Itemized Non-Recoverables on Parade!

 

⦁ A plain solid brown oak desk. 

⦁ An appropriate lamp with curved fittings. 

⦁ Some labeled frames. 

⦁ A large black cannister. 

⦁ An envelope containing a five rupee note. 

⦁ Seventeen blackened wires of varying lengths.

⦁ A picture of Morgan Dumont. 

⦁ His birth certificate.

⦁ An oval rensaleer.

⦁ A cooking kit to be used on moderate rail excursions.

⦁ My personal specimen jar. 

⦁ A six year old weight chart belonging to a chaperone I once dated.

⦁ And finally, her (the chaperone's) beige hair system.

You, or someone close to you in abbreviated temperament, might think that the above list is some kind of 'zany' concoction. Nothing could be further from the truth. I, for one, never thought for even one instant that composing this list could cause those under my care to lose their place. But, when it comes to unknown parties and their inherent peculiarities, anyone who tells you that their method is able to keep various onlookers rapt with tendentiousness is trying to sell you a bill of goods. For example, where does it say that one person out of five is likely to be functionally arrested in their ineffectual development by age 37? If anyone reading this tries to tell us that they saw it in a very important book, then that person will have some major explaining to do. And, just so you know, it won't be some petty affair where a guy sidles up to you between courses, loosens his tie, almost stops breathing and then just 'lets loose'. No. It'll be a full-bore official briefing pattern. A nominee will be designated, a type of water will be approved and then one of the least dependable witnesses since we started this thing will be foisted on the general public. Without a trace of irony, I might add.

By the time it's all over, in the waning hours of the thirty-fifth, no one will be sure that they got what they came for. Only one curmudgeon is likely to stand on personal privilege and issue a blistering jeremiad, just to see if a bell tolls, and who hears it without consulting a visiting chart-topper. Even when one of us expresses their undying love for piecemeal afflateurs, the only secret labeler liable to notice will be the one knock-out who everyone is sure has skin in the game. And that won't be anyone who's ever bothered to see a qualified person for an informal look-see. Why? It's because they've already had their skin tested multiple times. There weren't any signs then and there won't be any now, just so you know.

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An Introduction to Important Letters.

 

There will be a letter 'E' followed by the letter 'S'. These are not to be taken lightly, if at all. I will stand guard near one of your piles, in case help is on the way. If not, some of the tokens may be collared. A state of rest is not assured. Those of us who have been mentioned in your absence are quite possibly relieved to no longer be interposed between your patients and some of our friends from the atheist community. They live with the knowledge that in a scant two and a half years a number of our pamphlets have found their way into a dressing facility which has seen better days. I count myself as a person of moribund cultural perspectives. Even still, if one of them were to take my daughter to a Health Compound, I would make every effort to fit in and not cause others to feel a vague sense of concern. It's about the spirit of helpfulness. When your number is called, there's not a question sensitive enough to merit a full blown chemical event. On the other hand, have you ever wondered if something you once thought about made getting ahead in life more difficult than you had any right expect? I'm not asking 'for a friend', I'm asking because I sincerely want to know your honest opinion. That shouldn't be too hard, not that anyone's bragging.

So, as I pulled her coat into my greedy mitts, I wished her a fond renewal. We'd made the best of a tricky situation. She'd bargained with my Chief Utility Officer for more time in the hole. By the time it was 'lights out', my allergies kicked in and I was of no use to her anymore. She made more in five hours than I had in five years. It seemed that I just could not stop yelling at her housebound cosmetician. There was no other way to let off steam, what with her taking all the air from the proverbial elephant in the room. When I skipped town later that day, I could see that she was beginning to regret the part I played in the approval process. As a father, I made it quite clear that none of her effects were to be left at the scene. That would make it all too easy for people to once and for all establish a linkage, if only in their fevered imaginations. Where does it say that some of us are destined from birth to equip a battalion with some of the most innovative conduction units to ever be deployed in mission-critical fooferaw?

