The Tragic Death
of Corporate Man
a hero for capitalism;
champion of the working class
by Tom Landaluce
Section 8:
Office of the
Pyramid.
8.a.
“What the hell
is this?” said Franklin Buck gesturing to a pool of water where the elevator
should have been. Nothing about the
elevator shaft seemed quite right now that he looked at it closely. It was too well lit and gleaming white. Small circular lights squatted against the
sidewalls and dashed an intermittent line all the way up the shaft and down below
the water’s surface. The water was a
questionable glowing blue and smelled like lemons with only the faintest trace
of chlorine.
“Looks like
water,” said Business Woman.
“I can see
that,” said Franklin Buck.
“There’s a
cabinet full of inflatable inner tubes out here in the hall,” said Senior
Executive as he joined them in the peculiar shaft.
“So…
what? We’re supposed to relax? Take a cigarette break? Go for a dip?” Franklin Buck said, his hand
gestures becoming a little more pronounced.
“Don’t know
about you, but I could use a soak,” said Business Woman.
“Are you
serious?”
She said
nothing and walked out into the hall to fetch an inner tube. When she returned she pressed a button on the
side of the device, and it self inflated.
She tossed it into the water, jumped in, and then pulled herself up onto
it and floated. A large grin spread
across her face and a dark red stain spread across the water.
“This is
crazy,” said Franklin Buck.
“Ah. See now that there is what I missed you
Franklin. You were the voice of… well
not reason, but whatever. I don’t care
why this pool is here, but here it is and I got blood, and who knows what else,
all over me and I’d just as soon have it washed off since a good deal of it
belonged to a colleague of mine.”
Franklin Buck
bit his lip and looked down. Then he
walked out of the elevator room, retrieved an inner tube from the conveniently
placed cabinet, and joined Business Woman in the pool.
Corporate Man,
Senior Executive, and a wobbly Commander Credit did the same.
They floated
in the blood darkened pool, each pretending not to notice the fabric scraps and
fleshy bits that sank slowly and disappeared into the depths. A gentle tone sounded and a pleasant robotic
voice said, “Contaminants detected.
Please pardon the audio inconvenience as the water is refreshed.”
A low whir,
apparently the extent of the audio inconvenience, preceded a slight agitation
in the pool. After a minute or so the
water was a sparkling blue once more.
“So,
Franklin,” said Business Woman. “Where the
hell did you go anyway?”
Franklin Buck
rolled his eyes and said, “Down.”
“Down? Would you care to elaborate?”
“Maybe this is
an elevator after all. Push it,” said Corporate
Man.
Franklin Buck
pressed the button. There was a hissing thunk as the elevator doors closed and
a stampede of bubbles floated up from the depths. Then the water level began to rise.
8.b.
It’s been long
suspected by the poor that the super rich live for extravagance. This is mostly true. And in the cases where it proves false, those
in the super rich majority believe that this financially humble minority suffer
from an acute mental disorder of one variety or another.
In the case of
the elevator connecting the thirty-ninth floor of the Jacob
Center Tower
to the fifty-second floor the theory upheld by the poor proves true. Instead of a common elevator, or even a
decadent lift, executives ride on float tubes made of walrus hide. Why walrus?
The mere whim of whichever big wig initially decided on float
tubes. And the float tubes? Also flights of fancy. A high powered CEO had lunch with a childhood
friend, remembered times spent floating around on a lake, then proposed a
pool-elevator design based on his noontime nostalgia.
The water in
the pool is imported glacial run off, heated by a geothermal spring, filtered
and piped across two states into this single chamber.
8.c.
“No you
wouldn’t believe the things that exist in the bowels of this building,”
Franklin Buck said as they slowly drifted up the elevator shaft on glacial blue
water. “There’s a weightless room, big
as football field, teaming with schools of Middle Men. I only survived cause this weird Siamese twin
named Profit/Loss was in a positive mood and–”
“Was this after
you escaped the boudoir of the provocative Pink Slip?” asked Commander
Credit. A wry smile curling on his
swollen lips.
“Hey, shut up
about her. She had some sort of… power.”
“I’ll bet she
did?” said Senior Executive.
“That’s called
business acumen,” said Corporate Man.
“Quit! Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She fired me.
After that I found myself in a colony of mindless children. They’re forced to watch television ads all
day long. Poor things walk around with
this glazed look in their eyes and their mouths hanging open. The whole place is run by Baron Advertisement
and The Duke of Marketing. Well, these
bastards sent a whole legion of these kids after me, controlling them like
drones using simple visual cues and jingling tones. They had me surrounded.”
“How’d you get
out of that one?” Senior Executive asked.
“I just started
punching them. They’re kids, you know,
and kids hate getting punched.”
Business Woman
shook her head and glared.
“What? What would you’ve done?” said Franklin Buck.
“Well, for
starters, I wouldn’t–”
A hissing noise, followed by a metallic clunk,
silenced the conversation.
They remained
adrift on their float tubes. Each
scanning the walls for a set of doors, but finding none. Then a seam opened in the ceiling and bright
beam of light cut across the water. Two
panels slid open above them, whisper quiet.
“This could get
nasty,” Corporate Man hissed. “Be
ready.”
They continued
to float up to the edge of the shaft.
The bright light stung their eyes and prevented them from seeing much of
anything. A soft clicking, faint at
first, grew steadily as they rose. Then,
through the haze of the blinding light, a black form emerged. A man.
He had pale skin and dark rings under his eyes. His hair was jet black, cropped short, and
had a round shape.
As he
approached they saw more of him. He
dressed entirely in black. His attire
looked like that of a military officer by way of goth obsessed designers. The stripes, insignias, and pinned on
pendants were all black as well.
The man yawned
and then polished his trim, black fingernails against his chest. He continued to stand there as they floated
up toward him. Finally he said, in a
low, disinterested voice, “That’s the problem with this pool elevator. It saps all the drama out of an otherwise
intimidating entrance.”
Corporate Man
shifted on his inner tube. There was no
effective defensive position, bobbing in a small pool as they were.
“Please,” said
the man in black. “Just wait for the
water to rise. It’ll be much easier and
less awkward in the end.”
“Wait. I know you,” said Senior Executive.
“Indeed,” said
the man in black. “And I welcome you
back into the fold. Junior.”
“Apathy!”
Corporate Man shouted and leapt from his inner tube.
8.d.
A word on the
fifty-second floor. It is massive. Nearly as tall as thirteen stories its single
room comprises the entire width of the Jacob
Center Tower
building. In one corner is a small pool
which acts as an elevator. In the
opposite corner is another set of paneled doors which open into the floor.
That set of
doors is only opened on very special occasions.
In the center
of the fifty-second floor there is a tiered pyramid. Each tier houses desks or conference tables
and is populated by a variety of high level executives; the upper echelon of
their fields. In order to ascend from
one tier to the next, one must walk a circuit around the entire level’s
perimeter to the next set of ascending stairs.
Getting to the top can be a tedious process.
The top of this
pyramid is a flat area with a pyramid-shaped pit in the center. The reason for this pit hangs at the apex of
the fifty-second floor. Suspended at the
very pinnacle of the Jacob Center
Tower is a diamond shaped
structure; two four-sided pyramids arranged base to base.
This diamond
shape is usually obsidian black, but it’s constructed of a material that will
shift to crystalline clear at the touch of a blinking red button somewhere
inside.
But it’s almost
always black.
8.e.
The inner tube
beneath Corporate Man shifted and his feet failed to find adequate purchase for
the attacking leap he had intended.
Instead, his arms flaied and his torso twisted in a manner that was far
from heroic. His attempt to engage his
necktie came a moment too late and he sputtered against the wall, pathetic,
clumsy, and eventually submerged.
“I told you,”
said the man in black. “I said, ‘Just
wait and it would be a less awkward exit.’
For those of you still on your tubes I would urge you to look to
Corporate Man as an example of the forewarned awkwardness.”
Corporate Man
climbed back onto his inner tube and they waited for the water to finish
filling the elevator shaft.
After forty
seconds, or so, Franklin Buck asked, “Apathy?
As in Captain Apathy? My father
mentioned him.”
“Yes. But as some of you may recall. I was promoted. I’m a General,” said General Apathy. “How is your father these days, Franklin?”
Franklin Buck’s
face darkened and his jaw flexed. “You
know exactly what happened to my father,” he said.
General Apathy
shrugged. “Quite true. More than you’d want to know I’d wager. But you exacted your revenge. Hopefully that takes some of the sting out of
it.”
“What do you
mean? What revenge?”
“Your
performance on the thirteenth floor. The
way you man-handled Professor Inflation.
Quite poetic. Fit for a Hollywood
movie,” said General Apathy. When
Franklin Buck looked away without responding, General Apathy continued, “You
mean you didn’t know? That’s rich. And here I get to be the bearer of such
wonderful news. Consider your father
avenged, One Hundred Dollar Man. ”
The water level
finally reached a point where the Union could climb out
of the pool without much effort.
“And I see
you’ve reclaimed his gold standard,” General Apathy said as Franklin Buck
pulled himself from the water. “It would
seem as though all wrongs done you have been righted. As for the rest of you, would you like to
continue on in wet clothes or would you prefer a quick dry off? We can even have new suits here within the
quarter hour.”
