2
An elevator was no place for a sit-in, but J had never been particularly choosy about the demonstrations he took part in. His anti-oil campaign in Texas hadn’t gone well, nor had the anti-crabcake campaign in Maryland. This time, like those times, things were different. He could no longer sit still and watch this company destroy America. Well, he could sit still, and planned to sit still or at least in a singular vertical plane inside an elevator, until this cause got the attention it deserved. J and three of his “staff” sat indian-style in the elevator, though J insisted they call it cross-legged so as not to offend, as they chanted “Up. Down. We won’t stand for this!”
Catchy slogans had never been J’s strong suit.
The elevator carried the four up. And down. It stopped at every floor since J had ingeniously pressed every button. Occasionally an office worker would squeeze in, ignore the din and ride to a floor. The demonstrators would stare angrily at the office worker and continue to chant, while the poor worker would focus straight ahead, much the same as if the elevator contained coworkers instead of demonstrators, only with a slightly more vehement focus.
Carl, from the 3rd floor squeezed on, during one of J’s more impasssioned speeches. “...So if they think that this will go away. If they think we won’t ELEVATE our cause to the HIGHEST point. They can’t STARE us down. We’re in the right. We’re on the move. We’re going UP. We are the future...”
Carl seized the pause in this passionate plea which every floor got a snippet of, to ask, “Just curious, there are 3 other elevators here and you’re letting people ride this one, so what exactly do you think you’re stopping?”
J looked up at the little man before him, the intern, the pion, and said, “Man, it’s not about what we’re stopping. It’s about what we’re calling attention to.”
Carl gazed down at the four and asked, “And what is that again?”
Sherri, a mousey looking follower of J replied, “Recycling”
As Ben, the group’s sharply dressed member, the one who came in wearing a tie, before he so dramatically clipped it replied, “Cafeteria Worker’s rights, man”
Meanwhile, Sid, the quiet one, looked at J longingly.
J stared at his co-conspirators in shock. He looked at Carl smirking. He looked at the three he had sat in an elevator with and he sighed.
“EFF this.” J walked.
Sherri turned to Ben, “Cafeteria workers?”
Ben grabbed his tie pieces, stood up and said, “Uh. yea. Recycling is so 1992.”
Sid, quietly sat in the corner of the elevator pretending to discern which wood surrounded him.
Ben and Sherri walked off the elevator, “Let’s take the stairs,” Ben spat.
Sherri paused and looked back, “Sid, are you coming?”
Sid’s eyes opened wide, but he uncrossed his legs and reluctantly followed.
The three took to the stairs. Carl tried to keep his guffaws to himself.
J had already taken to the street. For a moment he had stood in front of MegaCorp Inc. LLC, frustrated with another failure, frustrated with his support system, frustrated with the man, who always brought him down, really freaking frustrated that the man was some office punk named Carl. Then he walked some more. Briskly. J liked to walk briskly. Brisk walkers always looked like they had somewhere to be. J had somewhere to be. Fuck if he knew where it was.
Ben, Sherri and Sid eventually wound down the six flights of stairs. And back up two flights of stairs when they found themselves in the lower level garage. Sid had tried to point out the sign that said lobby the first time they passed it, but Ben had ignored him and Sherri hadn’t noticed. Sid followed them down and then back up.
“I can’t believe he just left us,” Sherri said as they exited MegaCorp.
“Shut the hell up, Sherri,” Ben retorted as his long strides began to pull him out front of the other two.
Sherri and Sid cowered behind, trailing in the exhaust fumes of Ben’s anger, as all three made their way back to the office. Sid wasn’t entirely paying attention, as he was considering the finer points of J’s elevator rhetoric, but several times he suspected he heard Ben gasp, “Viva la cafeteria.”
The office was actually Sid’s kitchen, which Ben claimed was the only reason that Sid remained a member of this little activist group. Sid disagreed violently by tossing sugar packets at the wall when no one else was around.
In the office, Sid’s kitchen, one wall had been designated exclusively to activist activity. It had to be called activist activity because the four had been entirely unable to agree on a name for the group. J had suggested- PANSY- People Acting, kNowing Saps Yield. It had met with no enthusiasm. Even Sid stuck out his tongue. Sherri advocated “In Your Eye Action” until Ben showed her a porn movie of the same title. Ben thought they should be called “Theatre of Tragedy” after his favorite Norse Gothic metal band. Sid had quietly disagreed with all of their ideas until finally he was the only one who hadn’t volunteered a name. Everyone sort of waited for him to say something, but he couldn’t come up with a thing so he stayed silent. Well, he had come up with The Society Blender, after a nearby appliance, but the group had agreed to disagree before he had a chance to put it out there.
