professionalism - episode #1

another meeting today…bad vibrations, impossible concentration, weird and wired under this december sky…strange rumblings in the seedy white underbelly of the american system. for research purposes, of course, i decided to take half a handful of heretofore unnamed pills that the doktor had produced in his clandestine laboratory and experience the effects in the midst of this wretchedness. i took my usual seat far, far away from the doktor, who had arrived early and was speaking into his mace can like it was some kind of bullhorn. he had one foot on his chair and the other on the oaken table…jesus fuck, i thought, it’s washington crossing the delaware.

i could feel those pills coming on, like a hyena on my back - hard and fast and mean. cut loose, bail out, fuck this job and fuck these swine! run out in the street and party [with] naked [chicks]! start the revolution!

i was sitting between bruce and some other shmoe. bruce had delivered snack bags of potato chips to everyone prior to the call to order. leftovers from halloween, he claimed.

“bullshit,” the doktor yelled. he gnashed his teeth on the foil bag, ripping it open and spraying potato chips all over the desk.

everything looked like chrome…people spoke in howls of electricity…i could feel their murderous eyes burning through my head, staring holes…they knew and the weight of their judgment was heavy…i needed impossible concentration to see this trip through…the doktor was scribbling viciously in a telephone book he had brought to the meeting…my fingers sank into the table…legs heavy…pulled downward…riding an elevator at full tilt to the top…hope there’s a strong roof up there…right to the fucking moon, alice…

the doktor hit me in the head with a balled-up wad of paper. it read, “hows this? you like it? all the rats died”

the doktor is an evil scumfucker, for sure. certainly it was within the realm of possibility for him to produce this substance and feed it to me without refining it in his lab. nevermind that he was on it as well.

from my left, i hear bruce make mention of chocolate. immediately from my right, i hear another co-worker - joe shmoe - whine about chocolate, about how he wants some. it’s at this point that the trip begins to spiral…i had no idea it would come on so hard and fast…i was convinced…convinced!...that the doktor had somehow gained control over my mind…corrupted thoughts…polluting my airwaves…

bruce comes alive like i’ve never seen before…”chocolate? chocolate? you want some chocolate? i’ll give you some chocolate!” easy there, killer…

the doktor yells, “a-ha!” and proceeds to mumble something about fraternization before he charges headlong and at full stride into the closed boardroom door, falling in a motionless sprawl.

the co-worker on my right giggles, tickled pink from the chocolate comment. bruce passes a piece of licorice across my space to the co-worker and says, “here. have my twizzler.”

for fuck’s sake…i’m caught in the middle of some kind of gay firestorm. i madly scribble notes on my legal pad…my skin is electric blue and i’m hovering above my seat…every sound is amplified and unclear…screaming through cotton…these lights hurt my eyes…the bossman is watching me sweat…thinks it’s pressure…trying to keep my face screwed on while i’m trapped between siegfried and roy…there is starring all around…i’m more alert and completely unaware…flesh is tightening…i’ve got direct lines of communication with every skin cell…

bruce pushes a candy bar onto my legal pad. “here,” he hisses, “give him a butterfinger.”

i laugh. the doktor bellows from the floor, “how about you give him the butterfinger, you gay motherfucker.”

all eyes on me now…the doktor cranes his wretched head from the floor and smiles…motion to adjourn seconded…all in favor…