The Union
stood staring at General Apathy, filtered, geothermally-heated glacier water
dripping from their torn suits.
“So…” said Corporate
Man.
“Are we gonna do this?”
General
Apathy’s face took on a confused but bemused expression.
“Do what?” he
said. “Choose from the options I
mentioned?”
“No.”
“Then please
explain.”
“Well, fight, I
guess,” said Corporate Man. “You know… Attack each other. Battle
to the death. That stuff.”
“Why?” asked
General Apathy.
“Why what?”
Corporate Man said.
“Why battle to
the death?” said General Apathy.
“Well, isn’t that…
I mean, I…” Corporate Man said. “It’s
kind of how this whole place has worked so far.”
“Nonsense,”
General Apathy said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Who have you killed? Who’s dead?”
“How about Fair
Wage? Supply and Demand?” said Business
Woman.
“Unfortunate
things occur during conflict, but the point of each exercise was not death,”
said General Apathy.
Corporate Man
cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Are you saying that, after
everything we’ve been through, all we’ve overcome, we’re not going to fight?”
“Precisely,”
said General Apathy. “This floor is the
executive suite for the entire company.
You’ve made it to the top. And
here at International Business Corporation Incorporated we don’t fight. We aren’t savages.”
“Then what do
we do?” asked Business Woman.
“We have a
meeting, of course.”
“That’s
it? We have meeting?” said Corporate
Man.
“I believe my
prior statement should have confirmed that,” said General Apathy.
“After all you
put us through?” said Senior Executive.
“Oh, I’m sorry,
but I don’t recall inviting you up to the office. You came of your own accord and if you
encountered difficulties during your trespass I do apologize.”
“So there’s no
else waiting to attack us? Mr.
Unemployment isn’t going to crawl out from a floor panel when we least expect
it?” said Corporate Man.
“I should think
not,” said General Apathy. “I wish I
could accommodate your request but, like I said, we don’t operate in that
manner on the top floor. And besides,
Mr. Unemployment is a little busy right now don’t you think? I doubt we could get him here if we wanted
to.”
8.f.
The Union
decided to accept the offer of new clothes.
General Apathy spoke a command toward the decorations on his uniform and
a few moments later a small staff appeared with a rack of clothes and privacy
screens. The suits on the rack were
crisp clean replicas of the overworked clothing each member of the Union
currently employed.
When the rack
was wheeled away, three suits, two of purple and mauve, one of brown, still
hung from it, swaying slow and melancholy.
They stood,
facing the General. An awkward silence
hovering about them.
“Shall we?”
said General Apathy after a painfully long time.
“What? Go to the meeting?” said Corporate
Man.
“Exactly. I’m sure the Big Bossman is eager to get
things started.”
“Who’s this Big
Bossman?” asked Business Woman.
General Apathy
gestured toward the black diamond shape at the apex of the building and said,
“Why the head of the company, of course.
The man in charge of it all. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
The General
turned abruptly and strolled toward the center of the fifty-second floor and
the odd tiered pyramid that stood there.
The Union followed, though with noticeable
reluctance. When they were halfway
across the floor, the General tossed a look over his shoulder.
“Junior. You’ve been quiet this whole time,” he said.
“It’s Senior
Executive now. And eat shit.”
“Hmm. What a remarkable financial recovery. Congratulations. As to you latter comment, I think I will
politely decline,” said General Apathy.
A moment later her cast another look back and added, “Do you think I
could still call you Junior, just for old time’s sake?”
The resulting
glare from Senior Executive bought a wry grin from the General. They continued the trek across the floor in
silence and when they reached the base of the pyramid structure they halted at
the bottom of a set of stairs.
The pyramid
stood four stories high.
“Those steps
will take us up to the first level,” said General Apathy. “A mix of top level financial advisors and
corporate strategists are seated there.
Please do not interrupt their work or encourage them in any way. It will only delay us.”
He turned,
without much conviction, and walked up the steps.
Corporate Man
and the rest of the Union began to follow.
“Oh, I’m
sorry,” said General Apathy, turning back.
“Commander Credit. You’re
dismissed. Have some diagnostics–”
“Wait a
second. What are you–” Senior Executive
started.
General Apathy
held up his hand and silenced him. “Did
you think the Commander was your ally?”
“He doesn’t
work for you,” Senior Executive shouted.
“Not
exclusively, no,” General Apathy said.
“Technically he’s a freelance agent, but who do you think pays the
majority of his salary? Which agency was
responsible for all of his repairs and upgrades?”
Senior
Executive shot a look at Commander Credit.
The Commander shrugged. Senior
Executive reddened and started to shake.
“Why was he
helping us then?” asked Corporate Man. “The Crash is your operative. He’d never–”
“What? Work for those who employ The Crash?” General Apathy asked. “Think of it as a squabble between employees. Something that’s been escalating for a decade
or two.”
“I took the job
to get another crack at the bastard who took my arm.”
“Yeah. You did a bang up job getting your revenge,”
said Franklin Buck.
“Beaten into
unconsciousness. That’s quite the
comeback,” Business Woman said.
“Doesn’t
matter,” said Commander Credit. “My
contract with Senior Executive ended on the twenty-sixth floor. Check the paperwork. I stuck with you because I knew what lay in
wait on floor thirty-nine. Now… Now I’m done.”
Commander
Credit walked off, strolling leisurely across the open floor. A team of tech boys appeared with diagnostic
machines on wheeled carts and began attending him.
“Ah… Such a
tricky, dangerous thing to manage that Commander Credit,” said General
Apathy. “Oh well. Shall we?”
He turned and
strode up the stairs.
8.g.
The first level
of the pyramid structure was wide and flat.
A stubby guard rail ran along its edges, the chief function of which was
to keep the furniture, various desks and tables, from toppling over the
side. The floor was highly polished wood
and a carpet runner divided the space unequally leaving twice the width toward the
center as the area nearer the edge.
General Apathy
led them down the carpeted path. He
gestured half heartedly at the executives who sat comfortably behind their
desks or gathered around tables, and said, “The aforementioned financial
advisors and corporate strategists.
Please do not pet or feed the animals.”
As they walked
along the path, snatches of conversations drifted in the Union ’s
direction. Corporate Man paused.
“Look,” a man
at a desk said into a chrome plated phone, “it’s a surefire way to increase
sales. Yeah. Change your label. Go with something simple. Lose the serifs on your font and do away with
anything ornate. Customers are having a
rough go out there and an expensive looking label with just make them think
you’re flaunting your wealth in their face.
No it’s true. Focus groups have
proven it. I understand that you’ve had
the same label for decades and that it’s considered iconic, but that’s going to
work against you now. Customers will see
the new label and know that you gave someone a job. You sacrificed your iconic branding to do
this. Yes. Yes, exactly.
No, you’re the first I’m sharing this with. Exactly.
Alright.”
He hung up the
phone, consulted a list on a chrome clipboard, and crossed off an entry on the
fourth page with a chrome pen. He dialed
a number from the next line down and after a moment he said, “Dick! How’s it hanging? Yeah, I’ll bet. Listen, I’ve got a line on
something big. It’ll boost sales through
the roof. Yep. No, it’s simple. Change your label.”
“Corporate
Man,” General Apathy said. “Please. Let’s not delay too much, shall we. No need to steal industry secrets or
anything. All will be available soon.”
They continued
along the path.
More
conversations wafted past them like rancid gas.
“…thinking? I told you–
No. No! That whole ‘I can help you’ line is tired. Everyone is using it now. Same with the ‘is
there anything else I can help you with?’ closing. From here forward…”
“…the next level. It’s time to add a big screen television on
the sales floor to broadcast the game.
Everyone’s wearing paraphernalia of the local team, the TV deepens your
commitment in the customer’s eyes and they will shop longer because they’ll want
to…”
“…solely black
and white. No color unless it’s on a
tie. Clean and clinical, that’s what
we’re going for. Yes. Yes. I
understand there’s an element of fashion to your industry, but try to think of
your employees as displays upon which the fashionable eyewear is to…”
They turned the
corner and walked down the next side of the pyramid. There was more milling around in this
area. More tables, less desks. Executives grouped around each other like gossiping
teenagers.
Near the guard
rail, each indulging in fantastically small cups of Turkish coffee, were two
executives. One said, “I told him,
listen, outsourcing is good for America . We save a ton of money by sending jobs to
foreign countries. This helps build up
those country’s economies, right? Then,
down the line, when those countries have amassed a measure of wealth, they’ll
want to cut some corners, save some cash, and they’ll outsource a bunch of
crappy jobs that no one living there wants anymore. And who do you think they’ll try first? Us, I say.
So really, outsourcing is a way of creating jobs for Americans. It’s an investment in our future.”
Corporate Man
stopped again.
The callous,
shortsighted greediness. He was about to
step off the carpet and approach the two executives with his slapping hand when
he felt a light touch on his wrist.
It was General
Apathy.
“And what good
would that do? What would you
accomplish?” the General asked.
Corporate Man
opened his mouth, ready to fire off a string of benefits that his actions might
bring about.
Be he could
think of nothing.
So they moved
on.
8.h.
They moved across
the carpeted runner, almost reverently, making their way along the perimeter. At the end of the walkway was a staircase
that would take them up to the second level.
