The Purloined Panda Predicament
This is a script for "Yours truly, Johnny Dollar," a serial that ran from 1949 – 1962.
Announcer:
From Hollywood, its time now for:
FX: Phone Rings
Johnny: Johnny Dollar.
McCrackin: Hi, Johnny! Pat McCrackin at Universal Adjustment Bureau.
Johnny: Hiya, Patsy, what's on your mind?
McCrackin: Hey Johnny, when you were a kid, did you ever want to run away and join the circus?
Johnny: Sure, once in a while. What kid didn't?
McCrackin: Well, here's your chance.
Johnny: You got elephants buying policies now? I know, these days, our investments are all worth peanuts.
McCrackin: Nope. Johnny, it's the only animal people are crazier about than elephants: Pandas!
Johnny: You're selling panda insurance?
McCrackin: That's what you're going to find out.
Music up
Announcer: Tonight - and every Saturday night - Bob Bailey in the transcribed adventures of the man with the action-packed expense account - America's fabulous free-lance insurance investigator...
Johnny: Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar!
Theme music up
Johnny: Expense account, submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar to the Universal Adjustment Bureau, Hartford Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Purlioned Panda Predicament.
Item one: Plane ticket and car rental to Vero Beach, Florida, home of Miss Holly Miller, heiress to the Millersoft organic processed cheese fortune, and winter home of the Ecorama Circus, manager, mister Donald S. Moore.
Johnny: I took a cab straight to Miss Miller's. She'd donated ten million dollars to the Ecorama Circus so that they could bring a baby panda over from China. Now the circus wanted to purchase an insurance policy. My job: investigate the setup. Universal didn't want to insure the safety of a ten million dollar panda cub without checking out the situation. But how did I know what kind of security a panda needs? I'd never even had a goldfish as a kid. That's where I hoped Miss Miller could help me.
FX: Doorbell echoing in a large space. Footsteps approaching. Door opening.
Butler: May I help you?
Johnny: The name's Johnny Dollar. Miss Miller is expecting me.
Butler: This way.
Johnny: I followed the butler down a hall so long I figured we were in the next county by the time he pushed open a door and stepped aside to gesture me in. It was an office as big as my whole New York apartment. Seated at the desk, one Miss Holly Miller. If the jeans and baggy shirt were supposed to be some kind of disguise, I hoped she could get her money back. Nothing you can buy would have worked to cover up the fact that she was a knockout.
Holly: Mister Dollar. Have a seat.
Johnny: Thanks. Nice place you've got here.
Holly: Yes. I've been very fortunate. The house isn't the real point, though. What I'm really lucky about is that my family fortune allowed me to follow my dream.
Johnny: Your collection of animals, you mean.
Holly: Yes. Would you like to have a look around?
Johnny: I would. Can I ask you a few questions, first?
Holly: Of course. I'm happy to do anything I can to help.
Johnny: I guess my first question is, why give the panda to the circus instead of keeping it in your own collection?
Holly: That's easy, Mister Dollar. Because an animal like that should really be shared with the whole world.
Johnny: Well then why not a zoo?
Holly: A zoo stays in one place. The only people who can see it are the ones who live in that city, or can afford to travel there. With the circus, children in small towns all across America will get to see a live panda. They'll be close to an amazing part of nature that they'd never get to experience otherwise.
Johnny: You must have a lot of faith in this circus, making this kind of donation.
Holly: This isn't your usual circus, Mister Dollar. It's a radical new idea, a caravan of environmental education. Oh, there are the usual clowns and acrobats. But the animal part is different. There's an exhibit about frog extinction, a musical number about deforestation, and the animals don't do artificial tricks – they're trained to exhibit their natural behaviors. We only love the things we know, Mister Dollar, and we only protect the things we love. We need children to love animals if we want to save our planet for future generations.
Johnny: I see. So, do you have valuable animals here? How do you protect them?
Holly: I certainly do, and I have the highest standards of security. You should have a look at them first hand.
Johnny: When I followed Miss Miller out the side door of her office, I thought we hadn't just walked into the next county, but another country altogether. I later saw that what we'd been in was something like a greenhouse attached to the main house, but from the inside, it was so thick with tropical plants that it seemed like a jungle. Like a jungle, it was full of the sounds of birds. And that wasn't all. A tiny orange monkey jumped out of a tree onto Miss Miller's shoulder and started chattering away.
Holly: (Laughs.) Oh, Pedro. You're such a bad little boy. I'm sorry, I didn't bring you anything to eat. How thoughtless of me.
Johnny: Whoa. What kind of monkey is that?
Holly: Pedro is a golden lion tamarin from the Amazon. He's the son of one of my breeding pairs. They're all assertive little creatures, but he's the boldest.
Johnny: Is that a valuable animal?
Holly: Well, Mister Dollar, valuable means so many different things. These animals are almost extinct in the wild. Pedro's genes are extremely valuable for captive breeding to keep the species going. But of course you probably mean monetary value. It's illegal to keep these without a permit, so they're not sold openly. But yes, on the black market, they're very valuable indeed.
Johnny: If you don't mind my asking - you have the permits?
