by Kim Cayer
“We’ll use that she got goosed but in the wrong place…” Bill started.
“And she was wearing a tampon and it lodged in her for 15 years!” Mary continued the storyline.
Yeah, I was back at work alright. I leaned forward and smelled the roses.
* * *
My life became meaningless. I turned into a couch potato and ate mounds of carcinogenic food and gained 10 more pounds. I was pretty depressed. And to top it off, I still couldn’t get rid of THAT FUCKING HEADACHE. I was popping Extra-Strength Tylenols every half-hour. Sometimes it would subside to a dull roar but at times, like when work let out, it was a fire-breathing monster in my skull.
One day at work I asked my writers to let me off early because of my skull-splitter. They looked a touch worried. “Alice, Beluga has to find a way to get out of that cave,” Bill reminded me.
“Is it that bad?” Mary asked.
“It’s the worst it’s been in three weeks,” I groaned.
“You’ve had a headache that long?” Mary asked. I could only nod. “You should go see a doctor,” Mary suggested.
“Hoooo no!” I replied. “I know what your doctors charge for their services.” By ‘your’ I meant ‘American’, and they knew it.
“But you’re covered,” Mary said. “That’s one of the benefits of this job.”
I didn’t know that. “Great,” I said. “I’ll make an appointment somewhere.”
“Oh, Lilli can do that,” Mary said.
“She can?” I didn’t know that either.
“Sure,” Mary replied. “Sebrings uses a whole slew of doctors. Why don’t you have Lilli make an appointment for tomorrow on your lunch break?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“That’s settled then,” Bill said. “Alice, talk to us about problem BO.”
Sure enough, Lilli booked an appointment for me to see Dr. Hilaire. I guess they thought I was someone important because I only had to wait 20 minutes to see him. I talked to Dr. Hilaire and told him I had this major ongoing headache. He asked me a few questions and then started filling out a prescription form.
“I’m giving you a prescription for Tylenol 2s,” Dr. Hilaire said. “They have codeine in them and are much, much stronger than over-the-counter Tylenols. Take one whenever you feel a headache coming on.” He handed me the form.
“They never COME ON,” I said. “They CAME and haven’t LEFT. Shouldn’t I be given a brain scan or something?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the good doctor said. “You are under considerable stress, very lonely, overweight and suffer from low self-esteem.” He may as well have added I was no catch. “It’s not a wonder you have these headaches.”
“Head ache,” I corrected him. I stood up. “Thank you.”
I left a little miffed at this so-called doctor. I didn’t care for his diagnosis and decided to seek a second opinion. I headed for the nearest pharmacy to get those Tylenol 2s. I may not have agreed with the doctor’s view of me, but I was desperate for any type of cure.
Lilli made me a second appointment and I went the following day. Sure enough, Doctor Hilaire did give me the wrong prescription. Dr. Fong prescribed Tylenol 3s.
“Dr. Fong,” I said, “I don’t think Tylenols are going to help…”
“Ohhh, yes!” Dr. Fong interrupted. “Tyrenol 3s very strong.”
“But I took a Tylenol 2 this morning….”
“Tyrenol 3 much stronger!” Dr. Fong cheered for his drug of choice.
“Okayyyy…I’ll try them. Jeez, am I not covered for brain scans or what?” I started to walk out in a bit of a huff again.
“Wait, I give you another prescription!” Dr. Fong called me back. What?! Did he change his diagnosis just like that? He started scribbling then handed me a second prescription form.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Diet pills.”
* * *
My life became even more meaningless. I spent my time away from work in a spacey void. During work, if I felt the slightest twinge of a headache, I’d pop a Tylenol 2. A 3 made me too incoherent. But as soon as quitting time rolled around, I’d go for a Tylenol 3. Matter of fact, I didn’t even know if I had a headache anymore. But I did know that if I didn’t have one, an afternoon with my writers would surely bring one on. They were being simply ruthless since I returned from my exile.
The only way I knew that this spacey void had any energy was from this buzz I always seemed to have. My skin was creepy-crawly and I wanted to DO SOMETHING, but didn’t know what. Usually what I DID was sit in front of my TV, pine for a friend, and not eat. Those diet pills were Diet Pill 3s, I do believe.