The featured of
the executives gradually took on a more porcine appearance. Upturned noses and sweaty, slappy skin. The frequency of obesity and abundance of
refuse collecting in office-sized wastebaskets was on the rise as well.
As they neared
the stairs a group of portly men hovering around a snack filled table caught
Corporate Man’s attention.
“So I drafted a
report for all the major banks urging them to charge heavy service fees for cashing
checks, even their own checks, from anyone who didn’t maintain an account with
their establishment,” said a very generously proportioned man with quivering
jowls, extra chins, and a piggish nose.
“Wait. Aren’t banks the place you’re supposed to go
to cash your checks?” asked a smaller, but still body-mass-endowed man, his
brow glistening with triglycerides.
“What? For Free?” asked the bejowled man. “Next you’ll be telling me that the banks
should make change for people without getting some kind of cut.”
“Well of course,”
said the small but body-mass-endowed man.
“They’re banks. Isn’t that where
the expression comes from?”
“What expression?”
“You know. What do you think I am? A bank?”
The bejowled
man shook his head, scowled fiercely, and said, “They’ve got to pay those
tellers that are making all that change and cashing all those checks. Where do you think that money comes from?”
“Doesn’t all
that interest they collect on loans pay for all that?”
“Look asshole,
that money goes to the executives and the shareholders. What makes you think– Wait… Wait… You’re fucking with me, right?”
The small but
body-mass endowed man grinned.
“Oh man. Good one!” said the bejowled man.
The rest of the
gathered portly all broke into fits of raucous laughter.
“You know
what?” said Corporate Man. “You greedy bastards need a good ass
kicking.”
He left the
carpet and marched over to the table of grease-sweating tycoons. He poked one in the chest, his finger sinking
deeper into the swollen flesh than he thought it would.
“Where do you
want it?” Corporate Man said.
The bejowled
man rubbed at his chest, his face a swollen mix of offense and utter confusion.
“Where do I
want what?” he said.
General Apathy
set his hand on Corporate Man’s shoulder and said, “The bottles of champagne
and the whale blubber hors d'oeuvres. My
friend here has been inspired by your… accumulation and wishes to send along
his compliments.”
“Oh,” said the
bejowled man. “Thanks for the
recognition. Just have it brought to the
table.”
General Apathy
nodded and gently escorted Corporate Man back to the carpet and to the next set
of stairs where the rest of the Union awaited him.
“How gallant,”
said General Apathy. “How pointless and
futile. I do recommend that you curb
your antics and remember where you are.
Violent confrontation is nearly non existent on the fifty-second floor
and I doubt those on the upper levels will tolerate such an attack. Especially the shareholders on level
three. Do we understand one another?”
He looked at Corporate
Man.
Corporate Man looked away, hissed out a breath, and then inhaled, deep
and slow.
“Great,” said
General Apathy. “Please follow me.”
They ascended
the next flight of steps.
8.i.
The second
level of the pyramid structure was significantly narrower than the first. The path hugged the inner wall and a rich
velvet rope separated the walkway from the remaining space. In that remaining space, standing like
androids, were rows and rows of men and women in expensive business
attire. Next to each man and woman was a
small wheeled cart. It held various
electronic equipment and was laden with dials and blinking lights. Wires sprouted from these portable diagnostic
machines and connected with the men and women somewhere around back.
“These are the
most advanced, state of the art, high level CEOs in existence,” said General
Apathy. “The rope is for your
protection. Do not cross it, please.”
“Why?” asked
Franklin Buck. “What happens?”
General Apathy
sighed and said, “Yes. It’d be too much
to ask you to just take my word on the subject.
If you cross over, the CEOs will take that as an invitation to approach
and sell you something. They will sell
you until your ears bleed. Literally.”
There was a
strange hum that resonated from the CEOs.
Sort of like a beehive, a dentist drill, and a live microphone all
luxuriating in a post coital spoon.
When they
rounded the corner of the pyramid they were startled by a freestanding CEO. He was milling around by the velvet rope,
almost halfway down the length of the path.
“Apparently we
have a malfunctioning unit,” said General Apathy. “It would be best if you avoided eye contact
and simply ignored him.”
As they
approached, the CEO unit looked up and appeared pleasantly surprised. He said, “Hey.
Any of you guys from the Mind Hive?”
Senior
Executive’s jaw flexed. He stopped
walking, but remained just out of the CEO’s reach.
“Oh, well don’t
listen to me or anything, Junior,” said General Apathy, not turning back. “I wouldn’t know anything. Better to dismiss what I say.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve got this one,” said Business Woman. She slapped the CEO across the face.
“Care about the
company and the company will take care of you,” the CEO said, his face
flinching from a nervous eye tick.
“Try it. You’ll feel better,” said Business Woman.
Senior
Executive slapped the CEO.
“Listen. I’ve got an idea that’s basically a license
to print money,” the CEO said, leaning forward, whispering in a rushed
hush. “Do you own a clinic?”
Senior
Executive’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“A clinic,
man. A place to treat sick people.”
“No.”
“Well… get
one. Then here’s what you do. Start running prostitutes as a side
business. Encourage unprotected sex to
boost business for the clinic. You with
me so far?” the CEO said.
“You’re sick,”
said Senior Executive. He turned to walk
away and the CEO grabbed his arm.
“Don’t! You’ll be walking away from a fortune,” said
the CEO.
Senior
Executive yanked his arm free and said, “What?
Treating STDs. The people
frequenting your prostitutes won’t be from the same area so your clinic
wouldn’t see the benefit.”
“You’re missing
the point,” said the CEO. “You develop a strain of herpes which has as its
primary side effect, nymphomania. Inject
this super-herpes into your prostitutes.
This has a two fold effect. It
increases the frequency of the visits from your customers and spreads the
disease much quicker. Then, having
synthesized a treatment for your super-herpes, your clinic will be the only one
armed with the necessary medications for the affliction. You patent the new herpes gene and start
charging fees to all those people who body it infects. If they don’t pay, you sue them for patent
infringement, especially if they transmit it to someone else.”
A look of
further disgust came over Senior Executive.
“Interesting,”
said General Apathy. He tilted his head
towards the militaryesque decorations on his chest. “Cancel tech squad order for CEO
5318008. Unit operations appear stable,
possibly at peak. Prepare a field kit
and place according to need.
Recommendations include medical field and/or sex trade.”
He turned,
glanced at the Union , nodded, and they continued their
journey.
8.j.
“This set of
stairs will place us amongst the Shareholders.
Trust me when I say, though I doubt you will heed my warning, you do not
want to have anything to do with these creatures,” said General Apathy. “Move along at a quick, even pace. Avoid getting too close to them and never
make eye contact or verbalize any sort of acknowledgment of their existence or
your own.”
He turned and ascended
the flight of stairs.
The floor was
made of gold, hand wrought and hammered flat with jeweler’s mallets. The path was narrow, bejeweled with diamonds
and sapphires, and hugged the exterior edge of the platform. There was no guard rail. A rusty chain-link fence separated the path
from the space in which the Shareholders dwelt.
Large canopies
obscured the Shareholder enclosure, billowing with silk and breathing out
exotic incense smoke with a undercurrent of tangy body odor.
As they walked along
the narrow path the Union caught glimpses of movement in
the flowing silks. Shadowed forms that
stalked the periphery.
When they
neared the first corner of the pyramid structure General Apathy paused and then
whispered, “On this side there is a gap in the protective fence. This is where the Shareholders entertain the
occasional, albeit very rare, visitor.
Again, eye contact is to be avoided, and stay as close to the edge of
the path as you can manage.”
He turned.
And they
continued their walk.
The rusty chain-link
fence ended after a handful of steps and the silken canopy retreated into
Shareholder territory revealing a satin-pillowed landscape. Clusters of low, lustrous tables pocked the
terrain. Tawdry financial magazines
spread themselves like dirty fans across their surfaces.
There were
creatures gathered around the tables.
The faces of
these things were nondescript and vacant.
Their mouths hung agape; constantly salivating. They wore expensive, tailored suits which
were pressed and immaculate. Except for
the chest. Here the suits were pulled
open, revealing bare flesh. I looked as
if a cavernous wound had punctured the center of their naked torso and, left
untreated, the cavity had healed into something dented and grotesque. Thick lines of scar tissue radiated from each
wound which left their chests looking like giant, puckered assholes.
One of the
Shareholder creatures stood at a table near the path, mouth breathing and
swaying like a praying mantis. As the Union
approached he swiveled toward them in a slow, fluid movement. The pucker scar in the center of his chest
twitched in quivering spasms, like the ass of a dog about to shit.
The path
widened into an oval at the center of the fence gap. The Union
instinctively hugged the exterior edge of the platform.
Franklin Buck
glanced at the Shareholder.
The thing
jerked into a crouch and flashed his teeth with a succession of quick,
shuddering tugs of its upper lip.
Franklin Buck flinched away, nearly topping from the platform edge. He overcorrected and veered toward the low
set tables in a spastic stumble. When he
caught his balance, he was less than five feet from the Shareholder, stuck in a
crouching position.
There was a
sound, like the inhalation of breath, almost like a lizard hiss.
The Shareholder
sprang forward. Franklin Buck tried to
run but was quickly overtaken. The
Shareholder’s grappling arms wrestled Franklin
back down to his knees. Then it moved
in, pulling Franklin Buck toward its chest.
