Joe the Control Room Guy
in
Caution: This Story Uses Cookies
in
Caution: This Story Uses Cookies
It was around quarter of seven on a pleasant June morning, and the sun was shining. Joe Outis yawned as he drove down the quiet tree-lined street. He parked across from a three-story brick building, tossed his id badge in the glove compartment, got out, and went up the five stone steps, digging in his pocket for the key. Once in the vestibule, he checked his mailbox out of habit – there was nothing, as he had emptied it yesterday afternoon – then unlocked the inner door and came into the downstairs hall.
“Hello, Joseph,” came a soft elderly voice. He saw his landlady’s face peering through the barely opened door to her first floor apartment. “You won’t forget about the yard today, will you?”
“No, Mrs. Bunter; I’ll do it first thing after I wake up.”
“Good,” she nodded. “I’ll have some cookies for you afterwards.”
“OK, see you later, then,” Joe said, and went up the stairs. Last week he had promised her to tidy up the small yard behind the house. He enjoyed doing yard work and looked forward to having his own, and he also looked forward to those chocolate chip cookies, hot out of the oven, with a big glass of milk... But that would be later: for the moment, he would simply heat a can of soup for his dinner, then get some sleep. He cocked an ear as he went past the second floor apartment, and heard faint sounds of activity. Charlene Pritkin, a cellist in the local symphony, lived there. Today must be a rehearsal day, so she would be out of the house by eight. She never practiced in the apartment, though on days after concerts she slept in until noon. Joe snickered to himself as he went up the stairs to his own apartment, remembering the first time it had happened – her singing in the shower had woken him. He had been to several concerts, so he knew she played far better than she sang.
* * *
The day passed. The TV alarm went off at 15:45, and Joe jumped out of bed. Yawning, he checked the calendar. He meeting his girlfriend for dinner – she was coming over to watch the midget car trials Joe’s company had scheduled for that afternoon. But now, he would spend an hour on the yard, get a shower and some cookies, then head over to work. He pulled on some old clothes and went down the back stairs.
It was not a very big yard, compared to the ones on either side, as it had a shed and a garage. The one on the right was well-tended, with a number of roses and other flowering bushes. But the one on the left was overgrown with weeds. Mrs. Bunter had a couple of rose bushes, some tubs with flowers and others with herbs, and a small vegetable garden. As Joe began picking out weeds, he was surprised to see the back door on the left open. Two men came out in uniforms reading “Slough Landscaping” and carrying gas-powered weed whackers. Joe nodded to them, but they did not seem to notice him. Soon the air vibrated with the whine of the engines as they set to work. Fortunately, Mrs. Bunter’s vegetable patch was on the right – Joe didn’t have any goggles and did not want to get hit in the eye by a flying pebble.
It was almost ten before five when Joe finished the vegetable patch. The whine of the weed whackers had been continuous. He glanced towards the other yard; he would have to let the tubs on that side go for today. He decided that he could water everything tomorrow morning when he got back after work. For now, he would get some cookies, then get ready for his date. And then, he nodded with a grimace, another night shift of encoding. Well, this time he would remember to take some of those cookies along.
It was not a very big yard, compared to the ones on either side, as it had a shed and a garage. The one on the right was well-tended, with a number of roses and other flowering bushes. But the one on the left was overgrown with weeds. Mrs. Bunter had a couple of rose bushes, some tubs with flowers and others with herbs, and a small vegetable garden. As Joe began picking out weeds, he was surprised to see the back door on the left open. Two men came out in uniforms reading “Slough Landscaping” and carrying gas-powered weed whackers. Joe nodded to them, but they did not seem to notice him. Soon the air vibrated with the whine of the engines as they set to work. Fortunately, Mrs. Bunter’s vegetable patch was on the right – Joe didn’t have any goggles and did not want to get hit in the eye by a flying pebble.
It was almost ten before five when Joe finished the vegetable patch. The whine of the weed whackers had been continuous. He glanced towards the other yard; he would have to let the tubs on that side go for today. He decided that he could water everything tomorrow morning when he got back after work. For now, he would get some cookies, then get ready for his date. And then, he nodded with a grimace, another night shift of encoding. Well, this time he would remember to take some of those cookies along.
* * *
After some milk, a handful of cookies and a shower, Joe drove to work. He had to park in the lot next door, as the back part of the company lot had been blocked off, and the rest was full with the cars of other co-workers. In the empty back lot, a test track had been set up, lined with traffic cones and bales of hay. People were milling around: some were watching the fun, others were looking at the company’s midget go-kart which had been entered in the local fair later that week. Over a dozen people wanted to drive, so it had been decided that time trials would be held. Anyone who wanted to try out could do so – and the fastest driver would be the company’s entry in the race. Joe had signed up, but his girlfriend didn’t know it – yet. He hoped he would find her before it was his turn to drive. He didn’t really expect to win, but he was really looking forward to seeing her expression when they called his name.
