I don’t know, inexperienced. ”
Erik raised an eyebrow. Bobby continued.
“I mean, she’s just gone from one meaningless, thankless job to another her whole life. She’s been doing it so long that she forgets that there is actually something better out there. A career is like a parking garage with those ‘severe tire damage’ strips all through it. Once you advance up a level, you can never go back to a lower one again.”
Erik squinted at Bobby and crossed his arms.
“Okay, look, it’s like this,” Bobby explained. “Remember the first time you used a 56K modem after years of using a 28.8? It seemed like Buckaroo Banzai’s jet car by comparison. But now that we’ve got DSL, 56K is intolerably slow. Once you’ve tasted broadband, you can never be happy going back to your old modem. It’s the same thing with jobs. I’ve had the T1 line of employment yanked away from me, and now she expects me to just go back to 9600 baud. It’s not that I don’t want a job. As soon as I find the right one, I’ll be on it like Pepé Le Pew on a striped cat, but in the meantime, I can’t be expected to degrade myself by flipping burgers or pumping gas for tourists, right?”
Erik clapped quietly.
“Nice reading. Very spontaneous and non-rehearsed,” he said sarcastically. “So what did Vivian say when you laid that on her?”
Bobby sighed.
“She said she wouldn’t pay my Internet bill anymore.”
Vivian shuffled back into the room and dropped the phone numbly on the floor, spilling its receiver across the carpet. She fell into her chair with a crunch.
“They said I was under-qualified when I admitted I didn’t know what was meant by the phrase ‘scattered, smothered, and covered,’” she said. “They actually told me that I was under-qualified to be a Waffle House waitress. That’s like being under-qualified to be a car accident victim.”
She shook her head and turned to Bobby as he clattered away at his keyboard.
“What did you find, Bob?”
“‘Wanted: volunteer video game testers for new next-generation console,’” Bobby said. “That sounds awesome. I just sent in my résumé.”
Vivian looked at her brother in disbelief.
“Bobby, you do realize that ‘volunteer’ means that you don’t get paid, right?” Bobby blinked and squinted at his screen.
“Hmm, well, it looks like the job was in Tokyo anyway.”
Vivian shook her head.
“Okay, Bobby, how about a ‘safety’ application, just in case the CEO thing doesn’t work out,” she pleaded. “Could you apply for something lowly and possible, like janitorial or food service, please? Just to humor me?”
“Alright, alright,” Bobby griped.
Vivian returned to her paper, scanning the columns with an increasing sense of gloom.
“This city is an employment wasteland,” she moped. “There’s not a single worthwhile job within twenty miles of here.”
“Hey Viv,” Erik offered helpfully, “if you’re already resigned to working as a waitress anyway, you might as well apply at the Hooters out on Songbird Key. It’s right on the other side of the bridge, and I’ve heard that those girls make tons of money in tips, plus they have full benefits.”
“Oh, right,” Vivian snorted. “Can you picture me in little orange hot pants with my breasts all bunched up in a tight tank top like some Lamborghini poster girl from 1985?”
Erik stared blankly through Vivian’s abdomen as a smile spread dreamily across his face. Vivian scowled.
“Go home, Erik.”
Erik’s face flushed an embarrassed shade of red. Vivian crumpled her newspaper and threw it at him.
“All right, I give up. I’m just going to apply over at Publix,” she said. “Sure, it’s a lateral move into the same lousy job, but at least their seafood doesn’t require a garnish of antibiotics.”
She picked up Xena and shuffled off to the kitchen, dragging the beeping receiver across the carpet behind her. The boys turned their slothful attention back to the dubbed film on TV.
“You know, there’s something that I’ve never understood about this movie,” Bobby said. “If everybody in Bartertown is drinking water laced with radioactive fallout, how come they’re not all zombies?”
“Well, that’s because radiation doesn’t cause zombies,” Erik explained. “Zombies are always caused by toxic waste or some sinister biological agent that the military accidentally unleashes on the general public.”
