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Dear Acme: My apologies for posting a short I had posted a while ago and forgotten about. Here is a real treat (I hope) for you to chew on over the weekend. My further apologies for the fact that this is not, actually, a short.


I

Francis Girdle knew he was going places. There was big demand for creative thinkers and inspiring leaders, perhaps, in some utopian meritocracy. But, in the mediocracy of the real world, there was a much bigger demand for a dimwit who could keep his mouth shut. Francis went into the interview knowing that he had the upper hand.

Mr. Trousseau , Senior Vice President of Corporate Integrity at ValueCrack sat behind a glowing ivory desk. He glared at Francis Girdle’s resume and smacked his lips with a satisfaction that the business about to transpire would reflect well upon his managerial qualities, his knowledge of corporate objectives and his indisputably white teeth.

“So, Francis, tell me about your work for Telligenicals,” Mr. Trouseau began.

“Oh there’s not so much to tell,” Girdle yawned. “Let’s just say that when the indictments were handed down, I didn’t squeal.”

“But how could such fraud have gone unnoticed by senior management?”

“Well that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” asked Girdle. “That is what I have to offer. Others will come in with their communications skills or their industry experience, but when the shit hits the bowl, who’s gonna drop a dime and who’s gonna be a team player?”

Trousseau shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Suddenly he felt as if he had forgotten to wipe so good. Who would drop a dime when the shit hit the bowl? Was his current team really goal-oriented, as he understood the goals to be to the best of his knowledge? What could be implied about certain violations of fiduciary responsibility?

“Of course my services don’t come cheap,” added Girdle, “I add value through risk management and expect to have that value well comp’d.”

Trousseau stared him down. Girdle stared back. Trousseau blinked.

“I think we can put together an attractive package, one whose benefits will tend to your every whim,” said Trousseau. “Well, maybe ‘whim’ is a weak word -- your every hope will be managed through our exclusive benefits disbursal system, guaranteeing you longevity and good luck.”

Trousseau pushed a folder across his desk to Girdle. Girdle took it and gave it a glance over. Medical, dental, pet insurance, 401 K, stock options, stock, salary of course, bonuses, massages, baby sitting, laundry, food delivery, company car, company apartment, hair stylist, vacation vouchers, free soda, juice, spring water and coffee. Everything seemed to be in order.

“I’ll take it,” said Girdle.

II

Girdle found a pay phone in the ValueCrack lobby and called the moving company. He told them to stop by Macy’s and pick up a new custom leather sofa on the way to his new apartment and to charge everything to ValueCrack.

“What do you mean ‘custom’ leather sofa? Isn’t there some particular sofa you want?” the shipping clerk asked.

“No! It’s got to be entirely custom!” Girdle slammed down the phone and went out through security.

He drove across town to Knotty Pines, the condo complex where he was supposed to move in. When he pulled in front of the Knotty Pines Community Center, a parking attendant dressed like an old-fashioned toy soldier greeted him.

“Hello, Sir, would you like valet parking?”

“What kind of uniform is that?”

“What? Uh... I don’t know, it’s just what we’re supposed to wear.”

“Who’s supposed to wear?”

“The parking attendants. We’re supposed to wear these red jackets and these black boots.” He lifted his scuffed black boot for Girdle to see.

“So, you’re saying I don’t have you wear that shit?”

“No, Sir.”

“Even once I move in?”

“No, Sir.”

Girdle got out of the car and handed the attendant the keys.

“Okay, then.” He walked into the Community Center, careful to notice what everyone was wearing. Nope, no red uniforms except for on the hired help. Not bad.

III

The Community Center at Knotty Pines was more than would ordinarily be expected from such a community center. First of all, it had a large medical X-Ray machine in the center. The machine was cordoned off and marked with bright orange RADIATION WARNING signs. But despite all of that there was a long line for entry.

Girdle pushed his way to the front of the line.

“Hey, wadaya think you’re doing?” asked a round old man at the front of the line.

“I need to know what’s inside me!” Girdle shouted.

Girdle jumped into the X-Ray Machine just before it turned on. Radiation went clear through his body. Except those areas which were really dense, such as his bones, and certain...

Girdle exited the X-Ray Machine and followed the signs to pick up his transparencies.

A tall woman with big brown moles on each cheek sat behind a glass window with a little vent to talk through.

“I’m going to give you your X-Rays in three minutes. Between now and then you will spend one minute looking for your employee number. After that it will be a two minute wait,” the woman behind the glass said through the vent. Her lips were pressed right up against it all smooshed and gross. There was spit.

Francis searched through the folder Mr. Trousseau had given him. Where was it? The fucking employee number! Shit, this wasn’t cool. He’d cut line for this X-Ray and now if he couldn’t find his employee number in a few more seconds the woman with moles on her cheeks and with her lips on the glass, well, her spooky prediction might turn out to be inaccurate.

There it is!

Girdle pulled out a sheet of paper form the folder.

“13571113,” said Girdle.

“Those are the primes,” said the woman with a raise of her eyebrows, “1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13 are all prime numbers. Unfortunately that will have no impact on your two minute wait.”

Girdle took a seat.


IV

The magazine selection was an insult. Lunch Magazine? Celebrity Foreskin?

What kind of shit was the world, anyway? How could there be so many magazines? It was bullshit and Girdle knew it, but obviously most people didn’t. What idiots! They just walked around with their stupid lives and their 2.3 kids and subscribe to this shit. No wonder the country was so fucked up. What was wrong with people? They never thought about stuff as much as he did. They never considered how stupid everything was. Retards. They got what they deserved.

“Here you are.” The woman behind the glass slid him a manila envelope.

Girdle grabbed it and ran over to the light boxes mounted on the wall. He clipped his X-Rays up and took a look.

Normal, normal, it all seemed normal. Not that he was trained to look at X-Rays but he had this feeling that something would jump out at him. But what was that flat thing, that shape that seemed a little too flat on his right side? Maybe he should get a doctor or somebody official to look at it. But that would be expensive. But wait, now he had medical coverage. Of course, this would all be fine. He put the X-Rays back in the envelope and went to the front desk.


V


Dr. Schematica put on his glasses and examined the X-Rays. Girdle was playing with one of those paddles with the ball on the elastic. He was exceptionally talented, or so he assumed.

“Please stop that. It’s distracting,” said the doctor as he pushed his glasses up on his nose with his index finger. “I don’t like the look of this here, this flat thing here. Do you see this?”

Dr. Schematica pointed at the flat thing that Girdle had noticed earlier.

“Fuck, yes! That’s why I came to you. That little piece of shit looks far too flat. What is it? Is it gonna kill me?”

“I’m afraid so. But lucky for you, it probably won’t kill you for a long time. We have no treatment, unfortunately. Because it’s so flat, you see, surgery is impossible. Just try to forget that it is growing inside you, getting flatter and poisoning your blood.”

“Try to forget? You son of a bitch! Is that all my new health insurance covers, best wishes?”

Girdle was prepared to strangle the doctor with his paddleball elastic, if needed. But the doctor gave such a good-natured laugh, that murder seemed like overkill.

“Well, the good news is it’s a low co-pay!” The doctor laughed. Girdle couldn’t help but laugh as well.

Shit! The doctor wasn’t so bad. Girdle wondered what he did on the weekends. Maybe sometime he wanted to hang out.

Date Written: January 20, 2005
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 3.7