Joe made his way through the mob, nodding to people from Traffic, Field Services, Development, Production, and even some from his own Operations department. Some he had met while he was training during the day, and some he knew from e-mails or from other interactions, though he was not really certain of many outside of Field Services and Operations. There were even some of Upper Management putting in a token appearance: he recognized one individual in a vest as their corporate lawyer. Near the back door, Human Resources had set up a grill, and were burning hot dogs – it was too early in Joe’s day for that kind of food, but they had soda too, so he helped himself to some. Circus music was blasting from speakers, borrowed from Production.
“Joe, there you are. Want a hot dog?”
Golden-brown hair with a barely noticeable cowlick, soft, round cat-like face, a snappy blue outfit... It was Ann. She must have gotten here early.
“No, thanks, too early for me. You want a soda?”
“Got some already. Lot of people here – I saw your boss, but his phone went off and he went back inside.”
“Yeah, it happens.” Joe gulped soda, hoping that she hadn’t had time to talk with Jeff and find out that he was signed up as a driver. “Let’s go over and look at the car, ok?”
“Sure.”
They went over to the “pit area” where most of the Field Techs were hanging out. The cart was not much more than a small frame, wheels, and an engine, probably not capable of more than ten miles an hour. The Tech Shop guys and two Field Techs were in charge of the engineering aspects of the car. Before the race, a decorative cardboard “body” would be added, more for the sake of advertising, and the pre-race parade, than for utility; that part was being prepared over in Production. Joe had heard that they were holding yet another design contest – the production department had changed logos at least twice since he had started there. No one knew what the new logo was going to look like, but everyone hoped it would be something recognizable, as their last logo was some complicated curve around multi-colored initials, and no one was sure what it meant.
In the pit area, the Field Techs were horsing around as usual, trying to make each other choke on their hot dogs. Paul, the head of the Tech Shop, had wheeled his toolbox out and was making a final adjustment to the car. The fat guy from Development was standing there watching; Paul said something witty about the engine, and they both started laughing. Joe nodded to the two, then Paul asked, “You going to try out, Doc?”
“I’d like to, but no way I can fit in that. Besides,” he chuckled, “it’s not my kind of engine.”
Paul laughed again, then announced, “OK, where’s our first driver?”
One of the Field Techs replied, “Might as well do Freddy first, then we all know what time we have to beat. Hey Freddy! Get over here!”
Freddy appeared, gulping down a hot dog. “So, so. Paul, you tested this here car, right?”
“Sure, Freddy, had it running test laps all night. And all the other field techs took their turns being crash-test dummies. Now it’s your turn.” He handed Freddy a helmet, and started the go-kart engine. Joe winced a little, as the car’s motor sounded annoyingly like the weed-whackers they had been using in the neighbor’s yard.
“Watch Marty,” Paul told Fred, “he’s the starter. Three times around the track, Freddy.”
Fred pulled on the helmet and got into the cart. He rolled slowly up to the starting line, where Marty from Accounting and Monica from Production waited with stop watches in hand.
“Our first driver today, and last year’s winner, is our very own Fearless Freddy Stator from Field Services!”
The crowd cheered and clapped. The Field Techs booed and laughed – the Field Techs call it “tough love.” But even those few who had dared to go up the big antennas knew nobody was like Fearless Freddy, who had beaten the headend techs at three different sites, racing up their own antennas...
“You ready, Freddy?” Monica asked. “I always wanted to say that,” she giggled to herself, “a crazy little thing called love.”
Fred nodded; then Marty waved an authentic-looking green flag. (Production could get any kind of prop they needed.) Freddy gunned the motor, and took off down the cone-marked track, while the crowd cheered. Joe watched Ann while Ann watched Fred – she didn’t seem worried. Heck, he thought: one could almost run the race faster than that little car.
Even so, three laps went by fast. Marty had the regulation winning checked flag out to wave Freddy over the finish line. Fred brought the little machine out to the pit, while Marty and Monica whispered to each other, and made notations on their clipboards.
Fred pulled off the helmet and got out. “Paul, it pulls to the left a little. And I think the right rear tire is wobbling.” Another Field Tech patted him on the back and handed him a hot dog.
Paul nodded, a power screwdriver in his hand. “OK, I’ll tighten that up right now. Thanks, Fred.” He yelled over to the judges, “Hey Marty, give me a minute, ok?”
Marty waved for the crowd’s attention. “We’ll announce the times at the end.” This announcement was met with hisses and boos. “While we’re waiting for the pit crew to finish, let’s get our next driver up here... Joe Outis from Operations!”
“Joe!” Ann stared, a doubtful smile starting to form. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope,” Joe said, pulling on the helmet.
