by Bill Etem
Chapter 8. Crack-Heads
Seraphinaria held her 3-year-old, Jay-Jay, in her lap as she looked out one of the window in the waiting room of one of the three conveniently located the CLR plasma donation clinics in Menzies. The universe Al and Martha and all the others were in was a queer universe in that they hadn’t yet developed the internal combustion engine, though steam engines were in their infancy and they had discovered penicillin, anesthetics, the beginnings of photography as well as plasma donation centers. Valmyristarsis had been clipping tons of coupons out of the Sunday papers. With these coupons the eleven adults in their party could each make $50 per week over the next four weeks – meaning they would have altogether $2200 merely from each donating plasma four times in one month, a sum which would really help out in paying their expenses. It wasn’t so difficult for the women to find low paying temp jobs here and there, but it was tough to find high paying jobs. Competition for waitress positions in the high traffic restaurants was fierce; it was dog-eat-dog, as they say. And they found out very quickly that it was a lot cheaper to stay in cheap flea-bag hotels than it was to come up with the first month’s rent, the last month’s rent, and the damage deposit, which is what it took to move into most of the apartments they had looked at. Furthermore, Seraphinaria didn’t want to send her kids to the public schools because, though they were free, she heard they were really pathetic: they were closer to zoos or maximum security prisons than they were to bone fide schools. But to get her two school-age kids into just one semester at private school cost her $3,000, and while she was certainly not flat broke after she paid their tuition, she wasn’t rich enough to sneer at the $50 she would get from donating plasma every week. This was her fourth time donating and she was glad it was the last time. She missed walking with Morgan to and from school every day. She entrusted her 10-year-old son Jackson with the job of making sure his little sister, Morgan, got home from school safely on the days that Seraphinaria donated plasma. There was so much Seraphinaria had to worry about. Was Jackson mature enough to watch Morgan? Might Morgan get lost or run over by a team of horses in the streets? Morgan had all-day kindergarten. What if she talked in her sleep during nap time? What if she named names? What if she talked about freeing Avallonian P.O.W.s? `You’ve picked a fine time to start worrying about “what ifs”’ said Seraphinaria to herself. So much weight had been pressing on her psyche for so long a time. Just the worry alone that Jackson would chase after Desiree, the daughter of a bootlegger, more or less, weighed terribly upon the brow of Seraphinaria, the noblewoman, the widow of a Count and a cavalry officer. And what was this vain aristocratic pretense of a worry about Desiree compared to all of the real worries she had to endure: watching her sons and daughter fight for their lives when the hounds were snarling round them, hearing those tigers screaming when she and Luke where in the cage so close to those tigers etc., etc. She had used all her wits and imagination while striving to accomplish a great end – the freeing of the prisoners – but who was going to free her from the tyranny of these doubts and worries which preyed upon her mind, upon her peace of mind, upon her sanity? Al and Katie and everyone else had risen against her authority and had insisted that they not kidnap any children of any guards, and insisted they not threaten to cut their throats to ensure the cooperation of their mothers. And now so many of the women under her command were meeting with each other, comparing notes, checking on each others’ progress, exchanging information of all kinds, and not just info on where to find wool and leather and canvas to make cloaks and trousers and tents etc., etc. It was her direct order that they only meet every Saturday night. The rest of the time they were to pretend they were strangers. All of her plans were being second-guessed. Her authority was inconsequential if it conflicted with the will of the majority. How was this state of affairs consistent with her position as the military commander of a company of warrior women? What did such rebellion portend for the future? Was it at all plausible to think they could free 1,000 prisoners or more and then escape with their lives?
`Mama’s worried,’ said Jay-Jay.
`It’s obvious, is it?’
`Yes.’
`What do you suggest I do,’ asked Seraphinaria.
`You should do what Al and Katie and Valmyristarsis and Heliomirabellisima and all the other women say you should do.’
`And what’s that?’
`They say,’ said little Jay-Jay, `that you should not carry something, not carry the….weight of something…the weight of the world?...Yes, that’s what they say, you should not carry weight of the world on your shoulders…..They also say that you should drink whiskey now and then.’
