“I saw it,” said Jim, pushing the newspaper back at Ben. “I can’t believe they’re saying it’s the FLQ. I mean, I thought separatism was a dead issue. Certainly the FLQ is dead. Why would they show up after so many years?”
“I don’t know,” said Ben. “But who can figure out terrorists?”
In the 1960’s and early 1970’s the Front de Liberation du Québec, known as the FLQ, was a terrorist organization advocating the separation of the province of Québec from Canada. It was best known for the 1970 kidnapping and murder of Pierre Laporte, a cabinet minister in the Québec provincial government. The murder became part of what was known as the “October Crisis”, after which the FLQ disappeared from Canadian press headlines. However, members of the FLQ continued to be involved sporadically in other violent activities. As recently as the fall of 2000, Rheal Mathieu, a former member of the FLQ, was involved in firebombing a chain of coffee shops because their name, “Second Cup”, was in English only.
Jim took a final drink of his coffee and placed the empty coffee cup on the table. “Should we go on up?”
“Sure.”
As they walked toward the elevator Ben nudged Jim with his elbow. “Did you notice them?” he asked.
“Who?” asked Jim.
“Them!” said Ben, pointing to a two soldiers positioned to the far left and right of the elevators.
“No, I didn’t,” said Jim as he entered the elevator. “I’m half asleep when I get here. That’s why I drink coffee.” The elevator doors closed.
“Ding!” chimed the elevator. Ben and Jim walked out of the elevator on the tenth floor of the federal building and stopped short as they walked up to a set of glass doors.
To the left of the doors was the same sign that was there every day, the sign that read “Canada Customs and Revenue Agency”. But on the inside of the glass doors stood a soldier with a gun slung over his shoulder. Ben looked at Jim. Jim looked back at Ben. They shrugged at one another, opened the doors, and walked into the rat’s warren that was their daytime world. The soldier watched them but did not move. Once through the threshold, as they walked through the tenth floor maze of unmatched cubicles to their own desks, they were inundated with questions. Heads popped up from behind cosseted worlds and tossed out questions without abandon.
Also known as CCRA, the Canada Customs and Revenue Agency was the Canadian equivalent of the American Internal Revenue Service, or IRS. Working for CCRA, Ben and Jim developed applications for the new tax return web site. Once operational, the site would allow taxpayers to both calculate their taxes and submit their returns on the internet without the need for a purchased tax program. It would be the first of its kind in the world.
Jim and Ben raced through the cubicles to their desks but their inquisitors were relentless.
“You were there in the airport on Friday?”
“What happened?”
“What did you see?”
“Guys – see you at break for the story eh?”
“Did you see the terrorist get killed?”
Ben and Jim waved off the questions but they knew they would have to tell their story soon.
Ben interrupted his mad dash to his desk. “Alright!” he called out to the entire floor. “Alright, we’ll tell the gory details at break time.”
“But only once!” Jim called out. “Only once!” he repeated holding up a single index finger.
There were boos from several of the cubicles.
“I’ll see you later,” said Ben, laughing as he retreated into his alcove.
“Yeah, later,” replied Jim.
***
Just before break Ben came over to Jim’s cubicle. Already a few people had started crowding around Jim and within five minutes the cubicle was surrounded.
“I guess this is it,” said Ben.
“I guess so,” said Jim.
It did not take long for Jim and Ben to fill in their colleagues on the events at the airport the previous Friday. When they were done there were murmurings of disappointment with their inside account of the events.
“I’m going to get a snack downstairs,” Ben advised Jim.
“Okay. I will too,” said Jim.
The two took the elevator downstairs to the coffee shop. After Ben paid for a croissant he heard Jim calling his name.
“Ben!”
“What?”
“Can I borrow some money?”
“Christ!”
After Ben and Jim had sat down, a pretty blonde came up to their table. It was Cindy Lyndon.
“Hello boys,” said Cindy, as cheerful as ever.
“Hey Cily!” said Jim.
“Hi gorgeous,” said Ben. He then stood up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Ben and Cindy Lyndon had been the topic of office gossip for the last month.
“Want to sit down?” he asked her.
“Sure,” said Cindy. She took an empty chair from a nearby table and brought it over to the table where Ben and Jim sat.
“You know Cily was at the airport at the same time as us?” Ben asked Jim.
“Sure did.”
“I waved to both of you,” said Cindy. “But I never got close enough to say ‘hi’.”
“Wild time eh?” asked Jim.
“Oh yeah,” said Cindy. “Really freaky.”
Ben turned to Jim. “Cily knew what was happening before it happened.”
“No way!” said Jim looking back and forth between Ben and Cindy.
“Yep,” confirmed Ben. Cindy was quiet.
“Well?” asked Jim looking at Cindy.
“It was really weird,” said Cindy. “Really weird,” she repeated. “But I don’t know if I want to talk about it.”
“Ok,” said Ben. “Don’t sweat it.”
Cily looked at Jim, concerned. “Jimmy, you look awfully tired. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” said Jim, shrugging off her concern. “I just haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
A tall, handsome man approached their table. “Hi,” he said to the three seated at the table.