“So that’s why you wanted me here,” she said, laughing. “You big joker.”
“Can’t hear you,” Joe said, tapping the helmet. He flipped down the visor so she couldn’t see him laughing too.
As Joe got into the car, the Field Techs booed and laughed. Tough love. (It’s not just for Field Techs.) It was a tight fit – he was definitely at the upper limit as far as size was concerned. The wheel was very tight, and the gas pedal seemed to be almost unreactive.
Marty waved the flag, and Joe went down the track. There seemed to be turn after turn – it was a figure eight course, after all – and it took a lot of work to turn the wheel first one way then the other. The car seemed to be barely moving – it felt like he had been driving for hours... Then there was the checkered flag! He brought the car to a halt, struggled out, and pried off the helmet. And there was Ann, throwing her arms around him! “You were wonderful, the best, just the best...”
“Sure,” Joe nodded, trying to straighten his legs. “How about getting a soda?”
The next driver was called up. The Field Techs booed and laughed.
Joe made his way through the mob, nodding to people from Traffic, Field Services, Development, Production, and even some from his own Operations department. Some he had met while he was training during the day, and some he knew from e-mails or from other interactions, though he was not really certain of many outside of Field Services and Operations. There were even some of Upper Management putting in a token appearance: he recognized one individual in a vest as their corporate lawyer. Near the back door, Human Resources had set up a grill, and were burning hot dogs – it was too early in Joe’s day for that kind of food, but they had soda too, so he helped himself to some. Circus music was blasting from speakers, borrowed from Production.
“Joe, there you are. Want a hot dog?”
Golden-brown hair with a barely noticeable cowlick, soft, round cat-like face, a snappy blue outfit... It was Ann. She must have gotten here early.
“No, thanks, too early for me. You want a soda?”
“Got some already. Lot of people here – I saw your boss, but his phone went off and he went back inside.”
“Yeah, it happens.” Joe gulped soda, hoping that she hadn’t had time to talk with Jeff and find out that he was signed up as a driver. “Let’s go over and look at the car, ok?”
“Sure.”
They went over to the “pit area” where most of the Field Techs were hanging out. The cart was not much more than a small frame, wheels, and an engine, probably not capable of more than ten miles an hour. The Tech Shop guys and two Field Techs were in charge of the engineering aspects of the car. Before the race, a decorative cardboard “body” would be added, more for the sake of advertising, and the pre-race parade, than for utility; that part was being prepared over in Production. Joe had heard that they were holding yet another design contest – the production department had changed logos at least twice since he had started there. No one knew what the new logo was going to look like, but everyone hoped it would be something recognizable, as their last logo was some complicated curve around multi-colored initials, and no one was sure what it meant.
In the pit area, the Field Techs were horsing around as usual, trying to make each other choke on their hot dogs. Paul, the head of the Tech Shop, had wheeled his toolbox out and was making a final adjustment to the car. The fat guy from Development was standing there watching; Paul said something witty about the engine, and they both started laughing. Joe nodded to the two, then Paul asked, “You going to try out, Doc?”
“I’d like to, but no way I can fit in that. Besides,” he chuckled, “it’s not my kind of engine.”
Paul laughed again, then announced, “OK, where’s our first driver?”
One of the Field Techs replied, “Might as well do Freddy first, then we all know what time we have to beat. Hey Freddy! Get over here!”
Freddy appeared, gulping down a hot dog. “So, so. Paul, you tested this here car, right?”
“Sure, Freddy, had it running test laps all night. And all the other field techs took their turns being crash-test dummies. Now it’s your turn.” He handed Freddy a helmet, and started the go-kart engine. Joe winced a little, as the car’s motor sounded annoyingly like the weed-whackers they had been using in the neighbor’s yard.
“Watch Marty,” Paul told Fred, “he’s the starter. Three times around the track, Freddy.”
Fred pulled on the helmet and got into the cart. He rolled slowly up to the starting line, where Marty from Accounting and Monica from Production waited with stop watches in hand.
“Our first driver today, and last year’s winner, is our very own Fearless Freddy Stator from Field Services!”
The crowd cheered and clapped. The Field Techs booed and laughed – the Field Techs call it “tough love.” But even those few who had dared to go up the big antennas knew nobody was like Fearless Freddy, who had beaten the headend techs at three different sites, racing up their own antennas...
“You ready, Freddy?” Monica asked. “I always wanted to say that,” she giggled to herself, “a crazy little thing called love.”
Fred nodded; then Marty waved an authentic-looking green flag. (Production could get any kind of prop they needed.) Freddy gunned the motor, and took off down the cone-marked track, while the crowd cheered. Joe watched Ann while Ann watched Fred – she didn’t seem worried. Heck, he thought: one could almost run the race faster than that little car.
