Slum Enterprise - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The cubical areas are nice and orderly compared to the chaos in the labs. Recently all remodeled. It was called the new modern work environment, “the work place of the future.” It consisted of tall grey  cubicle walls with fancy glass conference rooms scattered about the office floor. Executive leadership wanted to create a "collaborative" environment where cogs felt safe and comfortable to express open ideas of creativity to solve their important major filtration design challenges. New kitchens with communal microwaves and fridges with sinks for washing dirty tupperware dishes that have caked on cheese on the glass walls from leftover spaghetti. 

The office floor was so incredibly well lit that it was impossible to make a shadow of any kind. Lee is tempted to put on his prescription sunglasses but is worried that someone will think he’s hungover. They even installed fake plants and moss wall greenery to match the forest green color scheme and message of "sustainability is our number one priority”. Some sections were bulldozed of cubicles and replaced with couches and pingpong tables. It was a place for all walks of life, cogs to meet and relax and get away from the stresses of work… Cogs would congratulate and talk about the latest trends in cars, boats and fishing, how the house kitchen remodel was coming along. Lee had no idea what women talked about at work since he only worked with men. He knew they existed in communications, marketing, sales, and the rare scientist in the R&D department.

Since the executives spent so much money on the office remodel they pulled back the hybrid work model. It was a transition state of post pandemic traumatic stress. The big fortune 500 companies were getting sick and tired of workers having too much freedom with 3 days in the office and 2 days out. To soften the blow, they pitched the “work place of the future” to the board of directors and shareholders and finally pulled the plug and required 5 days back in the office for 40 hours a week.

Lee's cube area was one of 12 on the main floor. Each of the 12 sections housed 16 cubes. Two columns with eight rows. The cube sections housed different department teams. The office floor had the space filled with science and engineering teams. The lab was located in the back north east corner. Lee couldn't remember the square footage and percentage ratio to the rest of the floor, but it was somewhere close to 20 t0 30% of the total available space. The 12 sections had a large hallway which split them perfectly down the middle. 6 sections on one side, 6 the other. There were always cogs about visiting others or heading to conference rooms tucked away in the south west corner of the floor. Lee liked the newly remodeled bathrooms. New stalls with no gaps between the panels made for a better experience of passing bodily substances. No more seeing the concerned faces peer through the panel cracks to catch a glimpse of you with your pants down with your dick and balls tucked underneath the toilet seat.

Lee’s cube was positioned farthest away from the center hallway near a window that looked out to the parking lot. At least it had trees and grass he could daydream about taking a walk or being in nature while the blue tint of his monitors fed pointless data and tasks. He couldn't bear not having a smidge of natural sunlight, he felt grateful for this one thing. The windows to the glorious outside were tinted. Lee thought it was placed to limit the glare on the monitors but likes to think that it was put in place to skew the sense of time cogs had. Also, the cogs wouldn't be tempted to take a longer lunch to enjoy the nice weather and would stay put at the cubes to crunch reports and powerpoint presentations. Lee had many conspiracies about the facilities on campus… was it all a ploy to suck more work out of the cogs, or was he just being crazy and thinking too deeply into it?

In Lee’s cube section, it was all his direct reports. Technicians all hunched low writing up reports, some others were in the lab. Other lab engineers and lab supervisors were also nearby. Since the lab was so large it was split off into different sections based on the type of testing it ran. The teams were split up and other managers were hired to take control of that area, Lee had half of the lab, Murphy Oxey had the other half. He was positioned in the cube in front of Lee. To the left of him was Stan Hentz, a lab engineer responsible for the repairs and advanced software work for the test bench systems. To the right was the window, the portal to perceived freedom, and a little walkway so Lee was able to get to his cube and sit as his shitty office chair that dug into his lower back but was too lazy to place a furniture request in the IT ticket system for a better lumbar support one. 

