professionalism - epilogue

in addition to our work as neo-revolutionaries, intellectual terrorists, and righteous defenders of the american way, the doktor and i do indeed have semi-legitimate jobs. from time to time, these jobs thrust us into the weird realities of human existence. the following is submitted for your approval…

management had called a meeting on a foul and uneventful november evening. the doktor was scheduled to be in attendance. when i stopped by his office on the way to the conference room however, i found his door locked. i picked it [the lock, i mean] and discovered he was hard at work with a mortar and pestle. surprised by my completely expected appearance, he hurled a stapler, a tape dispenser, and a wastebasket in my general vicinity.

“none of this is for you!” he stood motionless above his desk for a moment, refusing to break eye contact, then sat back down to grind, all the while training his callous animal eyes on me.

warily i approached, eyeing a half-full bottle of mini-thins and a few crushed cans of some wretched energy drink.

“there is a meeting you know…”

“of course i fucking know! what do you think i’m doing? huh? do you think i would walk into that beartrap unprepared? yes? like some doe-eyed eighteen-year old on his way to normandy? well? answer me you bastard!”

he cut out an extra-value size line of that filthy white powder and reminded me not to ask...that he had just enough to get him through the meeting and to the parking garage afterwards.

“well…let’s go.”

i try my best to avoid the doktor during any work-related functions, especially these meetings. his behavior is hostile and erratic, and while the other employees seem to write-off his behavior as some kind of inbred eccentricity that accompanies intelligence, i know that he is simply crude and bizarre.

he took his normal position across from bruce, an effeminate male co-worker...not that there's anything wrong with that. bruce is meticulous with his work area, and brings the same kind of pseudo-professionalism to the board room. he arrived early, laying out various materials and calendars, electronic devices, pens, paper. the doktor pounds both fists down on the table before dumping out a satchel of supplies. he lays out a map of the u.s., stained with a myriad of substances, dumps out a box of tacks, and places a large can of mace pointed ominously in bruce’s direction. he takes the pins, stabbing them into the map and yelling “swine!”

“bruce…location!” the doktor yells at the top of his lungs.

“wha…”

“answer me you filthy pigfucker!”

the chairman arrived and the doktor stabbed another tack into the map, looking squarely at bruce. the meeting was called to order and the doktor excused himself and crawled out onto the fire escape and down to the street below.