Even so, three laps went by fast. Marty had the regulation winning checked flag out to wave Freddy over the finish line. Fred brought the little machine out to the pit, while Marty and Monica whispered to each other, and made notations on their clipboards.
Fred pulled off the helmet and got out. “Paul, it pulls to the left a little. And I think the right rear tire is wobbling.” Another Field Tech patted him on the back and handed him a hot dog.
Paul nodded, a power screwdriver in his hand. “OK, I’ll tighten that up right now. Thanks, Fred.” He yelled over to the judges, “Hey Marty, give me a minute, ok?”
Marty waved for the crowd’s attention. “We’ll announce the times at the end.” This announcement was met with hisses and boos. “While we’re waiting for the pit crew to finish, let’s get our next driver up here... Joe Outis from Operations!”
“Joe!” Ann stared, a doubtful smile starting to form. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope,” Joe said, pulling on the helmet.
“So that’s why you wanted me here,” she said, laughing. “You big joker.”
“Can’t hear you,” Joe said, tapping the helmet. He flipped down the visor so she couldn’t see him laughing too.
As Joe got into the car, the Field Techs booed and laughed. Tough love. (It’s not just for Field Techs.) It was a tight fit – he was definitely at the upper limit as far as size was concerned. The wheel was very tight, and the gas pedal seemed to be almost unreactive.
Marty waved the flag, and Joe went down the track. There seemed to be turn after turn – it was a figure eight course, after all – and it took a lot of work to turn the wheel first one way then the other. The car seemed to be barely moving – it felt like he had been driving for hours... Then there was the checkered flag! He brought the car to a halt, struggled out, and pried off the helmet. And there was Ann, throwing her arms around him! “You were wonderful, the best, just the best...”
“Sure,” Joe nodded, trying to straighten his legs. “How about getting a soda?”
The next driver was called up. The Field Techs booed and laughed.
* * *
The crowd had dispersed, and the back lot cleared. Paul had needed to enlist the Field Techs to lug the cart back into the Tech Shop: the last driver – Bill from Traffic – had gone off the track into a hay bale, and a wheel had come off. Bill was permanently banned from ever driving again, and the Field Techs had laughed themselves silly. Joe had walked Ann back to her car – after all those hot dogs, she told him, she wasn’t really interested in dinner – but they could meet tomorrow morning for breakfast, couldn’t they? Joe sighed and nodded, and waved as she left the parking lot. Only a couple of hundred spots from now... “‘Wonderful,’ she said – ‘the best’!” He smiled, then went to his own car and parked in the back lot.
When Joe got into the Control Room, he found Jeff, his supervisor on the telephone. “Joe, good you’re here early. There’s a lot to encode today. They dropped off a bunch of those "Exploring" five-minute spots, and there was almost a full cart of the regular stuff. Then they had everybody out helping with the time trials, so we’re really backed up. On top of that, the video library crashed about noon, and Paul had major problems getting it to come back – so we couldn’t do encoding anyway – but at least it’s back up now.”
“Wow, what a day. Anything going on?” Joe indicated the phone.
“I’m on hold,” Jeff said, rolling his eyes. “The security system started flaking out this morning; the doors are locked now, and I’ve been trying to get their support and keep getting put on hold.”
“Anybody else in tonight?”
“No; If I get some response soon, I’ll hang out for a while and give you a hand with those spots, but I’ve had a long day, and...” The phone squawked, and Jeff nodded to Joe. “Finally – a human!”
When Joe got into the Control Room, he found Jeff, his supervisor on the telephone. “Joe, good you’re here early. There’s a lot to encode today. They dropped off a bunch of those "Exploring" five-minute spots, and there was almost a full cart of the regular stuff. Then they had everybody out helping with the time trials, so we’re really backed up. On top of that, the video library crashed about noon, and Paul had major problems getting it to come back – so we couldn’t do encoding anyway – but at least it’s back up now.”
“Wow, what a day. Anything going on?” Joe indicated the phone.
“I’m on hold,” Jeff said, rolling his eyes. “The security system started flaking out this morning; the doors are locked now, and I’ve been trying to get their support and keep getting put on hold.”
“Anybody else in tonight?”
“No; If I get some response soon, I’ll hang out for a while and give you a hand with those spots, but I’ve had a long day, and...” The phone squawked, and Jeff nodded to Joe. “Finally – a human!”
* * *
Encoding, watching the WATCHERs, and first-response trouble-shooting – those were Joe’s usual duties. All too often the emphasis was on encoding – he was probably up to some twenty thousand by now, he thought. Someday he would ask. Tonight, the first thing was to sort through the tapes and look for spots which were needed tomorrow – he would do those first.