Stan Hentz sitting over beyond the Lees left cube wall was quite a character. Shorter in stature, once a chemist at another 500 companies. He had recently shaved his head bald and grew out a bushy dense black beard. Stan always wore bright color button up collar shirts and black workpants, again with meaty black steel toe boots. He was the first to arrive on campus, usually around 5am holding a sealed container of a premixed caffeinated concoction he synthesized in his basement chemist lab. He once told Lee that his wife was getting upset with his caffeine intake and padlocked the basement door so he could get down and sneak anymore of that powder mix. Stan wasn't worried, he had bolt cutters in the white mini van he owned to drive the kids back and forth from school and extracurricular activities. Stan also had a habit of spending too much time late at night on the back web pages of the internet. He hinted that he had “dark web” access and set up a dummy IP address but Lee wasn't sure about the truthfulness of these statements. He liked to acquire insider information about the foreign policy and the fucked up politics within America. Stan wasnt a doom day prepper, he still live his life normally, he really just enjoyed chaos and wanted what was coming to the fucked up individuals involved in massive damanging schemes aimed against the common american people. Not so much a communist or an anarchist, he deeply believed in reincarnation and the zen buddha practices. 

The last thing that Lee finds fascinating is Stan's “die on the hill” attitude to legalize musket dueling. “Just think of the T.V rankings, the billions of viewers who would love to gather their family showered by the blue screen light with the living room lights down low, have some important celebrity or politician and walk 20 paces with 1860’s engraved muskettes in hand willing die for what they believe in.” Stan would say.

Lee was wrapping up the morning emails when Stan made the first ice breaker comment of the day. Stan stood up and looked over at Lee and locked eyes. “Did you hear about the shooting?” Lee stared blankly with no response, an invitation to allow Stan to freely speak of the event without interruption. Lee racked his brain and remembered that it was the first day of classes for school aged kids in his district. Annie had started 2 weeks prior at the school doing prep activity.

“Frist day of classes too…already?” Stan continued. “It was at a catholic school south of the cities, mostly white demographic in more or less split down the middle liberal and conservative town.” Stan paused and looked back and forth and lowered his voice and gripped the cube wall with his wide hands and stumpy fingers.

“It looks like the guy already blew his head off. They say there is 3-5 dead with 20 in critical condition and the county hospital”

“Why are you telling me this shit right now, I just got here.” Lee said. He didn't like to hear all these nasty details about school shooters. Murphy Oxely was eavesdropping in the cube diagonally to Stan and Scott had his headphones on moving his head up and down to the beat of 50’s rock and roll. The office floor HVAC started to cycle and dump trash smelling air again (the intake was near the outside trash compactor). “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with people?”

Stan's glare is growing intensely, he gets excited from the chaos and finds it so entertaining. “Fine, have it your way, just trying to keep you up to speed ever since you told me you quit news” Stan receded back over to his cube and began working on proprietary labview software for one of the newly designed test benches.

Lee is intrigued by the news. He opens a new tab on the screen and searches for the shooting. 8am Monday morning at a southern X county catholic school for K-8 was shot up by a lone gunman with two AR’s and a sawed off shotgun underneath his black trench coat.

“Typical” Lee said out loud as he read the news article. The gunman blasted 150 rounds through the school's church stained glass windows, it showered bullets and billets of sharp glass into the mass attendance of staff and children. Luckily the gunman was not able to break down the heavy walled doors leading into the church. He sprayed all his ammo saving one bullet, stopped and walked to the front of a Jesus statue near the school garden and shot himself. The bullet exited the top of his skull in a red spectral mist of bone fragment and brain. 

His body was then peppered with more 9mm rounds from the SWAT teams for good measure. It was promptly bagged to clear the scene for the future CIA and FBI investigation. The body was dragged (not gracefully) and thrown into a portable ceramic truck trailer cremator and burned at high temps in record time.

“I live in a world of shit” Lee said again, quietly. “Kids getting blasted away by semi auto rifle rounds by some broken, crazy lunatic." All the school districts in the state were now on lockdown. Annie texts Lee from the pocket screen letting him know that she is safe. 

Nothing will be done to prevent another one like this. Last time Lee conferred with Stan about this topic, America was getting close to 500 mass shootings per year. It was now so ingrained into American culture, the people seemed to just accept it for what it was. It has been a constant steam of shooting for the last 25 years.

Now visibly upset, but trying to control and hide the emotion, Lee opens the front pocket of his work bag and grabs a raggy journal he carries with him at all times. His therapist said to write things down whenever he was upset. “It should help ease the overwhelming sudden attack of anxiety," the therapist would say. Lee begins writing.