The puckered scar opened and the One Hundred Dollar Man’s head
disappeared into the pulsing chest-butthole.
“Back! Back!” General Apathy shouted. He smacked at the Shareholder’s face with a
rolled up financial magazine and tugged at Franklin Buck’s suit collar. The Shareholder fought to maintain its grip
and received another battery of disciplinary smacks.
There was a wet
sucking sound, like the one that accompanies the loss of an expensive shoe in
an unexpected patch of mud, and Franklin Buck’s head came free of the life
draining orifice. General Apathy gave
the Shareholder another solid whack and then dragged the One Hundred Dollar Man
back to the path.
The Shareholder
strode to one of the low lying tables and sulked on satin pillows.
8.k.
The next
staircase took up the entire side of the last tier of the pyramid
structure. General Apathy stood on the
third step and gestured upward.
“Right this
way,” he said. “And congratulations on
making it all the way to the top.”
“What’s up
there?” asked Franklin Buck, his hair oddly misshapen from his recent encounter
with the business end.
“Were you not
paying attention?” said General Apathy.
He pointed upward, flared his eyes in a manner that could be mistaken
for nothing other than outright mocking, and said, “Up there is the top. The Big Bossman awaits. You should probably keep him from waiting any
further. This has all gone on long
enough, don’t you think?”
They walked up
the stairs.
Their feet made
hollow clacking noises on each step. The
sound echoed back to them sounding of crystal, soft metal, and freshly minted
paper currency. A chill air swept down
as they approached the top of the rise.
Each shivered as their flesh goosed.
When the last
of the Union stopped atop the platform, all sound went
out of the room. In front of them the diamond
shaped pit gaped, sidewalls dropping into the floor, meeting at a center point
far below.
“Okay, so now–”
Business Woman started, but General Apathy held up a finger in front of his
face to silence her. His hand moved with
such speed and forceful command that it actually worked.
A low bass hum
shook the room.
They could feel
the vibration in the cloth of their pant legs and the short hairs on the backs
of their necks. A futuristic, pneumatic,
clunking hiss erupted from the great black diamond shape at the apex of the
ceiling as it drifted downward at a slow, steady pace. Eventually, it seated in the diamond shaped
pit in the top of the platform. A
pleasurable sigh exhaled from the strange shape.
Nothing
happened for a painfully long time.
Corporate Man
glanced at Business Woman and then at Senior Executive. Franklin Buck glanced at no one and continued
to stare at the black pyramid.
A noise
shattered the pregnant silence. It
sounded like a robotic samurai sword with a crystal blade being unsheathed from
a dry ice. Lines of white light split
the bottom corner of the pyramid.
Then it opened.
Two doors swung
away from the corner like arms opening outward, readying for an embrace.
A man stood
inside the pyramid, silhouetted by the intense light behind him. General Apathy rolled his eyes and glanced at
his watch as the man walked forward.
“Welcome,” he
said as the light of the room caught his features. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“John?” said Corporate
Man.
The man did not
reply, but his grin widened.
“John? Who’s John?” said Franklin Buck.
“John Q
Public,” said Business Woman. “He’s one
of us.”
Corporate Man
shook his head, “I… I thought you were dead.”
John Q Public,
the Big Bossman, shrugged and said, “Well you never can tell. Can you?”
8.l.
For a long
while no one said anything.
Then a bored
sigh slipped from General Apathy and he said, “A most riveting dialogue. I can’t seem to tear myself away.”
He glanced
around at everyone for a brief second, shrugged, and then walked into the black
pyramid office.
John Q Public
stroked his luscious mustache with his black gloved hand and said, “Join me in
the conference room and we’ll get under way.”
“Wait a
second,” said Corporate Man. “”You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
John Q Public
grinned and said, “Actually, I don’t.
There’s no one on this planet that I need to explain anything to. But, if we considered your assertion in
hypothetical terms, wouldn’t a conference room be an ideal location in which to
do the explaining?”
With
reluctance, they walked into the black pyramid.
The corner doors sealed behind them.
It was dim except for a faint red glow emanating from several scattered
console buttons.
“Set
lighting. Conference,” said John Q
Public.
The office
flared a brilliant, clean white though no discernable light source could be
identified.
“Through here,”
said John Q Public. He gestured to a set
of heavy looking, glossy black doors with white ivory handles.
The doors
opened automatically.
The room inside
was black with white framed photos of blackness. The table gleamed its own white light and
black chairs huddled around it, perched on bleach white carpeting.
“Hmm. Blatant color scheme?” said Business Woman.
John Q Public
nodded and said, “Yes. Now, please sit
down and let’s discuss your future.”
“No. How about we discuss what you did to Supply
and Demand. To Fair Wage,” said Corporate
Man.
“To you,” said
John Q Public.
“That’s… That’s
right. What you did to me, too.”
“Join me at the
conference table and we’ll address whatever we wish.”
The Union
eventually sat down. Business Woman and
Corporate Man on one side, Senior Executive and Franklin Buck on the
other. John Q Public took a seat at the
head of the table. General Apathy
remained standing, towards the back wall, on John Q Public’s right.
“The future of
the economy,” said John Q Public, “is fairly dismal.”
“Thanks largely
to you,” said Business Woman.
“Agreed. But now is not the time to point fingers or
credit or praise.”
“Praise? Are you nuts?” said Senior Executive.
“I assure you,
I am in control of all my faculties,” said John Q Public. “In fact, I could simply end that sentence at
control. Wait, I’m forgetting
something.”
“Added
nostalgia and visual drama,” said General Apathy.
“Oh yes,” John
Q Public said, eyebrows lifting in allusion to some impending greatness.
An electronic
strum sounded as light flared from everyone’s suits. The flash diminished, but the seams lines on
all of their clothes remained white and glowing.
“Are… Are these
our old power suits?” asked Corporate Man.
“Reasonable
facsimiles,” said John Q Public.
“These would
have come in handy against Bear Market and The Crash,” said Business Woman.
“They aren’t
functional. Merely aesthetic for the
final meeting,” John Q Public said and tossed out a wink. “One of the reasons your clothes were stolen
on the 26th floor was so these could be made.”
“That must have
cost a pretty penny,” said Franklin Buck.
John Q Public
shrugged and said, “Like I said, I am in complete control. I’m the head of this global business
empire. The U.S.
division of Incorporate Business Corporate Incorporated owns a majority of
everything on this planet.”
“Not for long,
pal,” said Corporate Man.
“Good. Then we’re on the same page,” said John Q
Public.
The Union
members threw each other confused glances.
“You see,”
continued John Q Public, “I’ve grown bored.
I claimed lordship over not just this company, and not simply this
country, but over the world economy at the turn of the century and it’s been
far too easy ever since. I miss the old
days. The financial crime fighting. The excitement. That’s why I cancelled funding for the
medications that kept you comatose, Corporate Man. That’s why I woke you up.”
8.m.
“I assume, from
your statement,” said Corporate Man, glaring at the man in the white suit and
black tie, “that you’re the one who put me in that hospital and kept me an
invalid for a decade.”
“Guilty,” said
John Q Public. “It’s too bad we don’t
have time to go over the particulars of the Florida
campaign. I think you’d appreciate the
genius of it. But we have an agenda and
I’d like to remain focused on that.”
“The future of
the economy,” said Corporate Man. “So you said.”
“Yes. Well it’s a bit about that, but mostly it’s
about your future. Your immediate
future. And the limitations thereof.”
“Are you
threatening us, John?” Corporate Man said and stood up. His lapel seams casting a harsh glow on his
face. “I knew this was going to turn
into a fight. What? Is this office some
sort of death trap?”
John Q Public
held up a gloved hand and said, “Please.
Sit down. You misunderstand
me. I am not threatening you. When an economic forecaster predicts a price
drop in a certain commodity is he or she threatening that commodity? No.
Merely reading the signs. And I’m
not referring to the whole Union . I’m confident that these three,” he gestured
to Business Woman, Senior Executive, and Franklin Buck, “will survive this
meeting and make it into that future in one capacity or another. It’s just you, Corporate
Man.
I fear for you.”
“I’m
sorry. That still sounds like a threat
to me,” said Business Woman.
“The sands in the
hourglass are almost spent,” said John Q Public. “Am I at fault for noticing the impending
fall of the final grain?”
“Get on with it
then,” said Corporate Man. “Say what you have to say.”
John Q Public
too a deep breath and said, “You’re a fairytale, Corporate
Man.
A figment of a naïve imagination.
There is no place in the world economy where you fit. By the end of this meeting you will concede
that point. And you will cease to be.”
“That’s
bullshit,” said Senior Executive. “It’s
bad out there, but the Union is back and we’re changing
things.”
“No. You aren’t.
You’re simply a colorful distraction.
Nothing more. At most you’re
something to give a small amount of hope to an ignorant populace so they’ll
take comfort knowing that someone else is fixing their problems and will turn a
blind eye and let us resume our financial pillaging.”
“You don’t
believe that, John,” said Corporate Man.
“Don’t I?”
“No. I know you.
This isn’t you. It’s that
asshole. He’s influencing you,”
Corporate Man said, pointing at General Apathy.
“Throw his ass out of here and lets all work together to fix this mess.”