Even now I live with the nagging suspicion that some of my clothing choices could have initiated a chain of events which left not a few grasping for a simple explanation. The problem is, and has always been, that some of us are still beseeching manifold placement groomers to make a subtle offering in lieu of a bonified risk assessment com-deck. There's a trail of sheltered hemorrhages where before no one could count on the fingers of one hand. They deserve a lot of credit. People like to throw stones, but where would they be if I had it to do all over again? This is the kind of thing which is quite uncomfortable to even pretend to consider. It's my God given right to bring anyone I want into a secret meeting as long as they can be counted upon to remain completely motionless. By the time we got home, I removed the last wire from his forehead. He thanked me, we shook hands and that was the last time I ever saw him. Who's laughing now?

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The Office Window System: Answers.

 

Have any of you ever felt even a modicum of curiosity about the efficacy of the window system that we deploy here in the office? I ask because it's come to my attention, more than once, in fact, that there's a high probability that some of you have been spotted during off-hours having your way with some of our least inductive occupants. In fact, they've even stopped me on the way to the train to unburden themselves and call attention to what they might have gone through at the expense of the devotion I used to lavish on our head person. He's been in the game for more than a few years, and has the rimcracks to prove it. If and when he decides to come clean in my antechamber in the quiet hours just before dawn, then there's an explosive device secreted in the lavatory with his name printed rather boldly on the outer casing.

On the other hand, if this turns out to be, at the end of the day, just another silly diversion from our core missionary extrusion, I will be the first randomized individual to take part in a pure blind test of wills in our secure facility. I expect to arrive dressed as for any other occasion requiring neither special notice, access nor tribute. When I'm greeted by an over wrought habitual liar proudly displaying a forged copy of my naval birth certificate, I expect that I may pass some bolus then and there. If not for the masticatory assistance of our Support Crew and their various devious adjutants, there's no way that any of us could ever hope to retrieve even the slightest iota of prickly balm from underneath the Special Duty Shelf where it's stood watch over our comings and goings for lo these many decades.

It seems like only yesterday when I had to kick you out of our competitor's shoe-shine operation and lead you by the hand into the office of the lead prosecutor in the Jeffrey Epstein case. It was there that you recounted your phony 'tale of woe' and expected everyone within earshot to compete to be the first to pin the dust jacket of my plagiarized autobiography on your piffle-laden, yet scandalously ample, bosom. Once you attained total mental control over my extended family, you proceeded to swap them out, one by one, in the hopes that no one in their right mind would intuit your ever deepening involvement in the alien hybridization program writ large. There but for the grace of God we go in wonder and awe, but only three or four steps into this routine nightmare, it seems that my contract with the US Department of Agriculture has caused a ruckus down on the floor. By the looks of it, they've got quite a wingding in process down there. Too bad only one scoundrel per hour is offered even your basic standardized refreshment provision. Otherwise I'd gather up my hienies and head for the boats. It can't always be like this, can it? You tell me. No.

____________________________ 

I̵̺̮̖͎̿n̶͈͌ď̷̗̙̥̔͋̍e̴͚͑̕͝m̸͕͉̋n̶̞̥̤͆̈́į̶̼̝̺͗͠f̵͉͑̌̂y̷̫͖͑͐̆̚i̵̥̜̳̹͋͂͠n̵̙̮͈̊̽͐̽ǵ̴̩̝͒͑̈́ ̸̦͍̬̏J̸̜̘̘͈͂̈́̃͂ȩ̷̓n̶̺̤̂n̷̨͈͇̯̑̔̀̒y̷̡͕̥͛̑͠ ̶̪͙̲̀̽̏C̴̗̓͜ȁ̵̧̩͓͈͆͛r̶̭̰͗ͅr̷̹͍͎̍̌̆̓ú̸̻͉̲̯͝t̶̺̘̜̤̂͒ĥ̷̼͓̗̙̉̈́e̸̖̗͙̋̑͝͝r̸͉͕̟̓͜s̶̛̺͊͘.̷͇̫̃

 

I was with him when he saw me motion to one of our signal carriers. He didn't like what he saw. Or at least that's what he wanted me to believe. I confess it was hard to tell. Sure, I've known him for a few years. Once, when he was walking near a major highway, I had to go into town to pick up one of the jobs we always had waiting. When I got back he told me nothing of the kind. Instead, he told me about an incident from when his Dad was just a young 'piker' (yes, that was the word he used). It seems his Dad had just gotten over adenoids and was rooting around a neighbor's basement while the other kids dutifully pretended to complete their homework assignments early for 'special credit'. All of a sudden a man who was about six foot two, wearing a beige oafer's coat, made his way slowly through a nearby parish. If you said that some of the locals were 'put off', you wouldn't be half wrong. Other than that, no one did anything to arouse suspicion. I have it on good authority that that was the day that he started acting the part he was to play for the rest of his life, both overseas and in the domestic theater of operations.