Hunting season is open, the excited hunters flock and obtain their season permits

“Should be solid, a bountiful year”

“The news was projecting high numbers localized in the public hunting zones”

“They won't scatter so easily, they had time to recover the PTSD of last years gun shots”

The hunters shined their guns, polished their boots, and wrote their manifestos on college rule yellow paper. The hand writing needs to be clear and legible so the message will get across.

Permits now in hand, they fold  them up into their worn leather wallets. The hunters get into their beat up pick up trucks and unmaintained American sedans and drive off to the public zones to begin the most anticipated seasons since the 1999 record year that changed the hunting tactics forever.

“Gotta start the year out with a bang.”

Bullets fly, ringing through suburban neighborhood streets. Deafening. Still. Time freezes. Hearts skip. Lungs Constrict. Sweat beads. The school's lockdown sirening are muffled by the constant racking of super sonic rounds. The school walls and bodies of flesh await the sonic delivery.

The end of the season's stats are projected on the local station news room interactive touch screen board.

“Record numbers this year, 10% more than last.” The anchors say. The hunters crowd around the bars with only one T.V screen bolted above their heads on a rickety base board. They scream and cheer and high five and start ordering rounds for their fellow hunting buddies for a job well done.

“Regulations have really helped the nation achieve these numbers, the push for less restrictions are definitely reflected by these numbers. Good work to this year's hunters. Make sure to rest up and get ready for next season. Shop at Scheels, Dicks, Fleet Farm, or your local mom and pop Gunnapolloza to get all your hunting needs fulfilled. 25% percent off all merchandise between June and August." The bar goers are texting their slob wives back home at the trailers that she needs to mark this down on their kitchen calendar with pictures of farm animals on them.

“This year's record holders' names will be posted on the city hall's official BIG bulletin board. Includes bragging rights and beer chaser.” The anchors produce a nonsensical fake laugh.

“Our next story… The Effectiveness of Thoughts and Prayers, Are you Praying Hard Enough?”

Lee signs, thinking that Annie is safe and in lock down eases his nerves. “Relaxing is a funny way to feel right about now,” Lee thought. “It's all too common, any tragic or natural disaster which causes the mass death of innocent lives is moved quickly through the populous’s minds. The masses can't linger on horrible topics for long, if they did the current administrations would have to actually do something about. The American masses are distracted instantaneously to the next topic of discussion. The admins need to mummify the people to complete obedience. 

Father Stemm wants to live comfortably with his family, he doesn't want the shooting news to interrupt his way of life in the quiet suburbs with low property tax. No disruptions to the paychecks that keeps him and his family afloat while funding a slight cocaine addiction only indulged on the weekends. 

One day the distractions did not come fast enough, so he went to the double wide garage and grabbed the hidden spiked baseball bat he manufactured in secret about 5 years ago for the unlikely event of a home evasion for their cheap Chinese merchandise. He felt the weight of the bat and ran his fingers over the handles grip tape. He walks back into the house with the sole intention of finding the wife and kids to beat. As Father Stemm searches the house, he begins to get second thoughts about his intentions. “Maybe I should pull out the rusty nails, fill the holes with wood filler and give it to my son for his next birthday. I think he likes baseball? If not I can get him into it…” Father Stemm stops at the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge vegetable drawer that was once used for vegetables, but his drinking habit had started to take up more space. He cracks the can and slams it and lets out a loud blech.

He finds the wife, beats her silly, then finds the kids hiding in the master bedroom closet and beats them silly swinging widely back and forth. The house now smelled of iron and copper and was dead silent. Only Father Stemms heavy breathing could be heard while he sat at the end of his bed looking at the predicament he created. Suddenly, he began to dance flamboyantly through the room and threw the bat out the window shattering the glass in the process. Father Stemm screams, “I enjoy simple and concise sentence structures from all family party members… all you do is talk is long complicated verbiage making me look stupid at dinner parties. I'm the head of the house, you must answer my simple needs without question. If you keep doing this to me my head will fucking explode.” None of the 3 bodies moved.

Father Stemm gets a massive headache and yells at the top of his lungs, he runs back down stairs knocking down the family portraits on the stairwell. He frantically grabs a drinking glass and rotates the cold tap handle at the kitchen sink. It's too late, the headache feels like his head is a massive pressure cooker. His ears, nose and eyes start to bleed. POP.

