You can’t stop it now, said Fritz. And if you could, you wouldn’t anyway. I mean do you look at this fucking place and think: how could I leave this behind?
He felt his heart going. A sweat coming on like he had a parasite. Are we done, he said.
Yeah man. Good luck. Hope they deliver on the girl. I don’t think they’ll kill you at least. These Africans on the other hand–I gotta split so they don’t machete me.
Then he was twenty feet from the Winnie. Walking fast googling “FBI phone number”. The phone showed five bars but he had no signal.
Blue Moon
The missile bunker was black inside. It smelled like the high school athletic cage where the assistant coach who didn’t molest kids, and thus hated his job, handed out jock straps. Kent following him down on the steel ladder made sounds like a xylophone that pinged around the walls. The graffiti said Fuck Cunt Pussy. Kent had a mattress. It looked too big to fit in the hatch. He must have folded it. Big plastic barrels of drinking water. Boxes of flour, rice; store display racks worth of Jack Links beef jerky in Sweet & Hot, Teriyaki and Original.
Jack Links was not a client. They’d had adequate success building a campaign with in-house demographic data. Diverse 18-34’s antagonized a bigfoot with summer camp style pranks, and were then dismembered. Bumpers on WWE’s Friday Night Raw showed the cryptid driving industrial vehicles such as backhoes in a demolition derby setting. I think we got our demo locked, the National Branding Director told Larry, Vice President, Global Sales, on a conference call he’d listened to on mute. This in spite of the two Wisconsinites’ rapport. The National Branding Director was perfectly polite. The women could be mean but the men had sales backgrounds. Respected taking your shot on a cold call. I don’t have the genny up yet but it’s a matter of time, said Kent, shining a pocket size Mag Light on food stores and first aid kits and housewares. Figuring out the air filtration. Gotta ventilate the fumes or we’ll smoke ourselves before Ivan does.
You’ve been a busy man, Kent.
Actually I had most of this stuff in my house. Getting it here was the bitch.
Did you have family?
I might still, said Kent. Two ex wives. His hands found something in the blackness. A black rifle from the box cover of a video game.
Is that a Bushmaster?
It is, said Kent. Would prefer the original given the circumstances, but this is what I had. Thank the great state of California. The pinging sound echoing again as Marcy came down. Were you two– married, said Kent. Marcy said no. We used to work together.
Kent had a camp stove and had opened two cans of Dinty Moore beef stew with his Leatherman. Neither a client. The meat chunks steaming and smoldering made his guts crawl over themselves. Light from white votive candles with no ornamental casing and the blue sterno flame made their shadows stutter on the Fuck Cunt Pussy walls. You know what I miss the most, said Kent.
What’s that.
Not steak. Not lobster. Not hot showers. I miss Chicken McNuggets. Quarter Pounders. And he laughed. Like he’d just told his grandson a knock knock joke.
That’s what I miss the least– you know, I used to work there.
Oh really, said Kent, with what seemed like unnatural interest.
Yeah, I was a “senior grill crew” member– I made the Quarter Pounders.
Yes, and you trained the junior crew–
That’s right, how did you know– a grill wizard yourself?
Well I was an entrepreneur after the service, you know. Aerospace. And when it came time to hire that was the first thing I looked for. Advancement in a tightly-managed environment. Someone I could mentor to succeed.
Yeah I could flip a burger, he said. Remembering like he was doing it now that the burgers were not flipped. That McDonald’s patented clamshell grill technology simultaneously seared each side to perfection. He’d once slipped on mop water and perfectly seared his hand on it. The manager scotch taped a bandage on and made him work through lunch rush. That day someone left a log long as a young Burmese python lolling over the lip of the women’s toilet that it was his job to clean, to perfection. You’d get one every few months.
Did you know that only ten per cent of store staff attain the “senior” designation? They spent millions developing the metrics– performance. Speed. Accuracy. They would have given you an MMPI; honesty, trustworthiness–
Is that what they teach at Hamburger University–
You’re being glib but perhaps you haven’t thought about building an enterprise. Providing goods and services that people want and need. An employee who won’t lie, won’t steal, won’t cheat you out of his time. I’m telling you it’s worth more than gold.
You think we’ll find a McDonald’s out here?
Listen, said Kent. Let me tell you a story. My old Air Force buddy Kevin was training to be an F-16 pilot. The trainees have to stock the squadron snack bar. One day Kevin headed to the operations desk for his mission takeoff. And the commanding officer said “where’s the creamer.” Kent paused.
Where was it–
Kevin hadn’t stocked the creamer. Kevin said he’d get it later. Kevin’s name was wiped off the mission board that day because if you can’t trust a man with your snacks, why would you trust him with a 35 million dollar plane.
OK.
That was the most important lesson of his life. Kevin became one of the premier pilots of his time. Missions over Somalia you’ll never hear about. Top Gun.
Are you Kevin?
No– you’re not listening. Senior grill crew– this speaks to excellence. Your potential.
He couldn’t help but feel flattered.
This is what we need. You make fun of McDonald’s but details matter. If you didn’t find your life to be such a joke you would see that this matters. I need people who get the creamer.
For what?
Because we have to organize against what’s out there. We have to win. And we have to build again.
Kent, what are we building again exactly? McDonald’s is fucking horseshit. And the way they built it– two guys made the restaurant and then some fucking salesman stole it from them. From the people that did the actual work–
And he turned it into an enterprise that made a billion people satisfied–
Jesus Christ– I’m glad it’s gone–
I find your attitude so disappointing. You’re throwing away the greatest lesson life has ever taught you. We need good people to make this world work again. If you’re going to stay you’re going to understand that I run this show. And I do things right–
Who said anything about staying–
Look around out there, said Kent. This place can take a bomb. This place can be defended. Have you had to do any killing since this tragedy?
We don’t know, said Marcy. There was a guy, he shot him with an arrow but we let him go–
Marcy didn’t know he’d brained Larry, Vice President, Global sales with a fire extinguisher.
So someone died in agony because you didn’t have the guts to finish the job.
He might be alive–
If you think someone is living in this with so much as a hangnail– listen. I have water. I won’t force you to do anything. But if you want to live you’re going to work. We’ll find a radio. There are people out there. The police, the military. This is the United States of America. You could be my right hand, if you would correct your attitude.
There was a long silence as the cubed carrots roiled in the camping pot. Almost done.