“Hi Mike,” said Ben, looking up. “What’s up?”
“I heard you talking about the airport,” he began, looking at Cindy. “And I heard you say that you knew the kidnapping was going to happen. How did you know?”
Cindy looked uncomfortably at Mike. “Who are you?” she asked.
Ben interrupted. “Sorry, Cily. This is Mike Campanelli. He works with Jim and me.” Ben turned to Mike. “Mike, this is my girlfriend Cily, Cily Lyndon.”
Mike Campanelli raised an eyebrow when Ben used Cindy’s nickname. Still seated, Cindy put out her hand. “Cindy,” she said, using her proper name. “Cindy Lyndon.”
Mike took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you Cindy,” he said. “So how did you know?”
“You know Mike,” she said. “I just said to Jim and Ben that I’m not really comfortable talking about it. You know what I mean?”
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Sure,” he said curtly. “Sure. I know. No problem.” The words were said haltingly and then he turned to leave. Before walked away he stopped and then looked back at Cindy. “Nice to meet you,” he said. Although he clearly meant to sound polite, the words came out coldly.
“Yes,” said Cindy. “Nice to meet you,” she repeated back to him. But her words were also cold.
When Campanelli had disappeared from sight Cindy turned to Ben and Jim. “I don’t like him,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Oh, Mike’s alright,” said Ben. “He’s just a little cool. That’s all.”
Cindy did not say anything at all.
***
At noon Ben came over to Jim’s cubicle and, like Kilroy, placed his fingers and face over the top of the low wall. “You ready to go to the job fair?” he asked.
Jim looked up and laughed at the portion of Ben he saw over the wall. “Guess so,” he said.
“We’ll get a nice lunch on the way, ok?”
“Ok.”
Ben an
d Jim picked up Cindy at her desk and the three of them piled into Ben’s tiny Toyota Echo. Cindy volunteered to sit in the back seat. Ben drove out of the downtown core to the Queensway and headed West to the Corel Centre where the fair was being held. It was a beautiful warm, sunny May day and Ben had his driver side window open as he drove along the highway at 125kph. With his arm sitting on the door and protruding out of the window, Ben could feel the sun tanning his skin. Jim and Cindy were both squinting from the bright sunshine, having spent the morning inside the federal building. As the wind rushed through the car, providing a warm breeze and tussling everyone’s hair, Ben found he was passing everyone else on the road.
“Aren’t you going a little fast?” yelled Cindy over the sound of the air rushing through the windows.
“I want to give us enough time for a nice lunch,” Ben shouted back to her.
Several minutes went by as they enjoyed the feeling of the wind blowing into their faces. Jim was thinking that it would be even better to be driving in a convertible on a day like today, when Ben started muttering under his breath. “Shit,” he finally said, looking in his rear view mirror.
“What?” asked Cindy, noticing that Ben was upset about something.
“Cop,” said Ben, slowing the car down and then slowly moving over to the right shoulder. After he had stopped the car, a policeman approached the car and asked Ben if he knew how fast he was driving.
“About 110?” asked Ben in a high squeaky voice, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“No exactly,” said the policeman, smiling. “Closer to 125,” he said.
“Oh dear,” said Ben, working hard to sound aghast.
The policeman asked for his license and registration and took five minutes to return to the car with the documents and a ticket.
“Sir,” began the policeman. “The normal fine for this offence is $175. It also carries a penalty of three demerit points,” said the policeman.
Ben swallowed hard. This was much worse than he had thought it would be. He was now worried about his insurance premiums. “Oh dear,” he said again, this time showing real concern.
“But this time, as a warning, I have given you a ticket for travelling at 115. The ticket is only $87and there are no demerit points.”
Ben was greatly relieved. “Thanks,” he said appreciatively.
“Drive safely,” said the policeman.
Once Ben had steered the car back onto the highway he travelled at exactly 100kph.
“What an asshole,” said Jim.
“Why?” asked Ben. “He gave me a lower ticket.”
“You don’t know why?” asked Jim.
“Why?”
“Because you won’t contest the ticket,” explained Jim. “The province gets $87 without any additional fuss. Chances are if the cop gave you the full ticket you would contest it.”
“I would?” asked Ben.
“Of course,” said Jim. “If you show up to court for a minor traffic ticket, the chances are that the policeman will not show up. And you don’t pay anything.”
“Really?” asked Cindy.
“Really,” said Jim. “I know people who do it all the time.”
“Ben,” interrupted Cindy. “Jim and I will split the ticket with you. After all, we are all going to the job fair.”
Jim turned around in his seat and glared at Cindy. Cindy shrugged.
“Thanks,” said Ben. “I appreciate it.”
Jim looked at his watch. “We’re late for the fair though,” he said. “Let’s just pick up something quick for lunch,” he suggested.
“Ok,” said Ben.
They decided to go to the McDonald’s on Robertson Road, pick up some burgers and eat them on the way to the job fair. Ben drove up to the drive through window and placed their order. Jim had requested no onions on his hamburger.
They paid for their order at the first window but when they pulled up to the second window to collect their lunch the clerk asked them to pull ahead and park in the lot because the special order was not ready yet. Ben was about to move ahead when Jim barked at him.