`They say lots of things don’t they? They say I need to build coalitions. They say I need to explore all of my options by gathering insights from disparate voices, from people with opinions far different than my own opinions. They say I must not try to force my will upon everyone, as a Caesar or an Alexander would. But I was the one who insisted that we attempt to conquer Cromwell Town. I was the one who insisted that we attempt to free the captives when Katie directed our attention to the existence of those captives. By my will alone I caused this company to take the action which will determine our destiny. They say that I am an intrepid explorer, but also a noblewoman who would make a poor colonist, and a truly wretched cultivator of the soil. I can discover Continents but I can not farm the earth or turn land into bountiful commercial and manufacturing ventures. I can cross oceans and deserts and battle ferocious lions and wild tribesmen. But I can not create the wealth required to support the teeming masses. So they say. And what good is discovering a continent if it can’t be made the home of millions or billions of people, people who were once sunk in misery and poverty but who have been transformed into happy industrious people? Mine is the vision of a Columbus not the vision of an Edison. So they say. I would not have your brother throw himself at some hussy. Rather, I want him to find a girl of breeding and quality. For this caprice of mine in wanting what is best for my son, they say I am cold and imperious, dictatorial and ruthless. Am I too old to change? I’ll soon be 30. You’re almost 4 but you’re still only 3. A woman in our society is an old bag by the time she is 40. You don’t know how the years can crush the life out of you, how they weigh upon you, how they try to suffocate you. You’ve seen a little of what the world can throw at a person. You’ve had to climb high mountains. You’ve had to run for your life from vicious dogs and enemy patrols. You’ve endured bitter cold and famine and sickness. You faced that witch, Vyryvyr, and all of her ferocious wolves and hellish dungeons. Even before we left the walls of our home you saw men burned alive, buried alive, skinned alive, tortured to death in the most fiendish ways. You know what it’s like to drink whiskey all night in a tent crammed with ten other people, who, like you, are all trying to keep from freezing to death, and you know what it feels like to spend the next morning puking your guts out and wishing you were dead. But can you endure such things for year after year after year? To rest upon your laurels is to become an ignoble slob, not a nobleman, Jay-Jay dear. But if there is no rest, are you strong enough to fight on and never stop fighting? Can you slay the next dragon, and the next, and the next that rears up before you? Can you conquer these tumultuous Hibernians and bring them under the yoke of Avallonia?
`I thought we were going to free some prisoners? What dragons are you talking about?’
`There are always dragons to slay. You know. There are always more obstacles.’
`Let’s take them one at a time,’ said Jay-Jay, with wisdom beyond his years. `First we free the hostages. Then we make money by writing the books describing how we freed the hostages. Then we make more money by going on Lecture Tours describing to people our exploits. That’s how Misevasundia and Navorrasicaa and Casilevatates and all the others explained it to me. That’s how they got it figured. So I don’t know why you have to make everything so complicated. I mean, what is all t
his talk about slaying dragons, and my bringing Hibernia under the Avallonian yoke? No one is saying we will be ignoble slobs if we rest a little while and make a little money after we accomplish our heroic venture.’
A door opened and a homeless guy with a long beard slouched past Seraphinaria and Jay-Jay. Then a nurse appeared and announced: `OK we got an open chair. Who’s next? Come on, come on! I ain’t got all day. Do ya want the cash or not?’
`Very good,’ said Seraphinaria as she took Jay-Jay from her lap and held his hand as the three of them went into another room where the plasma and the red blood cells were removed from Seraphinaria, but only the red blood cells where injected back into Seraphinaria.
`When I get big can I donate plasma too?’ asked Jay-Jay directing his question at the nurse.
`Yeah, I spose. Why the hell couldn’t ya? That’s what I’d like to know,’ said the nurse. `I’ll bet you’ll be donating plasma before you know it. It’s the easiest way to make some cash. Just don’t get drunk the day before or on the day that you do donate. I suppose it would be ok if you got drunk after you donated, but not before! Then you should be good to go.’