As luck would have it, most of the spots needed for tomorrow were the five-minute ones. He would get them done first, as they took longer to be sent out to the field over the satellite. Of course they were just as boring as usual: interviews of strutting local politicians from suburbs he had never heard of, or wealthy local businessmen who spent advertising money on cable television spots. Any possible elements of interest were carefully suppressed by interviewers who were specially trained in modern dullness-enhancement techniques. Joe shook his head as he put another finished spot on the cart, and grabbed the next one. Jeff was still on the phone – at least he wasn’t on hold. Great: not only was this id number unreadable, it was one of those "Exploring" spots – the Control Room personnel always used euphemisms about them, because they were the insipid productions of a very dull relative of some exec at the Big Cable Place. These five-minute spots were the last word in dullness: a camera crew followed her around while she did common, boring activities, then she overdubbed this with even more boring commentary. This one was called “What are the musts in your kitchen?” Joe wrinkled his nose, got up and checked the encoding slip against the Pump list – sometimes it gave a clue when the id was hard to read. Ah, that must be a slashed seven, not a two with a displaced bottom. He went back to the encoding station, typed in the id, and started watching another five minutes of boredom.
As luck would have it, most of the spots needed for tomorrow were the five-minute ones. He would get them done first, as they took longer to be sent out to the field over the satellite. Of course they were just as boring as usual: interviews of strutting local politicians from suburbs he had never heard of, or wealthy local businessmen who spent advertising money on cable television spots. Any possible elements of interest were carefully suppressed by interviewers who were specially trained in modern dullness-enhancement techniques. Joe shook his head as he put another finished spot on the cart, and grabbed the next one. Jeff was still on the phone – at least he wasn’t on hold. Great: not only was this id number unreadable, it was one of those "Exploring" spots – the Control Room personnel always used euphemisms about them, because they were the insipid productions of a very dull relative of some exec at the Big Cable Place. These five-minute spots were the last word in dullness: a camera crew followed her around while she did common, boring activities, then she overdubbed this with even more boring commentary. This one was called “What are the musts in your kitchen?” Joe wrinkled his nose, got up and checked the encoding slip against the Pump list – sometimes it gave a clue when the id was hard to read. Ah, that must be a slashed seven, not a two with a displaced bottom. He went back to the encoding station, typed in the id, and started watching another five minutes of boredom.
* * *
Hours went by. Joe got up and stretched. Jeff had left long ago – the security people would be in tomorrow to fix the machinery, he had told Joe before he left – and Jeff had even encoded a couple of the five-minute spots while Joe did the hourly chores. PUMP was busy sending out spots, and except for a couple of missed cues, the Field had stayed green. The phone hadn’t rung, either. Joe looked at the cart – he had made a good dent in the work, but there were still a lot to go. Maybe a drink, then back to the grind.
Joe helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee and some cookies out of the snack machines, then walked along the dim hall outside the Control Room. Apparently the owner had changed some of the artwork hanging on the walls – Joe never really looked at the pictures, most of which were ugly modern abstractions – but he was familiar with their shapes, and he saw that things were different. He switched on the hall light for a moment. Yeah, there were some new pictures. That one with all the people – a girl’s face jumped out at him – it was not very distinct, but it could almost be Ann! He smiled, shook his head, and went back into the Control Room. He didn’t need that kind of distraction tonight, there was too much to do.
Joe sat down at the row of monitors and sipped his coffee, leaving the pack of cookies for later. Everything seemed to be operating properly. He looked over the 48 small black-and-white monitors. One almost always showed car races – usually Joe found them rather boring, as the typical movie had more exciting high-speed chases – and more frequent crashes. But now that he had actually raced – well, it wasn’t a real car, nor a real track – it seemed kind of exciting. “ ‘Wonderful’...” he murmured. He shook his head, got up and went back to encoding.
Another handful of tapes were finished. His cup of coffee was empty, though his snack was still waiting. He picked up another tape – odd how heavy they started to seem after a few hours. Another “Exploring” spot, something about parties... On the screen, a kid was asking where the nearest fire hydrant was, when Joe heard the door to the Computer Room open.
It was Paul from the Tech Shop. “Hey, Joe, Ann’s out there, and wondering where you got to.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, leave that stuff alone and get out here. Here, you better have some spare cash.” Paul handed him a twenty.
Joe followed him outside. It was broad daylight, and the back lot was jammed with people. “Hey Paul, what’s going on?”
Then he saw Ann. “Looking for me?” she said.
“Always.” They walked along, oblivious to the crowd.
“Here, let’s try this one,” she said. It was a typical arcade stand, three darts for a dollar, hit a balloon and win a prize. Only it was run by the fat guy from Development. He was wearing his lab coat, he had a big cigar (unlighted) in his mouth, and sounded like he was imitating W. C. Fields. “Step right up, sir, win a prize for the little lady. Heh, heh.”
“Go ahead, Joe! Try it? For me?” she asked him.