Now that we've decided to adopt a baby on the darknet markets, something seems to have gotten into him when it comes to donating barely useless machinery to less well developed residents. He will wait all day near the entrance to a recreation center, only to storm off with no questions asked and make like it was all some kind of joke, or even a 'prank'. Then, when I get back after nightfall and ask him a straightforward question, he stares glumly at the top of my head and says, in a barely audible squeak, 'With all due respect..', and then just trundles off stage to play with his friends, leaving me holding the bag. I've asked everyone I know if they'd be interested in leaving town early. Without fail they mention something about there being 'both good news and bad news'. One of the reasons we're still together is that even if he didn't know how to swim, I'd be told to take him to the beach anyway. The people in my family all come from a town which was invisible to the mapmakers of the day. Even if it could be proven, no one would believe that they never had it so good. It was that kind of place. I've been shown some shoddy drawings. I even learned to count using their system. It goes in threes, in case you're wondering.

We're determined to install a baling hook in our bait room over on the side where the wall was removed to make room in case anything went awry. This is a textbook case of what happens when one of us reads about something. First there's enthusiasm, then a tepid reception, followed by out-and-out dejection. The ideals which we fought for all those years ago are now just a pitiful excuse for remaining stuck in place. When I ask why he puts such an emphasis on keeping up appearances, he has one of his dirtbag friends tell me to just 'back the fuck off!'. If anyone hasn't figured it out yet, I'll be putting in my papers in the next week or two. After that I'll be on the Coast for a not-so-secret meeting with the head of Oxymander Coal IPG. In the meantime, if you could come by and check on the outside around the window sills on the first floor, we'd all be very grateful. Don't do that.

_________________________

One Simple Request.

 

Once I've paid for all of you to live on your own for a week or two, would it be okay if I had a glass of water left near my table in the TV room? I ask because of all the bounty I was forced to return and the peculiar way I was instructed to shape my body to meet changing circumstances. They would be hollering names left and right. The only one who showed interest in my case has gone missing in the general hubbub. It would be the right thing to do if someone went out of their way to find him. The telltale clue which you must remember is that he has moderately wispy hair. Also, he walks with a limp, but only after dark. The one time I knew he couldn't be trusted was when he sauntered near my car and made a funny sound. Not 'ha-ha' funny, I hasten to add. If we can catch up with him and sit down next to where he hides his coffee cup while he memorizes the guidelines, no one will blame us if we start to breathe more easily. It's our trademark way of getting involved in community-centric action plans. If my wife ever looks too closely at your hands, you'll know it was a set-up from the get-go. That's why we keep the pages folded in our right front pocket. Everyone is asking why your appearance is making them nervous.

We've decided to take a new slant in our approach. I will make it my first priority to show up every day at noon. The sliding door will be kept in the 'open' position until each contestant is removed through a stationary tunnel sequence. The white lights will come on at the five-minute mark, the pink at ten and the blue at twelve. Each will be docked as a vacancy is recorded. The voice you hear belongs to a forthcoming replacement. Everyone knew that one of these days a standard of care would entail a debonair shop steward thwarting a hare-brained hijacking attempt. The clothing alone could give you fits. By the way some prefer to whimper into a cloth basket, we can calmly assert the value of token asset traps. Their jaded apoplexy encourages conscientious women to flail at fluffy banners. It's just not our style to gyrate out of all proportion to the day's titillation. For that you'd have to navigate a steady stream of off-color bromides. A Master of the Occult Arts who wipes down our windows is not to be trusted to carry out his duties without a hint of the traumatized megalomania for which he so well suited. I will be sure to bury your remaining suitcase at the first hint of my arrival. There is no other way. Now scat.