`Can I smoke cannabis before I donate,’ asked Jay-Jay.
`Can of what?’ asked the nurse.
`It’s a weed, sort of like tobacco, and it’s also called hemp and marijuana,’ said Jay-Jay.
`I don’t see why you can’t smoke it, but why would you want to?’
`I don’t know that I want to. But I know this guy named Al, and Al is always saying that it’s good to have a plan B. Plan A is to make money by writing books and going on a lecture tour, and Plan B is to make money by growing and selling cannabis. Al says there are no laws and no regulations against the cultivation, transportation and selling of cannabis. He’s always talking about how he has a gold mine just waiting to be mined.’
Seraphinaria was watching Jay-Jay closely to make sure he didn’t let anything slip out that absolutely had to be kept secret. But everything had been made perfectly clear to Jay-Jay what would happen if their secret about freeing the Avallonian prisoners got out. He knew what prison meant; he knew what separation from his mom and siblings meant; he knew what executions and hangings and what being broken on the wheel, what being burned alive, buried alive, flayed alive etc., etc., meant, and therefore he was careful to not divulge any important secrets. Al told him to not talk about the cannabis operation but Jay-Jay reasoned that Al would have mentioned all the terrible things that would happen to him if he told that secret, if Al truly expected him to keep it secret.
`I thought you were about to blow everything there when you told the nurse about Al’s plans for the cannabis,’ said Seraphinaria to Jay-Jay, as she held his hand while the two of them walked to a hamburger joint. They would catch a cab back to their hotel after they had some Cokes, fries and cheeseburgers.
`I don’t know what got into me. Al told me to keep it a secret. And then I didn’t keep it a secret.’
`You blew it, alright. At least you didn’t blow it in a really big way, I mean by telling that nurse what the books and lecture tours would be about. Tell yourself that next time when you promise someone you will keep their secret, then do it. Take some pride in keeping your word. I could walk into any of these shops you see round us and I could steal something and not get caught. But I take pride in not being a thief. So should everybody. And you should take pride in being able to keep a secret when someone asks you to keep a secret.’
`I wonder why I like to tell secrets,’ said Jay-Jay.
`It makes us feel important, like a big-shot, when we tell secrets.’
`I suppose so. I suppose I wanted to impress that nurse by telling her I had a friend who had a gold mine.’
`That’s right.’
`Say, you’re not still worried about me slacking off and not conquering Hibernia, and not bringing it under the yoke of Avallonia when I’m older, are you?’
`That’s a secret between us you know. Don’t go telling your friends that your mom wants you to conquer nations when you get older.’
`I just don’t think I would be very good at conquering nations. I was thinking maybe I would be better at helping Al with his cannabis operation.’
Jay-Jay and Seraphinaria found the hamburger joint and treated themselves to a cheap yet satisfying feast.