One night I was sitting at home feeling sorry for myself. For something to do, I took a speedball – my own version. A diet pill and a Tylenol 3. Actually I took two Tylenols to one diet pill. Lately the Tylenols didn’t seem to be having the same effect. I was feeling extra itchy. I knew I should just stop taking Tylenols to see if I still had a headache, but I grew to like the sheltered feeling I got from them. And I wasn’t about to give up those diet pills. I’d lost ten pounds in two weeks, although I suspected they were responsible for giving me this racing feeling.
I was mulling over the fact that I was rich and not spending any money. I was banking piles of cash, as I’m sure my mother was too. I had no friends to spend it on and I didn’t want any. Friends! Pshaw! More trouble than they were worth. God! It felt like my bones wanted to jump right out of my skin! I decided to unglue myself from the couch and go for a walk.
The first thing to pop into my mind was Pile o’ Pies. My stomach lurched a negative; pies or donuts for that matter didn’t appeal to me. I decided to go buy myself an outfit to fit my new svelte l83-pound figure.
Piles o’ Pies was on the way to Bloomingdales. Wasn’t it? I walked past the building again and looked in the window of the cafe. I saw a bunch of safes – some were so big, you probably would hide masterpiece paintings in them. I glanced up at the sign and it said ‘Safes to Go’. I may have felt a pang of nostalgia had I seen the quaint cloth-covered tables with fake antique chairs, but they were gone. All I felt was a strange mind quirk, as if it were all a dream.
Little Shop of Donuts was still there. I went out of my way just to make sure. I thought I’d sit and have a coffee and check out the waitress who was replacing Muriel. I saw a couple old cronies who I knew always hung out there. We’d never spoken and I wasn’t about to start. I sat at the counter.
“Whaddaya want?” the waitress asked me. She was barely an adult, maybe 19. Her Farrah Fawcett hair almost obliterated the perfect features on her blemish-free face. Her polyester uniform showed the clearly defined curves of her athletic figure. Innocence shone from her. She had no business working in this coffee shop.
“A coffee,” I said.
She placed it in front of me, with none of the style Muriel displayed. “Buck sixty,” my waitress said. I paid her and she went to stand at the other end of the counter.
I tried to drink my coffee but I felt like everyone was staring at me. “That girl is ALONE,” I imagined one said. “She USED to talk when she came in here,” I bet one regular said to the other. I couldn’t take it; I imagined the new waitress to be watching me and I didn’t want her to catch me looking back. I stared into my cup and felt my nerves tingle.
My body, of its own volition, decided it was time to get out of that place. I didn’t have a nostalgic feeling at all; I don’t think I even liked the place anymore.
I was glad to get away from their prying eyes and out in the open. I noticed Mascots across the street. Go three for three, Alice? Nahhhh, I never liked that place to begin with.
I decided to continue with my original mission – to spend some money. I hitched up my pants and went off to Bloomingdales to buy a belt.
* * *
“How old were you when you got your first kiss?”
“Did you ever have any uncles or brothers who molested you?”
&n
bsp; “Excuse me a moment,” I said, “I have to think about these questions.” I got up to go to the washroom, where I hid my bottle of Tylenols. I popped a few more 2s and looked thirstily forward to quitting time when I could start in on the 3s. My mind was constantly numb these days; in a vacuum. I don’t think my writers knew what was going on though, as the diet pills gave my body a lot of action. I continually found myself drumming my fingers or swinging a leg back and forth. 10 more pounds fell off me.
I knew I was hooked on those drugs. I’m not dumb. Yes, they definitely were a crutch. But what did I see written on a washroom wall? “If drugs are a crutch, then life’s a broken leg.” But really, my normal life did resemble a broken leg and what with these miracle drugs I was taking, I’d lost 20 pounds already and was able to deal with my writers. Life was still pretty shitty but it just didn’t seem to hurt as much anymore.
I still had a couple days to make up mind on the Largemar offer. If I wasn’t so brain-dead, I knew the extra money and benefits appealed to me. Another part of me said that it would just be more of the same routine. Question and Wound Period. Anyhow, I was too lethargic to make a decision.