“Fix it? It is what it is. You can no more fix the ocean from being wet
than you can make our financial system into anything that benefits anyone
except a select few.”
“I don’t buy
that,” said Senior Executive.
“Really? Everyone else seems to,” said John Q Public.
“I doubt it,”
said Business Woman.
“Let me
illustrate. Everyone has deep seeded
dreams of becoming one of the elite.
It’s not only inborn, but we foster this through various media
channels. Deep down, subconsciously,
they are aware that if they fight to create or support a system which equalizes
everyone then they effectively kill any chance for that dream of possible
future success to ever materialize. They
cannot become rich and powerful if everyone is the same.”
“That’s
irrational,” said Franklin Buck.
“It sure is,”
John Q Public said. “Let’s review a
recent political conflict over a proposal to raise income tax for those earning
over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
How many people in this country exist at an income level well below that
mark? How many of those people’s yearly
income would have to more than quadruple to gain that plateau? If your response was ‘the bulk of the work
force’ then you’d be correct. Now, in a
logical world, those people would realize that if their income somehow
quadrupled, taking home the higher taxed, quadruple amount would leave them far
better off than hanging on to that lower taxed, meager pittance of what they
currently earn. But, oh no, in their
minds, they will be rich some day and no way is the government going to take a
bigger chunk of their money. The public
only considers themselves, and its not even themselves as they currently exist,
but an idealized fantasy version of what they hope to become.”
For a long
while, no one said anything.
“We’ve been
dumbing down the populace for years,” said John Q Public. “In an age of information you’d expect an
increase in intelligence, but we flood the culture with mindless
entertainments, blind them with shiny celebrities and easy to follow
programming. Children are trained to be
consumers, practically from infancy.
Aggressive advertisements bombard them between television shows and
those shows feature spoiled, self entitled kids whose only function is outsmart
dumb adults. The messages are
clear. Buy stuff. The world revolves around you. Adults are stupid and have nothing to teach
you. And, most importantly, you will be
stupid when you grow up.”
“That’s
ridiculous,” said Franklin Buck.
“I agree,” said
John Q Public. “But that’s what we
peddle and that’s what Americans buy. We
can sell them anything. Just recently we
convinced them that the word ‘retarded’ is a bad word. And do you know why they bought it? Not because of any serious offense that the
word incites. Any word that separates
out one group of people from another will inevitably be seen as offensive
simply because of its implications of difference and the unavoidable debasement
involved at labeling one group normal while forcing the other to accept the
inference of abnormality. Retarded is
offensive because Americans are sensing how stupid they have become and they
subconsciously fear that they, in fact, are retarded. Instead of exerting energy toward increasing
their mental faculties they choose to erase a word that they perceive as a
disparaging to their ignorance when it has no relation whatsoever.”
“People are not
so blind,” said Senior Executive.
“Some. I’ll give you that. But on a whole they are willing to accept the
state of cultivated ignorance,” said John Q Public. When his statement was met with a round of
head shakes he continued. “If you’d like
further proof, let’s talk immigration.”
“What is this?”
said Corporate Man. “Is this economics or politics?”
“Isn’t it all
one in the same?”
“Let’s talk about
us. Let’s get to the part where we hold
you accountable for the things you’ve done.”
“Oh, yes. Let us,” said John Q Public.
“You don’t
think we can?” said Corporate Man.
“Old
friend. Please. Until we clearly define the canvas upon which
I have been painting, the brushes and pigments at my disposal, I don’t think
that we can judge method or technique.”
“I think we can
judge effect of action. Death of
colleagues.”
“If you think
you must,” said John Q Public. “But who
is to be the judge? Who is to sit on my jury if I am on trial? I merely wish to define the pool from which
we would draw. The public. I cite immigration as an example of the
ineptitude of that public. It’s an argument
continually cropping up amongst our fellow Americans and we generally see two
camps form about the issue. Those who
wish to accept border jumpers with open arms and those who fear that
foreigners, Mexicans in particular, are scaling a big fence and coming up here
to steal jobs from us hard working Americans.”
“That’s not
exactly the–” Senior Executive started.
“Yes it
is. Because that’s the line of thinking
that we’ve sold them. The reactionaries
want all the illegal Mexicans deported to protect good honest Americans yet
they fail to realize the irony of the situation. America
was founded by foreign immigrants who invaded the country and stole land from
the populace already living here.”
“Yeah… I guess if you really think about it, the most
American people today are the Mexicans,” said Franklin Buck.
“Precisely,”
John Q Public said, “Now, if Americans are so intelligent and not the
manufactured retards I claim them to be, then how come the outcry in regards to
the immigration issue isn’t about the shady businesses hiring, or more
accurately, actively recruiting illegal workers? Jobs aren’t being stolen by illegals. The good ole American entrepreneur is
offering them up willingly and the dumb American public is blaming the guy
who’s just grateful to have the opportunity for a decent wage. Comparatively anyway. We don’t stop to think or ask ‘why are all
these people coming here?’ We’ve already
been sold the ‘stealing our jobs’ line.
And some of the most anti-immigrant morons out there are the same
dirt-bag business owners that hire illegals to pad their bottom line.”
8.n.
“Is anyone
thirsty?” asked John Q Public. Without
waiting for an answer he gestured and an apparatus dropped from the
ceiling. It set out crystal flutes and
filled them with a sparkling, faintly bluish water. John Q Public lifted one of the flutes to his
nose, inhaled deeply, and then drank the contents in a single swallow.
“Water. Trapped inside veins of sapphire. I could build three Jacob
Center Towers
with what it costs for just one glass of this stuff.”
Reluctantly,
everyone drank.
Everyone except
Corporate Man.
John Q Public’s
grin widened and then he gestured toward a blank wall. A holographic image appeared in front of it
displaying a graph featuring a thick, up thrusting arrow.
“Note the
chart,” said John Q Public. “In the past
ten years the increase of wealth for the rich in this country has made a steady
climb.”
He gestured
again and another arrow appeared next to the first. This one sagged downward, sad and
emasculated.
“This graph
depicts the financial standing of the middle class during the same length of
time. What do you notice?”
“Two dicks,”
said Business Woman.
“High returns
are erect and obviously virile.
Diminishing yields are flaccid and underdeveloped,” John Q Public said. “And yes, this is intentional. Not just for the inherent humor, but
subconsciously it preys upon the fears of male board members and
executives. Particularly those related
to inadequacy and impotence. In other
words, if you don’t show large returns you have a small penis.”
John Q Public
paused and stared directly at Franklin Buck.
“What?”
Franklin Buck said. “I don’t have…
diminishing yields.”
“And there you
have it,” John Q Public continued. “This
is the basic primal level of thinking that the Union has
been up against all these years. That
initial drive for alpha male status.”
“What about all
the women coming into high level positions?” asked Business Woman.
John Q Public
laughed. “Yes. It’s a big problem. Now, I suppose most of you are aware of a
popular cry that is being voiced these days, calling for the deregulation of
business. It’s being pushed by us, of
course, but middle class Americans are really eating up this line of thinking,
saying crap like, ‘Oh, those big, greedy corporations will do right by us. Let ‘em run fast and loose. They’ll fix things up for us little
guys.’ Sure. How quickly they forget the prime mortgage
disaster and other wonderful gifts from the deregulated sect. They buy in deeply to the propaganda that
regulated businesses are automatically stunted whereas deregulated ones will
grow and prosper. Why yes, they do grow
and prosper. At the expense of the
little guy. Pushing beyond the limits of
sustainable greed at the detriment of economic health. Worried only about the big dick on the
graph.”
“But that’s
you,” said Corporate Man. “You’re doing these economically unhealthy
things.”
“True.”
“So what is
this? What are you doing? Bragging about how you put one over on the
rubes? What?”
“Illustrating a
point,” John Q Public said.
“I see no
point,” said Corporate Man. “I see a lot of excuses for bad behavior.”
“Exactly.”
Corporate Man’s
face pinched, “What? Make sense!”
“Let’s look at
it this way. Deregulation of business is
like a man not wanting to wear a condom.
Sure, the business is better without the hindrance of protective
regulation. But then what happens? Oh no!
And STD or an unexpected pregnancy.
That diseased and potent business splits leaving behind an infected
wreck of an economy with a huge poop machine to take care of.”
“And that poor
economy used to be a sought after, hot piece of ass, too,” said Business Woman.
“Right, and Big
Business is just a dirty-dick man with a dishonest tongue, hiding behind a
pleasant face, maybe a sixer in the abs department, and nice twinkly eyes.”
“And now has his eyes on some perkier, Asian
fair,” said Business Woman.
“Exactly.”
“Hey! Don’t start agreeing with him,” Corporate Man
shouted. “He’s the dirty-dick man in
this situation.”
“I’m not
denying it,” said John Q Public.
“Then what are
you doing?” Why are we here?” asked Corporate
Man.
“Well, it seems
to me that you’re wasting your time trying to stop dirty-dicked men,” said John
Q Public. “But then, what can you really
do?”
“When you can’t
change the pig-animals you have to protect and educate those they prey on,”
said Corporate Man.
“You mean, the
dumb Americans we’ve been discussing?”
“Your term, not
mine,” said Corporate Man.