A few hours after Seraphinaria and Jay-Jay were hailing a cab to take them back to their hotel, Misevasundia and her kids were starting their 8 hour shift at Sturgis Tool and Die, which began at 3 pm. Some might find it odd that her kids were paid the wages that Misevasundia was paid, whereas in so many countries kids were always paid half as much as adults. But Hibernians prided themselves on their sense of fair play, reasoning that if a kid could do the job then he deserved the same wages as what an adult earned, and therefore under the laws of Hibernia, Jocelyn (5 years of age), Mercedes (5) and Shelby (9) all earned the same hourly wage as did their mother, Misevasundia (27). They were temps - temporary workers - who worked for Quality Staffing, and Quality sent them on their first assignment to Kramarschmidts Nursing Homes Inc.®, where all four of them worked as part of the Kramarschmidts Team, a Team which upheld and embodied the Kramarschmidts’ Key Values of the 5Ks: Kind, Konsiderate, Kwality, Kramarschmidts Karegivers. First, the Kramarschmidts’ Team Member would check in on the patients. If a patient was incontinent or not, but especially if he was incontinent, they had to roll the old man or the old woman on to his or her side, so they could get to work cleaning his butt with soap and water. First they had to wash away any filth they found on his butt. Then they wiped his butt with rubbing alcohol to try to kill most of the germs. Then they slipped a clean 3 foot by 3 foot rubber pad under his butt as they rolled him on to his other side, so that they could clean the other side of his butt, again, first, with soap and water, and then again with more rubbing alcohol. Then they had to get the old man or old woman out of bed so they could put new sheets on to the bed. Even while he was tottering on his weak spindly old legs, about ready to fall flat on his face, the rules of the Corporation said that all caregivers were required to give his butt one last cleaning. Usually though they just gave it one last inspection. If it passed inspection then that was good enough, at least in the eyes of the caregivers if not in the eyes of management. It was always sort of a pain in the ass having to listen to some stinky old geezer bitching at you because the alcohol that you splashed on his butt stung like hell. The incontinent patients always had these nasty red sores on their butts, and they bitched when the soap and water stung them, but they really screamed their heads off when you slapped rubbing alcohol on to their rashes and their open sores. No doubt the patients were telling the truth and where not just bitching to hear themselves bitch when they insisted it stung like hell when rubbing alcohol was splashed on their open sores.
After inspecting and cleaning the residents of the nursing home, after changing all sheets on all beds, and after tossing the dirty sheets into the wash tubs, Misevasundia and her kids would then prepare dinner, which was either fish or roast beef or turkey or Salisbury steak or ham, with gravy atop either baked, mashed or scalloped potatoes, and with either beets or asparagus or carrots or peas. And for desert there was always either fudge or a raspberry tort or some type of cake and ice cream or some sort of `home made’ pie with lots of whipped cream. After dinner they had a good deal more cleaning to do. The kitchen had to be scrubbed. And all of the remaining laundry from the day had to be washed, dried, folded and stored away. The patients had to be checked one last time before quitting time. `Let no filthy butt go unwashed and unsanitized,’ Mercedes would say mimicking the guy who trained her in on her first day on the job. She sounded sort of like the way JFK sounded when he said: `I too am a Berliner,’ and `Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country’ or the way Barry Goldwater sounded when he said, `Extremism in the defense of Liberty is no vice, Moderation in the defense of Freedom
is no virtue’, or whatever it was. Misevasundia and the kids knew it was only a two week assignment when Quality Staffing offered them the positions. They would simply be filling in while some people on the regular full-time staff were on vacation. But they jumped at the offer because they needed the money. The hotel they were at was costing them $500 every week. And all of the other single moms were working hard to buy the gear and the provisions the freed prisoners would need on the march back to Avallonia. After two weeks working at the nursing home the four of them made over $5,000, thanks in large part to the liberality of Hibernia’s child labor laws.