Maps, plans, supplies, and the refrigerator covered the wall. The refrigerator was crucial to the group because J had a sweet tooth. He could hardly go a day without a scoop of some flavor of ice cream. There were 6 cartons of ice cream in Sid’s freezer right now. Meat had actually spoiled so J’s ice cream could stay cool. After every protest, the four would return to the office, J would scoop out some ice cream, Butternut if the day had been particularly rough, and leave it on the counter. Sid would clean it up, open the freezer and gesture timidly with the ice cream scoop. It was his way of saying, “Anyone else?” If Ben or Sherri felt like it they’d let Sid scoop their ice cream, otherwise they’d let Sid wait a minute or two until his hand got cold and he’d shut the freezer and go to clean his ice cream scoop.
This was definitely going to be a Butternut day.
Ben got back to the office first with Sherri and Sid not far behind. Ben gave the handle a tug and gave it a kick when he realized it was locked.
“Open the door.” he moaned as Sid arrived. “Why’s J the only one with a key?”
Sid didn’t answer as he fumbled with his keys. He got the door open and let the others ooze into the kitchen. He followed behind. All three collapsed into their chairs and waited silently for J’s return. They waited. And waited. Nobody said a word. Until Sherri said, “I’ve got to get to work.”
Ben scoffed, “On a Friday night?”
“I’m a waitress, Ben. Not Girl Friday.”
“Girl Friday? Who says that?”
The question hung in the air as Sherri stood up ready to leave.
“Bye Sid,” she said as she patted his hand. Then she turned and mocked Ben with an outstretched tongue, “Bye Ben,” she sung.
Ben stood to leave as well, “I’ll walk you out.”
“Whatever.”
It wasn’t that Ben really wanted to leave with Sherri. He just didn’t want to stay alone with Sid. To Ben, being alone with Sid was worse than being alone. He was happy to piggyback on Sherri’s exit.
With the two of them gone, Sid took to cleaning up the kitchen. It was strange that J hadn’t returned from today’s efforts. He should have polished off a bowl or two of Butternut by now. Sid tried not to worry. J was a grown man after all. He could be anywhere. He could be with Matty. It was Friday night and J could be painting the town. Depending on the cause he could be painting it pink, red, or even black. With J, it was hard to guess.
On to 3
Catchy slogans had never been J’s strong suit.
The elevator carried the four up. And down. It stopped at every floor since J had ingeniously pressed every button. Occasionally an office worker would squeeze in, ignore the din and ride to a floor. The demonstrators would stare angrily at the office worker and continue to chant, while the poor worker would focus straight ahead, much the same as if the elevator contained coworkers instead of demonstrators, only with a slightly more vehement focus.
Carl, from the 3rd floor squeezed on, during one of J’s more impasssioned speeches. “...So if they think that this will go away. If they think we won’t ELEVATE our cause to the HIGHEST point. They can’t STARE us down. We’re in the right. We’re on the move. We’re going UP. We are the future...”
Carl seized the pause in this passionate plea which every floor got a snippet of, to ask, “Just curious, there are 3 other elevators here and you’re letting people ride this one, so what exactly do you think you’re stopping?”
J looked up at the little man before him, the intern, the pion, and said, “Man, it’s not about what we’re stopping. It’s about what we’re calling attention to.”
Carl gazed down at the four and asked, “And what is that again?”
Sherri, a mousey looking follower of J replied, “Recycling”
As Ben, the group’s sharply dressed member, the one who came in wearing a tie, before he so dramatically clipped it replied, “Cafeteria Worker’s rights, man”
Meanwhile, Sid, the quiet one, looked at J longingly.
J stared at his co-conspirators in shock. He looked at Carl smirking. He looked at the three he had sat in an elevator with and he sighed.
“EFF this.” J walked.
Sherri turned to Ben, “Cafeteria workers?”
Ben grabbed his tie pieces, stood up and said, “Uh. yea. Recycling is so 1992.”
Sid, quietly sat in the corner of the elevator pretending to discern which wood surrounded him.
Ben and Sherri walked off the elevator, “Let’s take the stairs,” Ben spat.
Sherri paused and looked back, “Sid, are you coming?”
Sid’s eyes opened wide, but he uncrossed his legs and reluctantly followed.