_________________________  

Case Notes: Miss Irina Hudd.

 

The vanity table in Mrs. Hubb's bedroom holds a season's worth of scalped tickets and other ephemera. Her husband lives in his car on alternate days to give her time to pull herself into reasonable shape. The son is off at college. But, there's a rumor about that his return will be delayed by an encounter with a shapeless object. No one is able to predict the color, but some go so far as to enlist an expert. This particular expert has certain things/qualities/events to live down if he is to stay active in the field. This time in their lives will be remembered for all that it isn't. If anyone else is so lucky, it's fair to say they're not inclined to spread the word far and wide. It's what keeps the peace in this era of latchkey psychofants.

I came in the middle of the night to help in some way. Everything was made clear in a text message the previous afternoon. After I arrived, I helped set up a special lamp in an outer room so we could tell if anything had been moved. Mrs. Hubb sat on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table and cried while she perused an industrial bulletin. It featured a telltale article about her late father, known to be a visionary under retroactive incubation. She was in no mood to not coöperate when I affixed copper tubes to her ankles. This would, I believed, enable her, once the current was withdrawn, to shield the microscopic dots and help embed a more productive relief system in the one place it might actually do some good. For all I know, she still lives with the certainty that no one will ever find out an inconvenient truth. But that, unfortunately, won't get us very far.

It's very important to know that I will save every picture I took, both before and after the operation. Once she became more physically pliable, she was attached, without her knowledge, to an Algonquin Modular Excision. When she first engraved her secret number on a piece of driftwood near the Sylvania Turnpike, I turned to her late brother for advice. He motioned for me to sit quietly with my hands placed 'just so'. In the interim, he would be called on to brief the reigning President of Carpenter's Union Local 3922 about an expected security breach at the Allentown, PA headquarters. I thought this was rather odd because I'd never known him to seek the limelight in this patently offensive manner. When his dinner arrived in a truck with Phalangist markings, I knew that my fate would have its way with anyone who refused to take advantage of people who were down on their luck. Further, I had a not-so-funny feeling that once my third child completed her college program, there would be nothing left to say to those who lived to see my downfall. In a matter of seconds, a paper forecast took center stage and my family and I were fully removed. Does this make you happy?

__________________________________ 

Can You Hear the Voices?

 

There are no voices in the wind. But there are voices in the sand. And, while I sit here, I can affirm that we were stalling for even more precious time. The hands would flap on tables which someone had so thoughtlessly provided. In any case, breathing became labored. We'd come this far, most of us, and turning our backs on a chosen grievance could no longer offer a respite from longing. I'm a simple person who naps when told to and who doesn't live more than five minutes into the future on any given day. Only the briefest gap between departure and arrival is known to raise serious concerns. These will be dealt with by consummate professionals the world over. Their decrepit shacks are reason enough (as if any were needed) to avoid the tabletop version of this gambit.

We engage the four-finger salute upon our exit from the breakfast nook as Day 3 slides into a well earned perfidy. All the plans in the world can mold us tightly into cramped servant quarters. But, what no one is telling you is how boring your demeanor is. They've been seen crossing between cottages when they were sure that everyone had left for the night. I stood guard with my buddy, Ike Stevens. He carried a baseball bat and I used a chemical spray. While I stood on a hilltop, he'd saunter into town and try to interest some of the locals in joining our secret club. When they asked him what was so 'secret' about it, he stalked off and assaulted a well liked lifeguard.

We played tapsies with some of the rogues who milled about in their nighties. My Dad had always scoffed at these well turned out mountebanks. He said they reminded him of the janitor at Fisk Academy. He (the janitor) would breed insignificant species on his day off. One time, though, when he was caught going behind our backs to make arrangements, no one had any doubt that he'd been starved for even rudimentary affection. This is why he was so startled when I offered to cast him in a future production. He'd play someone who was pining for an undeserved promotion when all around him people were being asked to invade outer space writ large. And for that he would bask in the opprobrium of a community on its last legs. No one thought twice when inquiring about a regional cancer scare. He feigned ignorance while trafficking phony reports. No one is afraid that this won't end well. Why? Because that's what they were told you wanted to hear, that's why. Now please.

_______________________________