For their second assignment with Quality Staffing they were sent to a factory called Sturgis Tool and Die. At Sturgis the work was not nearly as stinky as it was at Kramarschmidts Nursing Homes Inc.®, but it was a million times more nerve-racking for Misevasundia. At Sturgis they had these huge punch presses which would stamp out iron parts. After the press slammed down you had to stick your hand into the machine to pull the newly made part out of the mold. You didn’t have to be super quick or anything to avoid getting your hand smashed, but nevertheless, if you were slow, if for instance you were day-dreaming and forgot to be somewhat quick, well, if you were still reaching for a part when the press slammed down, then you would lose your hand and all of your arm up to your elbow. Blood would be flying everywhere, and everything would be smashed as thin as a dime up to your elbow. That’s the worst thing that could happen. The second worst thing would be to reach for a part and get it out of its mold, but then fumble it. If you dropped the part when it’s still inside the press, then, though you got your arm out, the press would still slam down on the part now that it’s out of its mold, and then the press would get damaged, and you’d be fired if you damaged a million dollar machine. Misevasundia didn’t want her kids doing that job so she did it herself. What the kids had to do was much safer but also much more arduous. After the parts came out of the punch presses they were dipped in an acid bad. Jocelyn, Mercedes and Shelby had to put on thick rubber gloves and hang the parts on the racks, and then these racks were wheeled into rooms where they would be dried and then painted, and then they were wheeled into huge ovens where the paint would be heat-sealed. For 8 hours every day little Jocelyn and little Mercedes, along with the 9-year-old Shelby, had to take the parts out of the acid bath, hang the parts on the racks, and then wheel the racks into a room where the parts would dry. While one batch of parts were drying, they would wheel a different batch of parts, a batch which had just been painted, from the paint room into the ovens. Sturgis Tool and Die had everything down to a science. As long as the three girls kept up a steady pace they could get all their batches done without having to rush too much. The problem was they had to wear thick clothing to protect themselves from getting burned in the ovens, and this thick clothing was very heavy and hot, and it was exhausting work especially for the 5-year-old girls to be kept on the run all day long - though they worked the 3:00 pm to 11:30 pm shift - moving from the acid bath to the drying room, and then from the paint room to the ovens, and then back to the acid bath, to begin the whole cycle anew. All the while they were sweating from the heat of the ovens and from the weight of all the thick protective gear they had to wear as they rushed from room to room. So they had to make sure they drink lots and lots of water during their shift to avoid cramping up or fainting. You wouldn’t get paid if you had to go to the infirmary.
Misevasundia, Jocelyn, Mercedes and Shelby got two 15-minute breaks and one 30-minute lunch break every day at Sturgis. The kids always had `lunch’ with their mom, from 8 to 8:30 pm, every evening that week, but they didn’t have the same 15-minute break times as she did, as they had different jobs, and people doing different jobs often had to take their 15-minute breaks at different times. It was on Monday, their first day at Sturgis, during their first 15-minute break of their shift, that they met Randy in the break room. Randy is a huge obese 575 lb guy, about 40 years old, with long greasy blonde hair. He was eating a foot-long chili-dog in the break room when Jocelyn, Mercedes and Shelby walked in. Randy immediately piped up with, `Come over here to this table girls. I’m Randy and I’m the group leader for this shift. I need to speak with you about a few things, such as what we expect out of you while you’re working at Sturgis.’ The three little girls were scared of the huge man and his brusque tone of voice, but they sat down at his table as directed.
`You’re Krullites, ain’t ya?’
`Yes,’ said all three girls in soft tones.
`That’s all right if you’re Krullites. I ain’t going to complain about that. Lots of people in Hibernia don’t like Krullites coming to this country to take jobs away from Hibernians. But I say you Krullites just do the jobs that most Hibernians refuse to do. Now, let’s get down to business. Why aren’t you in school and where did you work before you came here?’
Shelby, being the oldest, felt it was her place to answer the questions. `We will go back to school next week, but our mom needed us to work this month because we’ve had lots of extra expenses. The bills have been piling up recently. We worked at Kramarschmidts Nursing Home for two weeks before we came here. We’re temps. We really work for Quality Staffing. So far Quality has given us just two assignments, Kramarschmidts and here at Sturgis Tool & Die.’