“Don’t do it!” cautioned Jim.
“Why?” asked Ben.
“I hear about this all the time,” said Jim. “If you park in the lot, they forget about you and your order takes forever. If you stay put at the window they rush it through so they don’t piss off all of their other customers.”
Ben told the clerk they would not move ahead but would wait for their order. The clerk looked behind Ben’s car and, seeing the long line of cars behind him, decided to call the manager.
“Please, sir,” asked the manager politely. “Just move into the lot and we will bring your order to you.”
“My friend says if we do that we’ll be forgotten,” said Ben.
“Besides,” said Jim from his seat on the far side of the car. “This is supposed to be a drive through.”
The manager looked behind Ben’s car and then sighed. “If you move over to the lot,” he said. “I’ll give you each a coupon for a free meal.”
“Ok,” said Ben quickly, happy for an excuse to avoid a confrontation. He moved the car ahead and then manoeuvred into a parking space in the lot.
It took another ten minutes to receive their order but, true to his word, the manager provided free coupons for their next meal. It was 1:30pm before they arrived at the job fair.
“Should we split up or stick together?” asked Ben.
“I think we should stick together,” said Cily. She then turned to Jim. “What kind of work are you looking for Jim?”
“Jim wants a job that pays big money,” volunteered Ben.
“That’s not true,” said Jim.
“Why do you say that Ben?” asked Cindy.
“Because Jim is always short of money,” said Ben. “It’s obvious.”
After the arguments about money, the three friends decided to walk through the job fair together and they stopped at any booth that seemed to offer a plausible opportunity. They stopped at Cisco, Nortel and JDS. They also stopped at many of the smaller, less known, companies that offered an “excellent working environment”.
As they moved through the fair Jim asked Ben, “What are you looking for?”
“I think I would like to get out of programming and into project management. I’m even thinking of getting an MBA at some point.”
“Really?” asked Jim.
“Really,” confirmed Ben. “Why? What are you looking for other than money?”
Jim scowled at him. “I want to work on ‘real software’. You know, instead of working on web sites I want to work on low level stuff, like operating systems and real time devices.”
“Neat,” said Ben. “I can see you working on that stuff.”
“But I can’t see you as a manager,” said Jim. “My God, aren’t there are already enough overpaid people doing useless jobs? Being a manager is a waste of your talents. I would think you would want to contribute to society instead of being a … a manager.” Jim said the last word with real disgust.
“Oh really?” asked Ben. “Just so I know what else to avoid, who else isn’t contributing to your perfect society?”
“Lots of people,” said Jim. “Think about lawyers and accountants, the two prime professions that prey off of our bogus legal and political system. These guys do a job but they do not ‘accomplish’ anything. They don’t contribute to our society. I’m not saying they are crooks, although I think a lot of them are. I’m just saying they do not contribute to the long term improvement of society. They are like leeches.”
“And what professions do contribute?” asked Ben.
“We do,” said Jim. “Programming automates mundane tasks that let human beings work on more important and interesting things. It helps everyone, including the average Joe. But pure and applied scientists like physicists, chemists, biologist and engineers all contribute to the long term improvement of society. So long as they are doing something real. You know, not living on
in some academic dream world.”
“I didn’t know you were so philosophical.”
“Oh, yes. I’m very deep,” Jim said, laughing. “.I have more respect for a janitor who does an honest day’s work than for a lawyer who simply manipulates circumstances.”
Cindy was getting tired of listening to this conversation. “Well,” said Cindy. “I want a job where I can work more as an artist than as a designer.”
Ben and Jim ignored her. “I think eventually I would like to have my own software company,” said Ben.
“That appeals to me too,” said Jim. “But I would have to be involved in the nuts and bolts of the work, and not just the management.”
“Now we have something we agree on,” said Ben.
Cindy, who had been completely ignored throughout the conversation, gave Ben a steely look. Ben tried to pretend he did not see her. Instead, he looked at his watch.
“It’s 3:30. Let’s get a snack,” said Ben.
They found a restaurant set up in the corner of the job fair. Ben and Cindy lined up for a pastry and coffee. Jim only took a coffee.
“No pastry?” asked Cindy.
“Not today,” said Jim.
“You’re not still out of money?” asked Ben, sounding almost exasperated.
“No, said Jim. I just don’t feel like a pastry.”
“Bullshit,” said Ben. “Let’s see your wallet.”
“I’m just a little short today,” said Jim.
“Here,” said Ben has he handed Jim a two dollar coin.
Jim took it. “Thanks,” he said.
“You know what occurs to me?” said Ben, changing the subject.
“What?” asked Jim.
“That we haven’t heard anything about White Cell all weekend. I mean we usually hear something almost every day but over the weekend it’s just, well, nothing.”
“I guess,” said Jim. “Maybe he’s just busy with other things,” he offered.
“Maybe,” said Ben.
“Or, maybe it’s just all the publicity from the kidnapping,” offered Cindy.
“Maybe,” said Ben. “It’s just weird. You know? I wonder if he’s been caught.”
“I doubt it,” said Jim. “He’s stayed out of trouble for a long time.”
White Cell Page 7