“And by the
time you educate them, they are old and invalid. Indoctrinated with the message that old is
weak and dumb and youth is to be forever worshipped. An entire crop of eager-beavered bimbo
children conveniently awaits our harvesting.
The cycle repeats. Maintains.”
“No! People will only take so much,” said Corporate
Man.
“Not if they’re
too stupid to notice,” said Senior Executive.
“Don’t you
start, too,” said Corporate Man.
“What? It’s true.
People don’t even question anything anymore,” said Senior Executive.
“Genetically modified foods. Vaccines
for anything and everything, needed or not.
Pills to counter the negative effect of other pills. They think its good because it medical
science when it’s actually shady business.
The populace at large doesn’t know how the foods we’re being served have
been modified and what the resulting product might do to a person’s body. Science magic did it. And it’s cheap so that’s good too.”
“You know who
you sound like?” asked Corporate Man.
“Who? John?”
“No. Him,”
Corporate Man said, pointing at General Apathy.
“You were under his sway once before.”
“That was
different.”
“And you,”
Corporate Man said, turning toward the General, “You’ve been suspiciously quiet
during all of this.”
“I’m just here
for ambience,” said General Apathy.
“And to distort
the mental state of everyone gathered around this table,” said Corporate
Man.
“I’m a part of
every corporate transaction. The phrase,
‘it’s just business,’ is rooted in apathy.
Capitalism and I are indistinguishable.”
“I want his out
of here,” said Corporate Man.
“Do you think
that will help?” asked John Q Public.
“He’s infecting
everyone.”
“With
what? Himself?”
“Yes.”
John Q Public
cocked his head slightly and said, “Two things.
One. As he said, all business is
infected with him. Two. This is my meeting and he stays.”
“Then I’m
leaving,” said Corporate Man. He stood up and marched toward the door.
“You’re as free
to go as you were free to come,” said John Q Public. Corporate Man halted, mid step, and then
turned back toward the table. John Q
Public continued, “Yes. I see the
dilemma. What would all of the effort
have been for then? What of the
sacrifices? The colleagues lost?”
“I should kick
your ass,” said Corporate Man.
“Ah yes. Might make right, does it?”
“That’s not
what I’m saying.”
“I am. Isn’t that what we were already
discussing? Except financial might as
opposed to the physical,” John Q Public said.
He smiled without sneering.
Corporate Man
sat down.
8.o.
“You denounce
our economic system for its inherent apathy,” John Q Public said.
“No. I denounce apathy,” said Corporate
Man.
“And like I
said, the two are inseparable. And it’s
not just Big Business, it’s the consumers as well. They don’t care about sustainable commodities
or fair trade. They want the most
product they can get for the least amount of cost and those who suffer to make
those savings possible be damned.”
“I think what
he’s saying,” Franklin Buck said, “is have you ever seen a mall at Christmas
time? On Black Friday?”
“Stop
supporting him,” Corporate Man said.
“That’s the problem. People
wouldn’t behave that way if we stop those that perpetuate the myth.”
“It’s not a
myth. It’s a fact,” said John Q Public.
“No!” Corporate
Man shouted. “I refuse to believe
that. If people understood they would
rise up–”
“Never,” said
John Q Public. “It would never happen.”
“Oh you hope
that it–”
“I could tell
everyone everything. Maybe send out one
of those ‘pass it along to twenty people and it will spread across the country
in three days’ e-mails detailing what’s precisely going on and pleading with
everyone to do something about it. To
make and difference. And it would do
nothing.”
“I believe it
would. I have faith in the inherent good
of people.”
“Faith is a
concept invented to keep the ignorant blind and blissful,” said John Q Public.
“You’re wrong,”
Corporate Man said, his jaw clenching.
“Fine. How about this then?” John Q Public said,
fingering an imperceptible button on the arm of his chair and stroking his
luscious moustache. “I’m sending out one
of those e-mails right now. Complete
with the details of the economic rogering we’ve given the public. And I’ll include a plea, urging them to take
up arms against the financial establishment.
Let’s even set a date. How about
April 16th? The day after
taxes are due. On that day I propose
that we murder all the top CEOs of the most successful corporations. There.
Sent.”
“You didn’t do
it,” said Corporate Man.
“I did. And you know what? Even though a large portion of our middle to
lower class citizens will be keyed up and overly stressed about getting taxes
done on time and even though their anger toward the tax dodging rich will be at
a feverish height and even though we American’s love our guns and our right to
use them… Not a single shot will be fired.”
“You’re
serious? You sent that out?” asked
Franklin Buck.
“I’ve given the
order.”
“When? I didn’t see–” Corporate Man started.
“I speak
it. It happens,” John Q Public
said. Then his eyes flared with a
startled excitement. “I’ve got it. Amend e-mail message. The call will be for a four day killing spree
from the 16th to the 19th. Then, on the 20th, everyone can
sit back and get high and mellow out.
You know. Tie it in to the ever
present 4-20 non holiday. We need a
catchy slogan for this. Oh. Got it.
Light ‘em up then light ‘em up.
Have some t-shirts made.”
“You’re sick,”
said Corporate Man.
“Oh it won’t
happen. So don’t worry.”
“Then why do
it?”
“Well, I’d say
‘to illustrate my point,’ but I doubt you’ll be around next tax season,” said
John Q Public. “But the merchandise
sales from a catchy, irreverent slogan are quite lucrative. Note.
Cancel that order for the ‘let’s fist big business the way they fisted
us’ t-shirt. I don’t think we’ll need
them now. But save the
illustration. It’s too good to waste.”
“Aren’t any of
you concerned that some maniac will take this seriously and kill someone?”
Corporate Man said, standing up and glaring at his colleagues.
“He’s right,”
said Senior Executive. “Nothing will
happen.”
“And if some
fat cat takes a bullet I doubt many tears will be shed,” Business Woman said.
“Besides,” said
John Q Public, “if someone actually killed someone we’d flood the press with
stories about the evils of marijuana and pull more funding for the war on
drugs. An increased level of fear would
follow, which is always good for business.
Especially advertising. Or, if
there happened to be some squeaky clean CEO calling attention to his or her
charitable donations and the generous wages being paid to employees at his/her
company, it might be advantageous to have him/her shot, discrediting the
movement but buying it a level of infamy that would sell slogan plastered
merchandise for decades.”
“This is insane! I refuse to buy in to your insanity,”
Corporate Man said. He pulled out his
PDA. “If you can send an e-mail, then so
can I.”
“And what would
this precious e-mail state?” asked John Q Public.
“I’m calling
upon the American people. Anyone whose
even been taken advantage of by Big Business.
All those whose money you’ve stolen.
And I’m asking them to come here.
To storm this building and tear down your financial empire.”
“Then at last
we come to it,” said John Q Public.
Corporate Man
stopped typing and looked at John Q Public, the Big Bossman.
“Come to what?”
“The finale of
our meeting. The reason you are here.”
John Q Public
narrowed his eyes and grinned.
“Your death.”
8.p.
Corporate Man
leapt to his feet and took up a defensive position, raising his fists and
flipping his necktie over his shoulder.
The seams of his power suit blazing bright. He lowered his voice and said, “Alright,
John. Make your move.”
John Q Public
sighed and shook his head.
“Again with the
violence?” he said. “This is high finance,
not a cage in an abandoned subway station.”
“Yeah, I’ve
been in that one,” said Franklin Buck.
“On one of the basement floors.”
“No, Corporate Man. I’ve invited a few guests to our little
gathering. They’ve been listening in and
I think you’ll find their opinions rather shocking.”
John Q Public
held up a small white remote control and pressed the single black button that
festered in its center. The controller
went red and an entire wall of the office began to rise.
“Recognize
anybody?”
Behind the
wall, in amphitheatre style seating, sat a group of people which, at first,
Corporate Man did not recognize. Slowly,
as he studied their faces, familiar features began to emerge.
“You… You’re….
Felix?” he said, a little unsure. “The
jeweler. And you three work at Jolene’s,
right?”
“Yes. That would be Margaret, Molly, and Tina,”
said John Q Public. “You may also
remember Sally and Matt from Waldo’s.
Jed and Roger from the hospital where you were in residence. Well, perhaps not. And many others.”
“Why are they
here?” asked Corporate Man.
“They are all
individuals you encountered on your journey.
Most of whom you helped along the way.
I thought it fitting if they acted as your executioners,” John Q Public
said. He nodded toward the group with an
eager, almost innocent smile. Then he
stood and walked over to the panel of guests and said, “How are you enjoying
the show?”
“You’re an
asshole,” said Molly, the young girl from Jolene’s.
“I know,” John
Q Public said enthusiastically. “Focus
groups show that people really like assholes.
You can’t have a successful reality television show these days without a
know-it-all prick. Preferable a British
one. But I make due.”
“John. What are they doing here?” Corporate Man
said, loud and stern.
“I though I covered
that already. But if you need me to prod
this along…” he paused briefly, “I thought it necessary that you bear witness
to all the good your labors have produced.”
Corporate Man
narrowed his eyes and then, after a long moment, he nodded his head slowly and
said, “Okay. I think I see where you’re
going with this now. Though I doubt
it’ll go the way you intend. These
people here have all been victims of callous, corporate greed. They won’t side with you.”
“Oh,” said John
Q Public. “Then I guess that’s
that. You were right and I was wrong. I’ll reform.