`So you’re crack-heads are ya? You know how the lingo works. When you clean some old guy’s ass, you’re cleaning his crack, and when you clean other people’s cracks to make money then you’re a crack-head. You don’t get to be a crack-head just by cleaning your own crack. I was cleanin’ crack when I was your age too. It’s just a job like any other job. I never worked at Kramarschmidts but I worked at places just like it, though they weren’t as corporate and fouled up with rules and red-tape made by out-of-touch managers who never cleaned crack once in their lives. I’ve been here at Sturgis for the last twenty years and I can’t complain too much. You’re lucky Quality sent you to Kramarschmidts and then over here to Sturgis because the worst place to work, in my humble opinion, is the slaughterhouses. And Quality sends lots of Krullite immigrants to work in the slaughterhouses. I used to work as this place called Thompson and Rutherford Inc. They slaughter 1500 hogs and 500 cows every day at the Thompson and Rutherford plant, maybe you know the one? It’s over on the East side. I didn’t want to stick no knife into no pig - pig never done nothin’ to me - and lots of other folks don’t care to do that sort of work either, so I don’t think that makes me a weakling or some candy-ass if I chooses not to do that kind of work. They give you a job cleaning the rooms where they kills the piggies and the cattles, and they give you a lower wage if you ain’t got the stomach for cuttin’ animals’ throats. It’s debatable, I suppose, which is the tougher job, being a crack-head or toiling in the slaughterhouses. What I really didn’t like about working at Thompson and Rutherford is that they treats us temps like dirt. The full-time employees got full medical and dental, 401K, paid Holidays, four weeks paid vacation every year. It sucks for you being a temp here at Sturgis because you don’t get the benefits that those of us who are full-timers get. But then you’re going back to school next week anyhow. I got full medical and dental. I think there’s a $3 co-pay on generic prescription drugs, a $5 co-pay on glasses and contacts, a $10 co-pay on arch supports and wheelchairs, the 401k is providing most generously to my retirement fund, and me and the wife usually goes to her sister’s place every year during my month’s paid vacation. I imagine it puts a strain upon the sister-in-law having me around eating everything in sight at her place for a month every year. Well, anyway, nice chatting with you temps. I gotta get back to the paint room to supervise some stuff,’ said Randy as he shoved the last section of his foot-long chili-dog into his face while he was getting up from the table. He couldn’t find a cup in the break room so he just bent over the sink, turned the faucet to cold, and then washed his meal down his throat by putting his mouth right on the faucet, and then drank up.
/> `He’s a group leader?’ asked Shelby of some other workers in the break room after Randy left.
`Yeah, but he’s just like you guys,’ said a woman who identified herself as an HR person.’
`He’s just like us?’ said Shelby.
`Yeah, you three all look just like him! No I mean you’re all members of our team.’
`He is the fattest dude I ever saw in my life. And what’s up with him putting his mouth right on the tap? Talk about a slob,’ said Jocelyn.
`We don’t use the word `fat’ or `fattest’ or `slob’ around here, and we especially don’t use those words when referring to co-workers, said the HR woman. `I’ll have to write you up for those remarks. I wasn’t pleased with him putting his mouth on the tap either, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to denigrate a team member by calling him a slob. I’ll need to see you in my office for at least half an hour. We’ve got a good deal of Diversity Training to run through. I’m an HR professional which means I’m also a licensed and certified Diversity Trainer. Then there are some papers you’ll have to sign. Assuming you pass Diversity Training, then, if there was to be a second violation of this sort, it will result in your immediate termination. So you are now officially PUT ON NOTICE. The rest of you people in this break-room will witness the fact that she has been officially PUT ON NOTICE. If there is a second violation then you can’t try to say that that second violation is only your first violation, because, besides the papers you will sign, I have witnesses here who will testify that they witnessed your first violation. Come with me now to me office and we’ll get started on the Diversity Training. Once that is successfully completed, and once you sign some forms, you will be permitted to return to work.’
Poor little Jocelyn was crying as the HR woman escorted the offender out of the break-room, away from her sisters and off to Diversity Training.
