if the hospital was putting computer chips in the employees’ brains.
“But the real reason I came looking for you is to tell you of a job that I am creating what I think would be perfect for you. You see, I want to create a position in the personnel department that oversees feminine issues.”
“I think housekeeping stocks the tampon dispensers.”
Petty smiled. “No, I mean issues such as sexual harassment, maternity leave, glass ceiling type stuff--women issues. The job would pay eighty thousand a year.”
“Holy shit.” Betty and Father said together.
“Now, I’m serious about this position, but I have to wait until after this union stuff is taken care of. Of course.”
Betty looked at him, stunned.
“Well, think about it, Betty. Like I said. I am going to wait until the push for a union is over to create this position. But then we will definitely talk.” He stood up. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot you were the union president. I’ve been so busy with other things. Well, don’t let my offer influence you in any way. The position would still be open if the union were to be voted in. You know how I honor my debts.” He looked at her, winked and walked out.
Father got on his hands and knees and looked under the table for a microphone, then stood up, opened a window and threw his ashtray out. He turned around to tell Betty to “Sell out! Sellout! Take what you can get from these jerks.” But the way she was pulling on her cigarette made him say instead, “It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
“Was that in the Gospel of Luke, Father?”
“Dumbledore in Harry Potter,” he said as he dragged a cigarette out of his pack with his mouth.
Chapter 32
Bigger sweated in the plush plastic chair. He was sure that Seuss’s five minute meeting would end him. He kept crossing and uncrossing his white sneakered feet and tugging at his white tufts of hair with both hands. Even Seuss’s office intimidated him with its oak bookshelves filled with management books, hazardous waste manuals, and McDonald’s recipe books; and its pastoral paintings bolted to the wall. Seuss had his big desk, a small round table for meetings that he never held and the de-liming supplies for the ice makers.
Seuss rubbed his head as he listened to his voice mail messages. After replaying the message from his mom over five times, he hung up the phone and turned to Bigger with a look of concern. “I wanted to talk to you about your job performance over the last couple of months.”
Bigger swallowed hard for he knew he had been slacking off more than he ever had. The only thing he had changed was his clothes.
“You’re doing a great job.”
“No, way.”
“Yes, way. I am very impressed and extremely amazed. When I first saw you in uniform with that white hair, I thought you were just being a bigger idiot than normal, but I was wrong.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Your welcome, Bigger,” Seuss said. “You have become an example for others to follow. I now get compliments about you where I used to get complaints and I’m getting lots of Kudos from the other directors about the fresh bread you and the new guy bake.
“Mr. Seuss, the new guy quit. He hasn’t ever helped me bake the bread.”
“No. He’s still around.”
“If he shows up, can I ask him to start helping me?”
“No. If he shows up, he’s fired. The only way I can keep him on now is that he is never here.”
Bigger scratched his head, knocking his paper hat into his lap.
Anyway, the directors like the bread so much that they would like me to expand the Fresh Bread for Patients Program to include the patients. You have become efficient, a leader in your department, and off my shit list. You will go far in food service, Bigger, unless we eliminate you.”
Bigger snorted out a laugh. “Food services isn’t my career. I’m just here until I move on to bigger things.”
Seuss got up and walked around his desk. He put his hand on Bigger’s shoulder and said. “Let me give you some solid advice. There is a poem by Douglas Mallard and it says:
‘If you can’t dine on top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the alley.’
That’s talking right to you, Bigger. Be a scrub. That’s all you can ever be, so stop dreaming about being something else. You will only make yourself miserable. If you want to be happy, make me happy by keeping up the good work.”
“Can I go now, Mr. Seuss?”
“Son,” Seuss said, shaking him gently by the shoulder. “I’ve always liked you. That is why I want to offer you the new team guider position for the cafeteria.”
“Thank you, Mr. Seuss. But, like I said, working here is not my-”
“The new position doubles your currently level of reimbursement.”
“I have some new ideas on the cafeteria.”
“That’s great, Bigger.” Seuss gave him one last shoulder shake and then sa
t down at his desk and flipped over a sheet of paper he had on his otherwise bare desk. “But before you get into full swing, I need you to tell your mom these important facts about what would happen to the patients’ rights if there was a union. Just bring them up every time you see her until she listens to you.”
Bigger took the sheet and read the list aloud. “One, the union would prevent us from removing incompetent people from their position where patients’ lives are in their hands. Two, a nurse could go on a fifteen-minute break as mandated in her contract even as her patient goes into cardiac arrest. Three, a union would increase our operating costs so much that we would have to close down or move the hospital to Mexico.” Bigger didn’t finish reading the list, but tossed the paper back on Seuss’s desk and stared at his bosses with one raised eyebrow.
“The other thing I need you to do, before I could get my boss to approve your promotion is to convince your mother to testify for us if we take the union to court.”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Seuss. This sounds like a payoff.”
“No. Emphatically no. Didn’t I just say you were doing a great job? This is to reward you.”
Bigger scratched his head. “What’s the difference between a reward and a payoff?”
“Exactly, Bigger. Now you’re talking. And like I said before, you need to accept that food service is your potential. I took it rough too, when I realized that for myself.”
Bigger shook his head. “See-”
“And I ended up with a job I can admit to. Can you do that now, Bigger? Accept my proposal and you go home with a salary that will allow your wife to shop somewhere besides the dented can bin store. Get this done for me and it will be a big step up, Bigger. Your first step ever.” Seuss outstretched his hand on his desk toward Bigger. “You won’t be invisible as a team guider. Just look at your current team guider—what’s-her-name.”
The Tao of Apathy Page 11