Bits of brain and skull act as shrapnel shards and cut down the family dog barking over in the living room. The white kitchen walls and splattered red. The dog's legs are blown off by the frontal cortex. The picture frames and copper pots and pans hanging over the island bounce mini skull bullets around the house shattering everything in sight. It looked like a tactical nuke went off. All bodies are now laying motionless in debris and blood. Father Stemm ended up hunched over with no head on the kitchen floor with his back against the under sink cupboards.

His brain stem shows signs of life. It twitches and beats with a steady rhythm. The open veins and flesh carnage start to fuse. Remember the story about the chicken who lived for years after his head was cut off. It was found later on that the brain stem kept the primal bodily functions going in accordance with normal operation. This is what happened to Father Stemm. Since he had an uncanny talent to heal from wounds fast, the open mangled mess of neck tissue with spinal bone encapsulated the leftover brain stem and created a new cranium. The cranium has no bone so it looks like jello being shaken on a large flat platter. Father Stemm awakens with mass confusion on what the hell just happened. His brain matter is painted on the walls.

The now wifeless and childless husband gets up from the kitchen tile resting spot and starts to gather his fragment skull pieces. He pulls them from the drywall, from the couch fabric, and finally the remnants of the dog's lifeless corpse with no legs. Father Stemm doesn't have any emotion or complex thought. His brain stem is driving pure survival instincts to his nerve endings. Complex thought is now void due to the lack of sustainable brain matter that once comprised most of the volume in the old cranium. 

Father Stemm starts to shove the skull into the back of the new mushy cranium slot (left open for this purpose). The skull fragments are moved by ghostly fluid controlled by the stem to rebuild the skull. He sits on a dining room chair bought from a Swedish company which requires you to build the chair after it's delivered by 2 very sweaty Mexican men who seem to rush like they have infinite deliveries after yours. 

It takes all evening for the skull to reform into a bald shiny wonder. Father Stemm used to have a lot of wrinkles and sun dried skin with a hint of mole spots forming near his forehead. Now, it was baby faced and smooth. He looked 45 years younger. The brian stem shoots a signal to his feet and legs to stand and regain balance. ”Walk to the mirror,” it says in an autistic type way. He sways and stumbles over the broken frontier of debris and dead bodies, he even almost slips on pools of now dark drying blood staining and soaking into the hard wood floors.

Father Stemm, for the next few days before he returns to work, lives off smoothies and protein shakes. The brain stem figured out how to turn on the living room screen with a black box laying on the Persian rug and saw an early morning midweek infomercial about how smoothies and juice cleanse are key to a long happy life. 

Right then and there, Father Stemm would only indulge in liquid intake. Later, he would notice that his number 2’s were the same viscosity as his number 1’s. 

Father Stemm didn't even know his own name anymore, but after a heavy day of screen viewing drinking juices and premade smoothies left over from his dead wifes post work out stash. He learned a whole lot about the world he would need to traverse. And, how scary the world was. It seemed like he needed to buy a lot of items being advertised, the commercials and programs made the brain stem feel like that he HAD to have these strange artifacts. Numbers would display revealing the heavy prices. How was he to pay for this Father Stemm thought. “Job,” was all he could muster out of his badly damaged mouth (the tendons and muscles were still forming and gaining strength since the explosion). He ravaged through the house to find a clue on what job he might have and found a bag in the office with a badge that said “Remy Stemm”. Above the name was an old picture of Father Stemm and an embossed logo of Green Earth Solutions, Manufacturing Department. As the ghostly jello fluid in the new cranium formed back into brain matter he was able to hold on to new information better and make more decision based complex thoughts and actions. He was beginning to take control again back from the brain stem. The totally destroyed house laid clues and endless media ideologies from the living room screen. After a few more days, the bald Father Stemm was ready to go back to work. Driving would be no problem as he learned from a movie called “Bulleit” starring a handsome man called “Steve Queen?”

The smell in the house was now unbearable but Father Stemm was completely noise blind. The smell found its way to the outside atmosphere and concerned the neighbors. They began to get nervous about what was happening inside. The smell was the last straw, someone must have died in a C02 furnace leak that killed all the home's occupants in the night. If that was the case they thought, “Well, not a bad way to go.”