It was another hour until lunch. My stomach craved a burger and fries but the diet pills in my system shot my brain a signal that said, “No! The stomach is not hungry!” Besides, I’d already forced a bran muffin down my throat that morning. I didn’t care for the diet pills but I wasn’t going off them. Sure, they made me irritable, short-tempered, nasty and constipated, but I definitely noticed cheekbones coming out on my pudgy face.
I went into my office to grab a stick of gum. Chewing gum was another action-filled trick I used to fool my writers. Besides, a stick of gum quelled my hunger. The first thing I noticed was that my beloved roses were gone.
I didn’t bother using the intercom; I rushed into the reception area and screamed at my secretary, “Lilli! What happened to my roses?”
“Alice, they were brown and crispy already!” she said. “I told the cleaning guy he could take them away.”
Fuck you, Lilli, who gives the orders around here? I loved those roses! They were the only things that gave me a sense of peace.
I stalked to my writers’ room, letting Lilli know I wasn’t pleased. Fine. I had my roses in the writers’ room and I used those a lot more than the ones in my office.
They were gone. I yelled at the room in general. “Where are my roses??”
“They were crumbling all over the table,” Bill said. “I told Zeke he could get rid of them. Now, about those uncles…?”
If looks could kill, they’d have made me one happy mass murderess.
* * *
The phone woke me up at 8 a.m. I used to get up earlier on workdays but lately I didn’t bother much with my appearance before I left the apartment. My mother was calling. It was two hours earlier in Oak Paw; what was she doing up this early? Then I remembered that she always got up early to get my sister Louise’s kids to school. Louise needed her beauty sleep, Ma explained.
“Alice, are you coming home for Christmas?” my mother immediately asked.
Oohh, how sweet of her to wonder! Mother-daughter feelings swept over me and I wanted to tell her of the fright I’d had. The night before, I think I had a little overdose. I recall taking three Tylonel 3s and then I remember nothing else. I don’t know what happened; if I slept or sat there with my eyes open. All I know is I looked at my watch and four hours had passed me by.
“Yes, I’ll be there on the 24th,” I said. I was staying until the 26th. That was long enough to spend in Oak Paw with my mother. “Mom, I have to tell you…”
“Good,” Mother said. “I want a special Christmas present from you.” Yes, I guess I should get started with my Christmas shopping. St. Nick’s was only eleven days away. I thought my mother would like a nice track suit. “Carol Sigurdson got one for Christmas and she saw it already and showed it to me and I want you to buy me one now, only a little nicer.”
“Buy you what?” I asked.
“I want a fur coat. A mink would be just right.”
Wow, I thought I’d be splurging if I bought her a new TV set. “Those cost about 10 grand, Mom,” I said. I don’t think she realized they were that much.
“I know,” Mom said. “But you’re making a lot of money. Your sister doesn’t make that much and she’s buying me a coffee maker.” Yeah, but Mom, she’s always over at your house drinking your coffee.
“I’ll look into it, Mom,” I said.
“Alice, I WANT a fur coat!” she whined. “You have a very good job…”
“It’s not a good job!” I yelled. “It’s a shitty job. I hate it!”
“I’ll see you Christmas Eve, Alice,” Mom said. “I hope to see you carrying a nice, big, furry present for me. Good-bye, dear,” she said, a final suck-up effect because she’s never called me that before, and hung up.
I went straight for my pills. Fuck the bran muffin.
* * *
“We just got word from Mr. Rigby,” Bill said as I grouchily entered the writers’ room. I’d just finished screaming at Lilli. She made me stand in front of her desk until she’d finished the phone conversation with her boyfriend. After she hung up, I yelled at her that if someone didn’t show a little more respect, then someone would be losing their job. I don’t think she knew who I meant. Why couldn’t I just fire her? After roughing her up a bit first, of course.
“What’d Rigby want?” I asked. Usually I deferred to him by calling him Mr. Rigby, out of respect, but today I just wasn’t feeling very respectful to anybody.