“I call bullshit on that,” Bobby countered. “In Night of the Living Dead the zombies rose from the grave because of radiation coming off of a space probe.”
“They allegedly rose from the dead because of radiation coming off of a space probe,” Erik corrected. “They never give a definitive explanation for what happened. It’s like the writer knew that his science was crap, so instead of giving concrete facts he just let the characters take batshit guesses as to what was going on.” Vivian came back into the room, set Xena on the coffee table, and languidly dropped into her chair. She slid her fingers under her glasses and irritably rubbed at her eyes.
“Well, what about The Hills Have Eyes then?” Bobby continued. “The radiation from a nuclear test site spawns a bunch of whacked-out cannibalistic mutants.”
“Well sure. But that’s mutants, not zombies, ” Erik said dismissively. “Apples and oranges. Zombies and mutants are completely different things.”
“Oh, they are not, ” Bobby argued. “They’re all the same genre of irradiated, flesh-eating freaks.”
“No they’re not!” Erik snapped. “There’s a world of difference! Zombies are nothing but rotting, reanimated corpses! They have no thought processes! All they do is shamble through the night, infecting people and eating brains. They’re always an evil menace and a threat to humanity. A mutant can be evil, but it doesn’t have to be. Look at the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, or the X-Men, or the Fantastic Four, or even the Toxic Avenger! All mutants! All heroes!”
Vivian ground her palms into her throbbing forehead.
“God, Erik! Shut … up! ” she groaned. “You sit here blathering on and on in these endless tirades of B-movie nonsense as if anybody cares! None of that is real, Erik! It’s just pointless fanboy gibberish!”
Erik’s soft eyes took on an abused puppy-dog quality.
“Oh, come on, Vivian. We’re talking about mutants and zombies here. Outside of
‘fanboy gibberish,’ what else is there to know?”
Vivian took a deep, annoyed breath.
“Well, Haitian legend says that a zombie is created when a bokor performs a voodoo ritual upon a person, turning him into a mindless slave. According to scientific studies, the ‘zombie’ trance is actually a psychological state caused by a combination of tetrodotoxin powder and various hallucinogens. Voodoo zombies do not eat human flesh. Mutants, on the other hand, come from damaged DNA strands improperly spreading their genetic code into newly forming cells. An extreme dose of radiation can cause grotesque mutation but, more often than not, it also causes early death. It never causes super powers. And for the record, mutants also do not eat human flesh.”
Erik’s lips pursed into a pout.
“Oh yeah? ” he argued. “Well, what about mutant sharks? ” Vivian blinked.
“Go home, Erik.”
Bobby nodded toward the phone.
“So I’m gonna guess by your showers of sunshine that you did not get the grocery job?”
Vivian sighed.
“After my years of tireless service at Boltzmann’s Market, the good folks at Publix consider me vastly over -qualified for employment. Bobby, please tell me that you’ve applied for something reasonable.”
“We’re three for three,” he said, pounding the Enter key. “I applied in food service, just like you asked.”
“Thanks, Bob. I appreciate that. What’s the job?”
“Waitress at the Hooters out on Songbird Key,” he said. “I’ve heard I can make tons of money in tips, plus I’d get full benefits.”
Vivian pulled off her glasses and pressed her palms over her eyes.
“I give up,” she moaned. “I just give up.”
She dropped her head into her lap and fell quiet. Erik scowled at Bobby, who was now clicking through online galleries of Hooters waitresses. He reached out consolingly for Vivian’s knee, but when his hand was halfway there, he suddenly thought better of the idea and pulled it back.
“Hey, it’s not all that bad, Viv. Seriously,” he said, patting the prickly arm of her chair instead. “Listen, it’s not the end of the world. Okay, so you’ve got a crappy job that you hate, but you’ve got a lot of good stuff going on in your life too, right? It’s like I always say: Life is like a box of Smilex.”
“Don’t give me that Up With People crap,” Vivian grumbled. “I’m not in the mood for smiling.”
“No no,” Erik said. “Not smiling, Smilex. You remember. The chemical from Batman. ”
Vivian looked up and glared at Erik in disbelief.