Maybe even start a non-profit charity or an organic farm to feed the
hungry.”
Corporate Man’s
face pinched into a sour, confused expression.
“What? Just like that?”
“Sure. Why not?” said John Q Public. “Although… perhaps you’re right. We should at least check with these fine
folks first. Since we brought them all
the way up here. Let’s start with
Mike. He was a security guard where you
were being held. You never encountered
him, but he had dialogue with a certain lady of business calling herself Ms.
Adams. He was forced away from his post
by a supervisor due to bureaucratic policy.
This allowed Business Woman access to your room. Mike was fired.”
John Q Public
strolled toward Mike and said, “So… Michael.”
“I prefer,
Mike.”
“Yes, Michael,
I’m sure you do. As I was saying, do you
feel slighted by the company that terminated your employment?”
“Yeah. They bent me over for something someone else
did.”
“Isn’t that
always the way,” said John Q Public.
“And I understand that you’re still unemployed at this time.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to
make you a proposition. You can have
your old job back. You’ll get a twenty
five cent increase but your vacation hours will start over as will your
retirement since that was cashed out when you left.” John Q Public held up his
hand before Mike could speak. “Before
you respond. I would like Corporate Man
to make a counter proposal. Let it be
reiterated that Michael, and all those seated with him, have been privy to the
entire meeting thus far. Corporate Man. ”
“Uh, um…”
Corporate Man stammered. “I wasn’t
expecting… but… Okay. Come be a part of a start up business venture
where employees are treated well and given a fair wage, excellent medical
coverage, and a secure retirement plan.
You’ll start at twenty five percent over what you were earning before
with three weeks of paid vacation. The
company will be employee owned so you’ll also receive stock benefits.”
“What’s the
job,” Mike asked.
“Security. The same position as the preceding offer, but
within six months you will be in charge of your own team.”
“My! That’s exciting,” said John Q Public. “What will he do? Well, Mike… What’s it going to be?”
“What’s this
company you’re starting?” Mike asked.
“Doesn’t matter,”
said Corporate Man. “I have several avenues I’m going to explore
once the business here is concluded. The
main goal will be to show that the wealth of a company can be more evenly
distributed without sacrificing the health of the company.”
“Mike?” asked
John Q Public. “Can we have your
decision, please?”
8.q.
Mike took a
deep breath, exhaled, shook his head and shrugged and said, “I think I’ll just
take my old job back.”
“What?”
Corporate Man shouted. “How can you opt
for a corporation that has proven it will treat you like shit?”
“It’s like
this, Corporate Man. I don’t think your business will work.”
“I can make any
business successful. I’m Corporate
Man. ”
“And that’s the
other thing. If I work for you, will all
kinds of weirdos with capes and underwear come gunning for you? A guard post would put me in the line of fire
for all that,” Mike said.
“Don’t you want
to make a difference? Don’t you want to
change things for the better?” asked Corporate Man.
“You already
know the answer to that,” said John Q Public.
“Look into his finances and tell me what he values most.”
Corporate Man’s
brow furrowed.
“Go on.”
He held out his
hand, trying to get a sense of how Mike spent his money; the direction of the
flow.
“Sports
package. Sunday ticket and college
ball. Big screen TV. Team jerseys and autographed balls,”
Corporate Man said in a low monotone.
His hand dropped to his side and he shook his head. “Really, Mike?” he asked. “You’d sell your future down the river to
watch millionaires play games?”
“It’s what gets
me through the week,” Mike admitted.
“But Mike, if
we changed things you wouldn’t need to ‘get through your week,’ you’d be free
to enjoy it fully. All it takes is some
effort up front.”
“Look Corporate
Man,” Mike said, “that sounds nice, but how many games, how many seasons, do I
need to miss to realize your dream?”
“That’s
irrelevant to the big picture, Mike. I’m
not asking you to miss anything, but if you’re not willing to sacrifice some
trivial pleasures to better yourself and your fellow countrymen then how can
you feel entitled to anything more than the scraps the corporations let fall
from their plates?”
“You can’t
really blame him,” said John Q Public.
“It’s the conditioning.”
“No! I refuse to buy that! It’s all excuses for lazy, apathetic
behavior. And why is this asshole still
in the room? I want him gone!” Corporate
Man shouted, thrusting a finger toward General Apathy.
“I’m sure
you’re causing more of a scene than I am,” said General Apathy. “Deep down these people care and would like
to see something done. They just want
others to do it. If you think about it,
people really are of two minds. The individual
and the group. Usually, what one mind is
willing to do, the other is not.”
Corporate Man
strode toward General Apathy and threw a wild punch. General Apathy side stepped and used
Corporate Man’s momentum to fling the economic superhero to the floor.
“Stop
this! I won’t have it!” John Q Public
yelled. “Childish violence has no place
in this office. Don’t make me call in my
minions.”
“He
punched. I merely dodged,” said General
Apathy.
“Accept this,
Corporate Man, the people you champion want their vices and nothing more. They want the fast foods that poison their
bodies so they can have more time to watch their police dramas and desensitize
themselves to the suffering of others while simultaneously reinforcing their
fears that violent criminals are everywhere so we better hide inside and order
that fast food and… I think you can see the cycle. And that’s just one of them. There’s a complimentary loop with the medical
industry that–”
“No. I refuse to believe–”
“What? That we’ve grown complacent and lazy? That we feel entitled to our pleasures while
expecting others to bring about any change that might be needed? That we’re afraid to even try for fear of
ridicule?”
“It can’t be
true. Not for all them!” Corporate Man
yelled, gesturing toward the amphitheatre.
“Then search
them,” said John Q Public. “Look inside
each and everyone one of them. Tell me
what you see.”
8.r.
Corporate Man’s
fists were shaking and his jaw was clenched so hard that his face mimicked his
hands. He turned to the gathered group
of onlookers and held his palm toward one of them.
When he spoke,
his voice was monotone and even.
“Roger. From the hospital desk. Daily hours at the gym for social interaction
and eye candy. Porn at night. Margaret from Jolene’s. Crafting supplies and home gardening
magazines to occupy your mind so you don’t think about how your family never
visits you. Tina from Jolene’s. Alcohol, violent movies, and aftermarket auto
parts to furious up your fast car. Sally
from Waldo’s. Incessant television,
crime shows mostly, fast food, and the latest in home security systems. Molly from Jolene’s. Video games, online poke, and pills.”
Corporate Man’s
head slumped and his shoulders sagged.
“None of you,”
he said after a long silence. “None of
you would be willing to side with me and make a change to benefit everyone.”
After a tense
moment, Molly said, “Hey, why would I have to work for you? Can’t I work for her?” She pointed at Business Woman.
“Interesting,”
said John Q Public. “Of course, she’s
young and hasn’t had all of the fight driven from her yet.”
Business Woman
stood up and said, “Would you? Would you
follow me into a shaky financial venture?”
“Well…
maybe. More so than him,” Molly said.
Business Woman
held her fingers to her temples as though fighting a migraine. Then she pinched
the bridge of her nose and said, “What’s… I can’t think of…”
“See! It’s him,” Corporate Man said, thrusting a
finger once again at General Apathy.
“Of course it
is,” said John Q Public. “I told you
he’s a part of all business. And she’s
next in line so a great deal of his influence would be working on her.”
“What’s that mean?”
said Business Woman.
“It’s like
this. More and more women are, or at
least will be, achieving upper level positions in the corporate structure.
Eventually they’ll be running the whole show.
I know it’s hard to see now with the male presence still so
overwhelmingly strong but we, the extremely successful, and forgive me for
returning to the sexual metaphor we established earlier in our discussion, are
now at our most erect.” A hologram
appeared with an arrow so rigid and penis-like that any tycoon would shout
“profits are up.” “In order to get to an
ultimate state of fiscal arousal the hetero male needs women and the more
aroused we get the closer we come to spending ourselves. And then it’s downhill for a while after
that. In the past we’ve had a chance to
recover and reestablish ourselves, but one day women, with all their damned multiples,
will move in and capture it all.”
“I think you
guys spent your load in 2008,” Molly said.
“Ah yes. We sure did.
It’ll be interesting to see if something comes of it. Doubtful, but you never know,” said John Q
Public. He turned to Business Woman and
said, “She’s a bright one. You might
want to take her on as your Junior Executive.”
“Stop! Just stop already. I’ve had enough of this,” Corporate Man
said. “What’s wrong with all of
you? Can’t you see the benefits of doing
business in a different way? A decent
way? My way?”
“They don’t
believe in you,” said John Q Public.
“Why? I don’t get it. I talk common sense and prosperity for all.”
“You’re a
little hard to swallow,” said General Apathy.
“You shut your
tainted mouth and stay out of this!”
“Come now,
Corporate Man,” John Q Public said.
“Think about it. Who would ever
believe that a man at a corporate level would ever be benevolent, generous, or
fair? If you cornered someone on the
street and forced them to decide who was real, Santa or Satan, only the fools
would maintain it was Santa. A jolly old
fat man giving out presents to all the good little boys and girls or a selfish
prick who’s the root of all the evil that men do? Well, we can see the constant evil everyday
so Satan is the likelier candidate, wouldn’t you say? The truth is, we can’t tolerate a selfless
hero, Corporate Man. We need someone to blame for our financial
misfortunes and naturally tear down anyone who presumes to be better than us.”