“The new Beluga is not working out,” Bill said. “The ratings have gone down and they figure it’s because of her. They’re recasting today and we have to come up with some scenes that’ll grab the viewers.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Alright then. I think the new Beluga should be fatter,” Bill said.
“Oh, definitely,” Mary agreed. “Alice, I know you’re on diet pills. What finally told you that you were too fat?”
“Whaddaya say to Beluga having no fashion sense whatsoever?” Bill suggested.
“Perfect!” Mary agreed. “Alice, where do you shop?”
Frank, the underlingest of them all and usually just a coffee-getter, even had an idea. “Alice, you haven’t talked about your friends at all these days. Why are they avoiding you?”
“Shall we give Beluga a boyfriend?” another minor writer wondered.
“Let’s make her a lesbian,” Bill thought.
“No, let’s keep it closer to Alice’s life,” Mary decreed. “Let’s give Beluga that guy Alice goes out with!”
“Oh, that greaser punk…the stripper,” Bill recalled.
I had been watching this conversation like a ping pong game. I was simply agog. How could they sit there and discuss me as if I were vermin? I finally shouted at them, “He wasn’t a stripper! Besides, I dropped him! Got that? I did the dropping. And the reason I have no friends is because they all went to jail; I didn’t chase them away. Furthermore, you ungracious slobs, I buy my clothes at Bloomingdales and pay top dollar, so I do have some fashion sense!” I looked down at what I was wearing – an orange blouse with a big coffee stain, old shapeless white pants, and my winter galoshes. “And I’m really sick to death of hearing how fat I am! I’ve lost 20 pounds already.”
“You’re still on the heavy side,” Mary had to point out.
“Listen, you guys, I’m tired of sitting here and letting you walk all over me,” I warned them.
“You HAVE to,” Bill said. “That’s why they pay you so much; it’s your job.”
“There’s a LIMIT, for chrissake!” I yelled. “If things don’t improve around here concerning me, a few people are going to lose their jobs. OK? Do I make myself clear?” There. I laid my threat on the table.
“You can’t fire us, Alice,” Bill smugly said. “You don’t have the authority. Only Rigby can fire us. Now shut up and let’s get to work.”
Shut up?
SHUT UP? How dare he!? And now I found out I couldn’t fire anyone, not even Lilli? I was apoplectic.
“I have a great idea for the new Beluga’s initial appearance!” Mary said. “Listen…she enters a beauty contest of all things…and comes in last place!”
“We’ll show her in the swimsuit competition!” Bill said.
“And of course the question period, so she can come up with the usual dumb answer,” Mary continued.
I had it. I had enough. I erupted.
“That does it!! Fuck off, you guys! I can’t stand this bogus work anymore. You’re nothing but glossed-over gossip rag reporters!” I felt something for the first time in days; a rush of adrenaline. It seemed a trifle much though. I was in advanced hyperactive mode.
The writers stopped to look at me, then Bill encouraged me. “Come on, Alice, get it off your chest.” They all sat down expectantly, notepads at the ready.
“There’s nothing left to get off my chest!” I said. “I’ve sold you every memory I own!”
“We want to know what you’re feeling right now,” Mary said, casting Bill a hopeful look.
“You want to know what I’m feeling? I feel like I hate every one of you and I hate Sebrings and Rigby and Beluga!”
“Yes! Beluga can have those feelings!” Bill said to Mary. “What brought all this on, Alice?”
“You guys did! I can’t stand working here anymore; it’s the worst job I’ve ever had and I won’t take it anymore. I’m getting out of here,” I said, making a decision.
“Beluga can become a hermit,” Mary suggested. “What else, Alice? Do you feel like killing yourself?” What it felt like was that I was having a nervous breakdown and damn if they weren’t galvanizing me. Damn if it wasn’t a long time in coming.
I ran into my office and opened my desk drawer. My contract with Sebrings was right on top. I grabbed it and ran back into the writers’ room. “See this?” I said. “It’s my contract for this godawful job. Look!” I proceeded to tear it into tiny bits. “I’m quitting. I don’t care what happens. Sue me, but you fuckheads won’t have Alice Kumplunkem to push around anymore.” I scooped up the tiny bits of paper and threw it into their stunned faces.