“Please tell me that you’re not actually about to try to cheer me up with more of your bogus movie pseudo-science.”
“Just listen,” Erik said. “In that movie the Joker terrorized Gotham City by putting toxic Smilex into the city’s cosmetics and toiletries.”
“So nobody could wear eye shadow?” Vivian said sarcastically. “Oh, the humanity.”
“No, you could wear eye shadow, if you were lucky,” Erik corrected. “No single item contained the entire formula. There might be elements of Smilex in your eye shadow, and some in your lipstick, and some in your soap. If you used any single one of those you’d be fine, but use all three together and they form Smilex, and you become one very happy corpse.”
“Erik, I’m begging you,” Vivian moaned. “Either make a point or stop talking.”
“My point is that life is like a box of Smilex,” Erik repeated. “It’ll only kill you if the right combination of your life’s toiletries are bad. Your job? Infected deodorant. Your finances? Tainted mouthwash. But those two things can’t take you down as long as you still have so much good stuff going for you.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you’ve got your health.”
Vivian rolled her eyes.
“No, seriously,” Erik continued. “Half the people in this town couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs to save their life. Don’t take it for granted. You’re young; you could still go anywhere and do anything. In the meantime, at least you’ve got a good, safe place to live and a kitchen full of food. Starving African kids would kill for what you have here. And when you come home at the end of a crappy day of work all dripping in partially formed Smilex, there’s two great guys here who are always happy to see you. Friends are the only thing that really count, right Bobby?” Erik glanced at Bobby. Bobby shrugged.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to start humming ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’?”
Erik shook his head and turned back to Vivian.
“Just don’t give up, Vivian,” he said. “You won’t be working at Boltzmann’s much longer, but for now that toxic job is keeping you safe from a bunch of other infected stuff. Without it you’d switch to ‘Unemployed’ brand toothpaste, ‘Homeless’ brand hairspray, and ‘Starving’ brand shampoo. Next thing you know Batman is finding your bloated, grinning corpse floating in the Gotham River.”
Erik’s densely knotted metaphor pulled itself through Vivian’s mind, forcing a tiny, resigned smile across her lips. He may have been full of crap, but at least he was making an effort to help.
“You’re right. You sure took the scenic route to get there, but you’re right,” she sighed. “It could be worse. I could have no job at all. I guess as long as I’m working, we’ll be all right.”
“That’s right, stay positive,” Erik beamed. “And hey, you never know when the phone is going to ring with a job offer.”
As if on cue, the warrior princess erupted in her ululating ring. Vivian’s hand shot out and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello. Vivian Gray speaking,” she said hopefully.
“Vivian!” a guttural voice screamed. “What are you trying to pull?”
“Mr. Boltzmann?” Vivian blinked. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Boltzmann squeaked in a mocking imitation of Vivian’s voice. “Don’t try to play innocent with me, missy. You’re not that good an actress.”
Vivian didn’t know where to go from there.
“I’m sorry?” she ventured.
“You’d better be! Your drawer came up a hundred and sixty dollars short today. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you think I’m stupid? “ Vivian suddenly understood.
“No, I don’t think you’re stupid,” she lied. “Listen, there was a misunderstanding with the refund that I gave to that woman with the camping lantern. You see, it cost eighty dollars, but you made me refund money that she never actually gave me two times, so she got one hundred and sixty back. That’s where the missing-”
“So what you’re trying to tell me is that the woman paid you for the lantern three times, making a surplus of two hundred and forty dollars, and then somehow when you refunded one-sixty, your drawer came up one-sixty short?” Vivian put her hand on her pounding forehead.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. Listen to me-I’ll go through it very slowly so you can understand.”
“Oh, I understand! I understand your little scheme just fine!” Boltzmann screamed. “You charged that woman for the lantern three times and pocketed the extra one-sixty for yourself. Then, when you got caught, you took another one-sixty from the register to cover what you had already stolen!” Vivian’s head spun with the pure mathematical illogic of it all.