Joe nodded and stepped up to the stand.
Five dollars worth of darts later, they walked away. “You can keep it in your trunk,” the fat guy said, chuckling, handing Ann a large stuffed monkey.
“C’mon, Joe, let’s try another one...”
The next booth was run by an old lady with big glasses. “A dollar a minute – shoot the bird and win a prize.” She patted some kind of electronic handgun lying on the counter.
“Sure,” Joe said. He picked up the gun and she threw a switch, giggling quietly.
Joe pulled the trigger: an unearthly zap sound rang out, and a beam of light flashed towards the inside of the stand. Then he saw a bird of some kind – he didn’t know if it was a model or some kind of projection – and he shot at it. Zap! Zap! Zap!
Another five bucks of time, and Ann was holding a stuffed black bird on an elegant wooden stand. It looked incredibly life-like, and Joe thought it was a real piece of taxidermy. Ann wanted a hot dog, so she made Joe carry her monkey while she ate. Then they went on down the row of stands.
They stopped at a stand full of electronic equipment and one big living-room console TV. “Step right up!” chanted a wrinkled old man, who had a reddish, swarthy look, as if he had spent much of his life on the open sea. “Be on TV! Star in your very own 30 second television commercial! Surprise your family! Impress your friends! Just five dollars!”
“Oh, Joe! Make one for me,” Ann begged.
“OK,” he smiled, handing over another five, and giving the monkey back to Ann.
The old man flicked a switch on some recording equipment and handed Joe a towel. “Just snap it between your arms, and grin knowingly.”
Joe nodded, and snapped the towel.
“Good – just right – stand here, now, and look towards the blinking light, please.”
“Do I have to say anything?”
“Nope, it’ll be over-dubbed... I can’t ever control the audio on this machinery. Just a moment...” There was a short burst of sound, like the touch-tone phone, and the old man called “Action!”
Joe snapped the towel, grinning with a knowing expression.
“Cut!” called the old man. “That’s a wrap. Say, you’re pretty good at this, so if you ever need some extra money, I can find you a place...”
“Not just now,” Joe replied. “Can we see it now?”
“Sure,” said the old man, and he pressed another button.
It was an ad for a car wash Joe had driven past many times. The other actors looked vaguely familiar – then Ann gasped. “It’s you, Joe!”
“It’s not over till the towel guy dries, with a soft, fluffy towel, of course.” The towel snap, and the knowing grin.
“I’ll treasure it forever,” Ann said as she accepted the tape from the old man.
“I only have five more bucks,” Joe said as they walked along.
“That’s OK, though a ride would be fun,” Ann replied. “Why not this one?”
The sign read “Go-kart Race – Five Minutes for Five Dollars.”
“It ought to be fun,” Joe smiled at her. “You want me to hold your prizes?”
“No, you big joker,” she told him, smirking. “I want to watch you race.”
“Sure!” Joe said, holding out his last five.
The attendant looked and sounded just like Fearless Freddy the Field Tech. “Here you go,” he said, and he put something into Joe’s hand.
“What is this?”
“It’s your cookie.” It was a big chocolate chip cookie, still slightly warm from the oven.
“Cookie? Where’s the helmet?”
“Whatcha need a helmet for? We’re all going to be watching, nothing to be scared of, nothing at all. Just hold it out, they’ll know what to do.”
“Who? Who knows what to do? Hey, just what kind of a race is this?”
There was a sudden loud squeal.
“Whatcha think it was? Cars?” The attendant pushed a lever on the side of the big wooden box beside him. “Get going.”
The squeal Joe heard wasn’t tires – it was baby pigs – and here they came!
Joe took off down the track, still holding onto the cookie. The pigs dashed after him. Along the walls were sitting a whole lot of people, all booing and laughing. One man in a vest was holding up some kind of legal document, reading it aloud. The old lady was there with her electronic gun, trying to zap the pigs as they ran past. The old man was there with a video camera, murmuring something about a soft, fluffy towel as he panned over the track. The fat guy from development was standing there watching silently while a monkey hit him over the head with a power screwdriver.
Joe kept running. The pigs were starting to gain on him, then he saw the starting gate up ahead. He threw down the cookie, and jumped over the fence. The pigs erupted in squeals.
Joe helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee and some cookies out of the snack machines, then walked along the dim hall outside the Control Room. Apparently the owner had changed some of the artwork hanging on the walls – Joe never really looked at the pictures, most of which were ugly modern abstractions – but he was familiar with their shapes, and he saw that things were different. He switched on the hall light for a moment. Yeah, there were some new pictures. That one with all the people – a girl’s face jumped out at him – it was not very distinct, but it could almost be Ann! He smiled, shook his head, and went back into the Control Room. He didn’t need that kind of distraction tonight, there was too much to do.