Corporate Man
stumbled and fell against the table. He
clutched at his chest.
“What is this
pain? Is that my heart? Am I having a heart attack?”
“No,” said General
Apathy. “I believe that’s your spirit in
the throws of a death spasm.”
“No. No!”
“I’m sorry, but
it’s true,” said John Q Public. “You are
a fiction that no one is buying.”
Corporate Man
slumped across the white tabletop and pounded his fists against the cold
surface. Spasms wracked his body and
miniscule moans of pain escaped the back of his throat. He rolled on to his back, his body softening
into acquiescence. When he spoke he
sounded like a hopeless prophet; a priest in crisis.
“Where are the
noble business men? What happened to the
gold-hearted CEO? The one who sold off
his estate to save his subordinates from layoffs?”
“He strip-mined
his heart years ago and gilt his toilet with the gold,” General Apathy said.
“No. In my mind I see them,” said Corporate
Man.
He raised his head. “Banding
together.” His voice gained a hint of
resolve as he slid off the table onto staggering legs. “Announcing their intentions to work for
minimum wage for the year. Dividing
their bloated salaries amongst their workforce.
Avoiding layoffs. Saving jobs!”
“Fantasy,
Corporate Man,” said John Q Public. “No
one would believe it. They’d think it
was some sort of stunt. And
entrepreneurs, like myself, would leak all kinds of false information to the
press to advance those negative opinions.”
“This… This
can’t–” Corporate Man started. Then his knees buckled and he dropped to the
floor.
“Quit
fighting,” said John Q Public. “It’s a
done deal. There’s nothing you, or
anyone, can do that will change anything.”
“There… is
always… hope.”
“No. There never was. I’ve got cannons, literally, cannons full of
lawyers and lobbyists, mounted on this building that I can aim at any opposition. And the people of this country wouldn’t have
it any other way.”
Corporate Man
shook his head, fell on to his side, and whispered, “No.”
“You can’t deny
it. I’m John Q Public. I am the American people.”
Business Woman
rushed over to Corporate Man and scooped his head in her arms.
“Jonesy! Come one Jonesy. Don’t lose consciousness here. Keep fighting.”
“Why?” Corporate
Man asked. “Do you think we can
prevail?”
Business Woman
hesitated and then bit her lip and looked away.
“Then it’s
true. He’s got all of you,” Corporate
Man said. He pushed her away and then
struggled to sit up, wincing and gasping.
“Fine, John. You win. But deep down you know you this isn’t
finished. These people here are not only
contributors to my demise, but witnesses to my life, my existence. A seed has been planted in each of them. A seed of hope. A hope of something better.”
John Q Public
kneeled next to Corporate Man, placing his hand behind the dying man’s head,
lowering it gently to the floor. He pat
Corporate Man’s forehead in a dainty, patronizing manner. Then he leaned down and whispered
something. Corporate Man smiled as
though relieved.
His gaze went blank.
And he stopped
breathing.
John Q Public
brushed his hand tenderly over Corporate Man’s eyes, closing the lids. He stood up, shoulders slumping, and exhaled
long, deep, and slow.
8.s.
“So what now?”
Business Woman asked.
“Now? Nothing,” said John Q Public. “You’re free to go if you wish.”
“I feel dirty
and useless,” she said. “And a little
sick.”
“That’s
business,” said General Apathy.
“Did we
seriously just watch him die?” asked Franklin Buck.
“Yeah. And we didn’t do anything. We let it happen,” said Senior Executive.
“That’s usually
how these things go,” said John Q Public.
No one said
anything for a long while.
“Well now,” said General Apathy, breaking the
silence. “This is getting morose. And boring.
Let’s all remember, nothing personal in business.”
“Shut up
asshole,” said Business Woman. She
looked at John Q Public and said, “So how do we get out of here?”
“Oh. Well… I was sort of hoping you’d stay. I mean…
Do you like this building? This
office? Cause I’m giving it to you,”
said John Q Public.
“What?”
“Yeah. This black diamond room is actually an
elevator that will take you anywhere in the building. And, up to now, I’ve pushed all the
buttons. Except one. This one,” he said, striding over to a large,
blinking, white button. “Go on. You push it.”
Business Woman
looked at Senior Executive and Franklin Buck.
Each of their faces a mirror of similar confusion.
“Up and out,”
said John Q Public.
“Are you…
What? Really?”
“No. Of course not,” John Q Public said, pressing
the white button. All the walls on the
black diamond office went clear.
“Fantasy. You see? All that goody good be good crap will never
get you a chocolate factory. Only in
books and musicals.”
“You know,”
Business Woman said. “People may not
give a crap about helping others, but stunts like that will piss them off and
then you’ll get a reaction.”
“A
reaction? What? Like a revolution?” John Q Public asked. “This is a generation of sugar fattened
pussies who we’ve retarded with mass media.
No, I’m afraid it will take decades of living like paupers to affect any
kid of change.”
John Q Public
stroked his luscious moustache with his gloved hand. Then the Big Bossman turned and strode
through a side door, out of the conference room.
“Wait. What about him?” Business Woman asked.
“You mean his
body? My minions will attend to it,”
said John Q Public. He stood in the
doorway for a moment and then said, “Listen.
You’re all free to work for me. I
have high level positions that would benefit from your particular skills.”
“I accept. I don’t care what the job is,” Roger said.
“Not you,
you’re due back at the help desk in the morning. Business Woman, Senior Executive, Franklin
Buck the One Hundred Dollar Man. Regardless of your decision, you are free to
go and my building will remain open to you.
If you choose to decline my offer and start a competing enterprise, you
have my blessings. I’ll even invest if
you wish. There’s no need to decide
yet. Confer amongst yourselves and get
back to me.”
John Q Public
nodded and left them to their decision.
8.t.
A final word on
the fifty-second floor. Particularly as
it relates to the four corners of the Jacob
Center Tower . It has been established previously that four
elevator shafts exist in the four corners of the building. Two with secret entrances, one for service
deliveries, and the final one for executives.
Likewise, it has also been established that there are only two access
panels on the fifty-second floor, each on opposite sides of the building, one
of which houses the pool elevator. Those
paying attention will have noted that the executive elevator does no exit onto
the fifty-second floor. Instead, it
crests on the fifty-first floor, opening onto a secret passage that leads to a
secret lift in the center of the building which grants the executive access to
the black pyramid office, provided that the black pyramid office is in its
lowered position.
The service
elevator has no connection, directly or indirectly, to the fifty-second floor.
As for the
second access panel in the floor opposite the pool elevator, it has been
mentioned previously that it is only opened on special occasions. Beneath this set of doors, rumor and
corporate myth tell us, exists a giant, shaft-sized shredder for discreet
elimination of substantial material that may be considered incriminating. Beneath this high capacity shredder, it
stands to reason, is an industrial incinerator to further assure that the
incriminating material vanish in a very permanent manner.
8.u.
John Q Public
sat in his office. The walls were once
again black and all the lights were off except for the malicious red glow of
the console buttons at the desk. A low
hum buzzed and he took a deep breath.
“Come in,” he
said.
A door slid
open, white light poured in, and a man strode into the room.
“I have the
samples,” the man said.
“Ah…
Wonderful. Let’s see them,” said John Q
Public.
The man held up
a t-shirt. On it was a slogan.
Light ‘Em Up
Then Light ‘Em Up.
“The crosshairs
are a nice touch,” said John Q Public.
“But don’t you think the pot leaf cheapens it?”
The man
shrugged and said, “Focus groups show a twenty percent higher return on drug
related merchandise and the pot leaf–”
“Yes, yes. I know all about focus groups,” said John Q
Public. He continued to scrutinize the
shirt. “Is there any news?”
“Yes,” the man
said, apparently understanding his boss’s vagaries. “Senior Executive, as you know, has accepted
and is settling in quite well. He and
General Apathy appear to have patched things up. Business Woman has declined. She has convinced Franklin Buck to do the
same and has taken on the girl, Molly, as an apprentice of sorts dubbing her,
Junior Partner. They are currently in
the old Union headquarters by the river.”
“As expected,”
said John Q Public. “No doubt working in
secret with Senior Executive. Acquire
majority shares in any businesses investing in her enterprise. Offer direct funding as well.”
“Already
implemented,” said the man.
“You have my
approval on the shirt.”
“Of course,
sir.”
John Q Public
sighed and then said, “Well then. On to
business. New t-shirt design. Possible poster offering. A headstone with glasses and a tie. Epitaph reads, “Here lies Corporate Man, the
unbearable dream. Subheading, lower
case, in quotes and fancy script, to read:
do not succumb to death, oh
dream
rebel
subject yourself not to
financial slavery
rebel, revolt, rebel
hold accountable the fiscal
tyrants
demand reparation with
intelligent revolution
-Don Jones
“Seems a bit
long for a t-shirt,” said the man.
“Yes. Also, spread rumors to insinuate that the
previously mentioned quotation was Corporate Man’s final words,” said John Q
Public.
“Is this true?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then you’re
positive that we should proceed with this?” the man asked.
John Q Public
stroked his luscious moustache, but said nothing.
“Sir? Shall I place the order?”
Again, the Big
Bossman made no response.
“Sir?”
THE END