One evening when Father Stemm was packing up and getting prepared for the first day back to work, a mass of police cars, fire trucks, and 2 county ambulances pulled up on the curbs, driveway, and front lawn. They smelled a nose constricting smell and busted the door down without warning. The city's finest found Father Stemm on the leather lounge chair sipping on a greenish chunky smoothie full of  rotten refrigerator produce. “Freeze, Stay where you are” the officers yelled. 

Father Stemm was not bothered in the slightest. After the initial cities finest encounter, proceeded to a long drawn out investigation that resulted in the final verdict being that Father Stemm was in the mists of an unforeseen random quantum cosmic accident that could not be explained with rational physics (even with a panel of the top countries physicists trying to quantify the events on large green chalk boards) resulting in this horrid circumstance. In the end, Father Stemm was off the hook and even paid handsomely by his insurance company who now needed to update policy clauses to mention new verbiage on random quantum cosmic accidents. The sum of money allowed him to really not worry about money ever again, but he worried about becoming bored with his new found wealth. To be able to stimulate the newly formed brain and stem he wanted to go back to work. 

During the FBI investigation he was able to go on leave which granted him job protection. Green Earth Solutions was forced to allow Father Stemm back and make sure there was a suitable position for him within the ranks. The Execs had been watching the investigation news very closely with principal HR members, and the rest of the company cogs began to know the Father Stemm story quite well. Not out of pity, they felt that he was now mystified and made a legend through the office hallways and cube sections. They actually wanted him to come back so they could see what the Execs were to do with him and how he would actually perform under standard corporate stress.

The first week of work was slow going, he had to adjust to the overlit aura of the office, and the blue glow of the office monitors (yes, they gave him a walled off office, it was a tactic to try and constrain any mess he would likely make as they got through the initial adjustment period). After a few weeks, he was able to hold conversations about manufacturing failures, status on warehouse supplies, and product meetings about on-time delivery to customers. The Execs were almost inspired at this point, the PR was great especially to the “All inclusive” crowd that was gaining traction in the state protesting at the capital pushing for better policies for humans from all shapes and sizes.

The Execs leaned into this and began to have open interviews from interested news broadcasters looking for an uplifting story. “Man found in random cosmic event now on the up and up!” was one of the many stories and articles posted in the Tribune. Things were going great and sales for the quarter were projected to be on record pace. The execs now looked at Father Stemm like their own personal cash cow. Promotions were soon to be released upon Father Stemm. He started to form a calm and demanding personality that was on par with a person of director quality. This deeply pleased the exec team which now decided to unleash that promotion one cool, sunny afternoon.

“We need a man like you…” The execs said with a smile while lightly patting Father Stemms back. “This a fantastic opportunity, we hope you consider it.” Father Stemm just gave them a blank stare and sipped on his juice box.

“Job? Where?” He said.

“Oh yes, the job is down at one of our newly built Mexico manufacturing plants. We want you to be the plant director…we will of course help pay for relocation services and find you a top neurosurgeon doctor to continue your monthly CT scans to check in on how the brain matter is forming.”

The sounds of a near empty juice box being slurped up with force breaks the awkward silence. Father Stemm agrees with “Okay.”

The Exec spearheading the meeting has 40 years under his belt. At his home office with a special filtration system of his own design to eliminate cigar smoke was humming in the background. He ponders on the promotional steps for Father Stemm. The Exec cares deeply about the company, he needs young faced like minded individuals to pass the torch that don't have the capacity for “free radical” thinking that would disrupt the status quo. He had kids of his own but regrets spoiling the ever living shit out of them resulting in their turning to be unfunctional catatonic fully grown adults who still like to color on the kids menu at the fancy steakhouse they go to every week. Of course the kids were never an option, but it seemed to him one evening smoking a heavy thick cigar that Father Stemm was the golden ticket.

“Thats great news, you'll hear more from us soon” said the Exec. 

Father Stemm feels a tinge of exuberance and runs out of the conference room straight to the bathroom to let out his 3rd piss shit of the day in the white porcelain throne. He feels extremely hot after the deed and turns on the cold tap water in the sink. He sticks his bald head under the laminar flow from the faucet, steam shoots in all directions. The cooling process is complete. The brain stem is recovered and hungry for more juice boxes sitting in his secret office mini fridge he pads locks out of fear of them being stolen by the Mexican janitors late at night.