Joe sat down at the row of monitors and sipped his coffee, leaving the pack of cookies for later. Everything seemed to be operating properly. He looked over the 48 small black-and-white monitors. One almost always showed car races – usually Joe found them rather boring, as the typical movie had more exciting high-speed chases – and more frequent crashes. But now that he had actually raced – well, it wasn’t a real car, nor a real track – it seemed kind of exciting. “ ‘Wonderful’...” he murmured. He shook his head, got up and went back to encoding.
Another handful of tapes were finished. His cup of coffee was empty, though his snack was still waiting. He picked up another tape – odd how heavy they started to seem after a few hours. Another “Exploring” spot, something about parties... On the screen, a kid was asking where the nearest fire hydrant was, when Joe heard the door to the Computer Room open.
It was Paul from the Tech Shop. “Hey, Joe, Ann’s out there, and wondering where you got to.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, leave that stuff alone and get out here. Here, you better have some spare cash.” Paul handed him a twenty.
Joe followed him outside. It was broad daylight, and the back lot was jammed with people. “Hey Paul, what’s going on?”
Then he saw Ann. “Looking for me?” she said.
“Always.” They walked along, oblivious to the crowd.
“Here, let’s try this one,” she said. It was a typical arcade stand, three darts for a dollar, hit a balloon and win a prize. Only it was run by the fat guy from Development. He was wearing his lab coat, he had a big cigar (unlighted) in his mouth, and sounded like he was imitating W. C. Fields. “Step right up, sir, win a prize for the little lady. Heh, heh.”
“Go ahead, Joe! Try it? For me?” she asked him.
Joe nodded and stepped up to the stand.
Five dollars worth of darts later, they walked away. “You can keep it in your trunk,” the fat guy said, chuckling, handing Ann a large stuffed monkey.
“C’mon, Joe, let’s try another one...”
The next booth was run by an old lady with big glasses. “A dollar a minute – shoot the bird and win a prize.” She patted some kind of electronic handgun lying on the counter.
“Sure,” Joe said. He picked up the gun and she threw a switch, giggling quietly.
Joe pulled the trigger: an unearthly zap sound rang out, and a beam of light flashed towards the inside of the stand. Then he saw a bird of some kind – he didn’t know if it was a model or some kind of projection – and he shot at it. Zap! Zap! Zap!
Another five bucks of time, and Ann was holding a stuffed black bird on an elegant wooden stand. It looked incredibly life-like, and Joe thought it was a real piece of taxidermy. Ann wanted a hot dog, so she made Joe carry her monkey while she ate. Then they went on down the row of stands.
They stopped at a stand full of electronic equipment and one big living-room console TV. “Step right up!” chanted a wrinkled old man, who had a reddish, swarthy look, as if he had spent much of his life on the open sea. “Be on TV! Star in your very own 30 second television commercial! Surprise your family! Impress your friends! Just five dollars!”
“Oh, Joe! Make one for me,” Ann begged.
“OK,” he smiled, handing over another five, and giving the monkey back to Ann.
The old man flicked a switch on some recording equipment and handed Joe a towel. “Just snap it between your arms, and grin knowingly.”
Joe nodded, and snapped the towel.
“Good – just right – stand here, now, and look towards the blinking light, please.”
“Do I have to say anything?”
“Nope, it’ll be over-dubbed... I can’t ever control the audio on this machinery. Just a moment...” There was a short burst of sound, like the touch-tone phone, and the old man called “Action!”
Joe snapped the towel, grinning with a knowing expression.
“Cut!” called the old man. “That’s a wrap. Say, you’re pretty good at this, so if you ever need some extra money, I can find you a place...”
“Not just now,” Joe replied. “Can we see it now?”
“Sure,” said the old man, and he pressed another button.
It was an ad for a car wash Joe had driven past many times. The other actors looked vaguely familiar – then Ann gasped. “It’s you, Joe!”
“It’s not over till the towel guy dries, with a soft, fluffy towel, of course.” The towel snap, and the knowing grin.
“I’ll treasure it forever,” Ann said as she accepted the tape from the old man.
“I only have five more bucks,” Joe said as they walked along.
“That’s OK, though a ride would be fun,” Ann replied. “Why not this one?”
The sign read “Go-kart Race – Five Minutes for Five Dollars.”
“It ought to be fun,” Joe smiled at her. “You want me to hold your prizes?”
“No, you big joker,” she told him, smirking. “I want to watch you race.”
“Sure!” Joe said, holding out his last five.
The attendant looked and sounded just like Fearless Freddy the Field Tech. “Here you go,” he said, and he put something into Joe’s hand.
“What is this?”
“It’s your cookie.” It was a big chocolate chip cookie, still slightly warm from the oven.
“Cookie? Where’s the helmet?”