The three took to the stairs. Carl tried to keep his guffaws to himself.
J had already taken to the street. For a moment he had stood in front of MegaCorp Inc. LLC, frustrated with another failure, frustrated with his support system, frustrated with the man, who always brought him down, really freaking frustrated that the man was some office punk named Carl. Then he walked some more. Briskly. J liked to walk briskly. Brisk walkers always looked like they had somewhere to be. J had somewhere to be. Fuck if he knew where it was.
Ben, Sherri and Sid eventually wound down the six flights of stairs. And back up two flights of stairs when they found themselves in the lower level garage. Sid had tried to point out the sign that said lobby the first time they passed it, but Ben had ignored him and Sherri hadn’t noticed. Sid followed them down and then back up.
“I can’t believe he just left us,” Sherri said as they exited MegaCorp.
“Shut the hell up, Sherri,” Ben retorted as his long strides began to pull him out front of the other two.
Sherri and Sid cowered behind, trailing in the exhaust fumes of Ben’s anger, as all three made their way back to the office. Sid wasn’t entirely paying attention, as he was considering the finer points of J’s elevator rhetoric, but several times he suspected he heard Ben gasp, “Viva la cafeteria.”
The office was actually Sid’s kitchen, which Ben claimed was the only reason that Sid remained a member of this little activist group. Sid disagreed violently by tossing sugar packets at the wall when no one else was around.
In the office, Sid’s kitchen, one wall had been designated exclusively to activist activity. It had to be called activist activity because the four had been entirely unable to agree on a name for the group. J had suggested- PANSY- People Acting, kNowing Saps Yield. It had met with no enthusiasm. Even Sid stuck out his tongue. Sherri advocated “In Your Eye Action” until Ben showed her a porn movie of the same title. Ben thought they should be called “Theatre of Tragedy” after his favorite Norse Gothic metal band. Sid had quietly disagreed with all of their ideas until finally he was the only one who hadn’t volunteered a name. Everyone sort of waited for him to say something, but he couldn’t come up with a thing so he stayed silent. Well, he had come up with The Society Blender, after a nearby appliance, but the group had agreed to disagree before he had a chance to put it out there.
Maps, plans, supplies, and the refrigerator covered the wall. The refrigerator was crucial to the group because J had a sweet tooth. He could hardly go a day without a scoop of some flavor of ice cream. There were 6 cartons of ice cream in Sid’s freezer right now. Meat had actually spoiled so J’s ice cream could stay cool. After every protest, the four would return to the office, J would scoop out some ice cream, Butternut if the day had been particularly rough, and leave it on the counter. Sid would clean it up, open the freezer and gesture timidly with the ice cream scoop. It was his way of saying, “Anyone else?” If Ben or Sherri felt like it they’d let Sid scoop their ice cream, otherwise they’d let Sid wait a minute or two until his hand got cold and he’d shut the freezer and go to clean his ice cream scoop.
This was definitely going to be a Butternut day.
Ben got back to the office first with Sherri and Sid not far behind. Ben gave the handle a tug and gave it a kick when he realized it was locked.
“Open the door.” he moaned as Sid arrived. “Why’s J the only one with a key?”
Sid didn’t answer as he fumbled with his keys. He got the door open and let the others ooze into the kitchen. He followed behind. All three collapsed into their chairs and waited silently for J’s return. They waited. And waited. Nobody said a word. Until Sherri said, “I’ve got to get to work.”
Ben scoffed, “On a Friday night?”
“I’m a waitress, Ben. Not Girl Friday.”
“Girl Friday? Who says that?”
The question hung in the air as Sherri stood up ready to leave.
“Bye Sid,” she said as she patted his hand. Then she turned and mocked Ben with an outstretched tongue, “Bye Ben,” she sung.
Ben stood to leave as well, “I’ll walk you out.”
“Whatever.”
It wasn’t that Ben really wanted to leave with Sherri. He just didn’t want to stay alone with Sid. To Ben, being alone with Sid was worse than being alone. He was happy to piggyback on Sherri’s exit.
With the two of them gone, Sid took to cleaning up the kitchen. It was strange that J hadn’t returned from today’s efforts. He should have polished off a bowl or two of Butternut by now. Sid tried not to worry. J was a grown man after all. He could be anywhere. He could be with Matty. It was Friday night and J could be painting the town. Depending on the cause he could be painting it pink, red, or even black. With J, it was hard to guess.
On to 3
posted by David at 8:29 PM
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