In their one week temp assignment at Sturgis the four of them earned $2,000, but despite being flush with cash they were still glad to see the last of Sturgis Tool and Die when their last shift came to an end. It was a Friday night, just before midnight, when all four of them stepped into a bar called Mike’s Bar which was right across the street from Sturgis Tool & Die. All four of them were still sweating from the heat of the factory and they all ordered MGDs, and they all slammed their beers in about five seconds, and then all four of them ordered a second round of beers, and then they slammed their second round of Miller Genuine Drafts. Ordinarily Misevasundia didn’t let her 5-year-olds have more than two 12-ounce beers in one evening. But she was in a liberal mood and she bent her own rules a little bit that night. While in this happy mood, while they were enjoying a round of Bud Light Limes, she let her girls know what was happening. They were just about ready to spring the prisoners. Everyone knew that tunnels were being dug to get to the dungeon beneath the prison. The idea of taking hostages was never seriously discussed as all of their experience had taught them that Hibernians never negotiate with people who take hostages. They could show up holding knives to the throats of the children of the prison guards, and those same guards would never let them passed the front gate. Taking hostages might work as a diversionary tactic but it would never free any Avallonian P.O.W.s. The diversion was simply one to buy time, to give the prisoners more to time to escape through the tunnel. Katie, Debra and Martha had stopped by Misevasundia’s hotel before their shift to drop off a bundle of clothing: a policewoman’s uniform and some black leather policewoman’s shoes. They also related a message from Seraphinaria: `Next Tuesday’s the day. 10:00 am. There will be no meeting on Saturday night. We meet Tuesday. You know where. Don’t get their early. Get their exactly at 10:00. We don’t want anyone to be seen loitering more than a minute. We’re going with the plan everyone approved four weeks ago. The kids will be dropped off at the Hotel we discussed on Saturday. Everyone besides Seraphinaria, Al, Katie and Debra will be staying at the other hotel we discussed from Saturday night onwards. On Tuesday the women, but not Debra, will all be wearing the uniforms we’ve made to look exactly like official Menzies police uniforms. Wear the uniform you are given. Don’t alter it in any way. Wear the uniform under another coat or jacket as we’ve discussed. Remove and toss away this coat or jacket, but do not remove it until 9:55 at the earliest, and remove it only when you are sure there are no people around to see you remove it. Step into a doorway to remove it. Then drop the coat. Then walk briskly. You needn’t walk straight to the prison. But walk briskly some place, and be at the main gate of the prison at 10:00, posing as a policewoman. We’ll have to improvise once we are there. We’ll have to divert attention away from the tunnel’s opening at Al’s place as best we can. Everyone knows we might have to scatter and everyone knows where to meet-up again. Every kid will know the procedure. Once we get control of the main gate then we move on to the next set of locked doors. Get your kids to Hotel X by noon on Saturday. Al and Martha will rehearse everything with them.’
When Jocelyn, Mercedes, Shelby and Misevasundia got up from their table and left Mike’s Bar they were all feelin’ pretty good. Not only were they feeling good from the beer but they were thrilled that they would see friends tomorrow who they hadn’t seen in four weeks. Pretty soon Shelby, who had a great singing voice, started to belt out Rob Zombi’s Scum of the Earth which they learned from Martha’s MP3 player. They were singing while walking, or staggering, down the nearly deserted sidewalk. And then Jocelyn and Mercedes also started singing at the top of their lungs. Their voices weren’t as professional as Shelby’s but they were still pretty good. And then even Misevasundia started singing the lyrics, though they weren’t quite the actual lyrics to the song because Martha got a few things wrong. She thought the line was: `a bullet hole in your biscuit’, your `biscuit’ being your head; whereas the actual line is `a bullet hole in your fist yeah’; and Martha thought that the lyrics `a hero that doesn’t exist yet’ were a reference to The Terminator, and to the hero who would be born to Sarah Connor, when the actual line was `a hero that doesn’t exist yeah’. Anyway, the girls were drunk and they were singing very loudly, so of course someone, naturally, would show up to tell them to shut up. Indeed it was none other than the HR woman who threatened Jocelyn with termination and made her attend Diversity Training. But then, drunk as they were, Shelby, Mercedes and Jocelyn started singing Scum of the Earth as loud as they could as they danced round the HR woman. When the HR woman put a hand on Shelby’s shoulder, Misevasundia, who was a muscular 160 lbs, flung the HR woman, who was a flabby 180 lbs, to the sidewalk. The scene sort of reminded one of Howard Cosell shouting - `Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!’ – when Foreman was in his prime and Frazier was past his. Then Misevasundia and her kids directed their kicks directly at the HR woman’s ass for awhile, making sure to leave her ass black and blue, while, in the meantime, the HR woman was howling in pain and screaming nasty obscenities as she flopped around on the concrete. Finally Misevasundia and her kids went one direction whereas the HR woman remained on the concrete till she was sure her attackers had left.