“Whatcha need a helmet for? We’re all going to be watching, nothing to be scared of, nothing at all. Just hold it out, they’ll know what to do.”
“Who? Who knows what to do? Hey, just what kind of a race is this?”
There was a sudden loud squeal.
“Whatcha think it was? Cars?” The attendant pushed a lever on the side of the big wooden box beside him. “Get going.”
The squeal Joe heard wasn’t tires – it was baby pigs – and here they came!
Joe took off down the track, still holding onto the cookie. The pigs dashed after him. Along the walls were sitting a whole lot of people, all booing and laughing. One man in a vest was holding up some kind of legal document, reading it aloud. The old lady was there with her electronic gun, trying to zap the pigs as they ran past. The old man was there with a video camera, murmuring something about a soft, fluffy towel as he panned over the track. The fat guy from development was standing there watching silently while a monkey hit him over the head with a power screwdriver.
Joe kept running. The pigs were starting to gain on him, then he saw the starting gate up ahead. He threw down the cookie, and jumped over the fence. The pigs erupted in squeals.
* * *
“Oh, man!” Joe shook his head, yawned, and looked up. The squeal was coming from the VTR he had just tried to load. He ejected the tape and looked at it closely. There was no tape inside. “Wow, defective – that’s one less to encode tonight.” He got up to add an entry to their discrepancy report.
Then the phone rang. As he picked it up, he flashed the “needed spots” list up on the screen. “Control Room, Joe speaking.” Wow, he thought, he was caught up! Everything needed for tomorrow was encoded!
“Hi, dear – it’s Ann.”
Joe cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“Just getting ready for bed; I was thinking of you, and knew you’d be awake.”
“Just barely,” Joe answered. “That fair doesn’t start until Thursday, right?”
“That’s right. And I heard from Sally in your Traffic department – that cute Freddy is going to be driving your company car.”
“Oh. For a while I kind of hoped it would be me, but I don’t feel like being chased around like a cookie, with everybody laughing and the pigs squealing...”
“What? Pigs?”
“They were chasing the cookie...” Joe chuckled a little, embarrassed, even though he felt as if she had been right there with him, watching everything. “Sorry, Ann, I think I must have nodded off for a moment there.”
“You must have. Get some coffee, dear – and maybe a snack? But don’t eat too much, ‘cause we’re still on for breakfast, right?”
“Sure we are,” Joe smiled. “Meet you at seven.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night.” Joe hung up the phone, shrugged, and went back to the lunch room for some coffee, and a different snack. No way he wanted cookies now.
Joe had carefully avoided looking at the pictures on the way back. He sat down, ate a rather stale pack of donuts, and drank coffee, wishing he had remembered to bring some of Mrs. Bunter’s cookies with him – then he remembered the pigs, and decided it was just as well he had left them at home.
He looked up at the master clock: 23:28. Less than eight hours to go. The spots for tomorrow were all done, but he might as well get some encoding done, he thought: it would help pass the time. But if he found another “Exploring” spot he was going to leave it for the day shift. No sense in taking chances.
THE END
Then the phone rang. As he picked it up, he flashed the “needed spots” list up on the screen. “Control Room, Joe speaking.” Wow, he thought, he was caught up! Everything needed for tomorrow was encoded!
“Hi, dear – it’s Ann.”
Joe cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“Just getting ready for bed; I was thinking of you, and knew you’d be awake.”
“Just barely,” Joe answered. “That fair doesn’t start until Thursday, right?”
“That’s right. And I heard from Sally in your Traffic department – that cute Freddy is going to be driving your company car.”
“Oh. For a while I kind of hoped it would be me, but I don’t feel like being chased around like a cookie, with everybody laughing and the pigs squealing...”
“What? Pigs?”
“They were chasing the cookie...” Joe chuckled a little, embarrassed, even though he felt as if she had been right there with him, watching everything. “Sorry, Ann, I think I must have nodded off for a moment there.”
“You must have. Get some coffee, dear – and maybe a snack? But don’t eat too much, ‘cause we’re still on for breakfast, right?”
“Sure we are,” Joe smiled. “Meet you at seven.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night.” Joe hung up the phone, shrugged, and went back to the lunch room for some coffee, and a different snack. No way he wanted cookies now.
Joe had carefully avoided looking at the pictures on the way back. He sat down, ate a rather stale pack of donuts, and drank coffee, wishing he had remembered to bring some of Mrs. Bunter’s cookies with him – then he remembered the pigs, and decided it was just as well he had left them at home.
He looked up at the master clock: 23:28. Less than eight hours to go. The spots for tomorrow were all done, but he might as well get some encoding done, he thought: it would help pass the time. But if he found another “Exploring” spot he was going to leave it for the day shift. No sense in taking chances.
THE END
All text and pictures copyright © 2008 by Dr. Thursday