“Listen, tomorrow when I come in I’ll explain the whole thing, using diagrams,” she said. “Puppets if necessary.”
“Shaddup, Vivian!” Boltzmann wailed. “You’re done explaining. And don’t bother coming in tomorrow. You’re fired! ”
Vivian gasped as if the blow of the unexpected termination had knocked the wind out of her.
“W-what?!”
“And I’m taking the three hundred and twenty bucks that you stole out of your last paycheck, smart-ass!”
With a harsh click, the phone went dead. Vivian’s mouth continued to work at forming words, but only a dial tone remained to hear whatever she would come up with.
“Is that so?!” she finally yelled. “Well, you can’t fire me, because I quit! ” She slammed the phone down in its cradle. Bobby and Erik stared at her in quiet disbelief.
“Vivian, I’m all for telling the Man where to shove it,” Bobby said with concern,
“but didn’t you just totally Smilex our asses?”
Vivian glared at Bobby.
“I hope you saved the box that television came in, because as of the end of the month, we’re both going to be living in it.”
A long, tense silence fell over the apartment. Even the TV seemed to quiet itself in appreciation of the situation’s severity.
Erik looked at Bobby, then at Vivian. His eyes had a faint glimmer, as if his mind was pulling together the compassionate words of wisdom that would make everything all right.
Finally he broke the silence.
“Well,” he announced, “I’m gonna go home.”
With that he sprang off the couch and bolted for the door.
“Right behind you,” Bobby agreed.
In the blink of an eye the two retreating boys had vanished, punctuating their disappearance with a slamming door.
Vivian sat alone in the filthy darkness of her apartment. The stack of unpaid bills on the table stared at her coldly. It somehow seemed taller than it had just a moment before. After fully considering all other possible courses of action, she grabbed a long loop of phone cable and considered wrapping it around her neck.
Before she could take action against her own windpipe, the phone released its warbling ring.
Vivian answered
.
“Hello,” she said meekly.
“Hiya, Red!” came the reply. “It’s me, Nick. We met here at the store today.” Vivian closed her eyes tightly and started hammering her head with the earpiece.
“How did you get my phone number?” she croaked.
“Easy! I got it out of your employee file when ol’ Verm pitched it in the trash. Man, you sure pissed him off something fierce. I’m not even going to tell you the things he said about you after he hung up! It was totally obscene! “ Vivian’s hands rolled into fists, then slowly relaxed.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Now I have to hang up and see if I can find a job cleaning bedpans at some senior assisted-living home. Goodbye.”
“Hoo, harsh,” Nick laughed smoothly. “Hey, before you do that, why don’t we see if I can get Verm to give you your job back? I could totally do it. That guy loves me. Plus I saw the whole thing with the old lady go down. I’ll explain it to him man-to-man.”
Vivian thought the proposition over. As sad and twisted as it was, it could actually work.
“That’s … well, that’s very nice of you,” she said. “I’d actually appreciate that a lot.”
“It’s no problem,” Nick said. “No problem at all.”
“Well, okay then,” Vivian said, a relieved smile barely breaking across her face.
“Thanks, Nick! Thanks a lot. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow.”
“Actually, I was thinking you’d see me tonight ,” Nick said. “On that date that we talked about.”
A chill streaked down Vivian’s spine.
“Oh … I, um … I’m really not available tonight for a date. I’m … going out with a friend,” she stammered.
“Aw, that’s too bad,” Nick said disappointedly. “I was going to talk to Mr. B about all this in the morning, but it looks like I might be scheduled at a store over on Songbird Key tomorrow …”
Vivian frowned.
“I see-so this is about extortion,” she said bluntly. “In that case, forget it. I’m not the kind of girl who trades evening companionship for career advancement.”
“I know you’re not,” Nick said. “You’re the kind of girl who cleans bedpans in assisted-living homes. Come on, Red! Am I worse than that?” In her mind Vivian flicked through all of the cards in her hand, weighed her options, and decided to fold.
The Oblivion Society Page 8