Holly: Of course. We're a fully accredited facility here, like any major zoo except for not being open to the public. We're part of a number of cooperative breeding programs, and everything is quite above board, I assure you.
Johnny: I figured that, but, you know.
Holly: I understand. It's your job to ask.
Johnny: So what do you do here, as far as security?
Holly: Well, security means more than one thing as well. The first consideration is making sure the animals stay safely where they belong. You'll notice we passed through two doors from my office. The reason for the two doors, of course, is that if someone like little Pedro here gets out the first door, he's confined to that space. Chances are good he won't also get out the second door. And as far as anyone getting in, both of those doors are kept locked at all times. Only I and my head keeper have keys; he lets the rest of the staff in and out as needed.
Johnny: What about getting on to your property? I just drove right up.
Holly: You can drive up to the front of the house, indeed, and you can get into the house - if Chester lets you, that is. My butler may not look unusual, Mister Dollar, but you'd best not test his skill at any number of exotic martial arts. And if you bypass the front door, the whole back compound is fenced and alarmed. The gates are doubled like the doors here, both are locked, and the fence is also electrified to keep the animals away from it. They get a mild shock if they touch it, and they quickly learn to keep their distance. Again, no one gets in and no one gets out.
Johnny: I see. So you've advised the circus on all this kind of procedure? As far as the panda?
Holly: Well, they do already know quite a bit about keeping animals, naturally, but yes, I have. You'll see that in their winter quarters, they've built an essentially identical facility. I wouldn't accept any less.
Johnny: It's different, though, with them moving around to do their shows, right? What happens then?
Holly: Well, Mister Dollar, this isn't your old fashioned circus that lives on a train. They have special trucks to transport the animals, and they'll rent warehouse space in every town, air conditioned – pandas prefer the cold – and professionally patrolled for security. They've also had to ensure a steady supply of bamboo along the route – as you may know, that's the main diet of pandas. The Chinese often feed them other things in captivity – even chicken soup, I've heard – but our dear Shu Mai will eat very little else. I've inspected their arrangements in the first few cities and I'm quite confident in the management. Mister Moore has a stellar reputation in his field.
Johnny: Well, I won't take up any more of your time, then, Miss -
FX: Sound of flock of penguins
Johnny: What the -
Holly: (Laughs) There are no penguins here, Mister Dollar, that's my cell phone. Let me see - It's the circus. I'll tell them you're on your way. Hello, Mister Moore.
Johnny: I watched her face as she listened to the phone, just because, even with all those terrific animals scampering about, it was the most beautiful thing around to look at. So I was watching when her face went completely white.
Holly: We'll be there immediately.
FX: Sound of cell phone snapping shut.
Holly: Oh my word.
Johnny: Miss, are you OK?
Holly: The panda – it's missing!
Music up
Announcer: Now, here's our star to tell you about the next intriguing episode of this week's story.
Johnny: Next week, I find out a thing or two about a panda - and politics.
--Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar.
Music up
Announcer:
Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, starring Bob Bailey, is transcribed in Hollywood. It is produced and directed by August West. Be sure to join us next week, same time and station, for the next exciting episode of Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar.
Showing posts with label author 2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label author 2. Show all posts
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
School Days
School Days
"Here it is!"
I picked my way carefully among chunks of drywall. The floor tiles were loose as well. It was one thing to do a little trespassing to take a picture for a friend, but breaking a leg was another.
I looked through the doorway that his voice had come from.
"This was my old classroom," Jake said. "This is so cool. I've never done this in a building that I knew before it was abandoned."
He was looking around with wonder in his eyes. I looked around with nothing more than mild interest. There was still a blackboard, half hanging off the wall, and a few overturned desks. Otherwise the room was mostly empty. Many of the windows were broken, with vines and tree branches poking through. If I'd had more imagination I'm sure I could have entertained myself by thinking of the many generations of children who'd gazed out these windows. Instead the main thing I had in common with them is that I was pretty bored.
"So this is where you want the picture?" I prompted. Let's do it and get out of here, I thought.
"Yeah."
He stood in front of the blackboard, wearing his special purple jacket. This was his thing, collecting pictures of himself in the jacket on all his adventures. In the past I'd only seen the resulting photos. But all his urban-exploration friends were off on a trip to an abandoned amusement park when he heard that the demolition of our old elementary school would start on Monday.
"Great," I said after clicking the shutter a few times.
"Let me have it," he said. "We should take some more. It's the last record of the place."
I gave up the camera. I should have seen this coming, of course, even if just from seeing the dozens of photos of decaying factories, hospitals and whatnot. He'd made it sound like this would be a quick trip, but it had been foolish of me to believe him.
Jake had disappeared out the door, clicking the camera at everything he passed. I followed without enthusiasm. Returning to our old school didn't thrill me nearly as much as it did him. Not only was I uninterested in decaying buildings, I had no fond memories of grade school.
He was far down the hall when I smelled something. Something like burning.
"Jake?" I called. OK, this really crossed the line. I had not signed on for dying in a fire. They wouldn't think to look for anyone to rescue, because there shouldn't be anyone in here.
He had disappeared into another doorway. I walked after him faster, slipping on the loose tiles. Dammit, this wasn't funny anymore.
I glanced in the classroom doors as I passed, more peeling paint, more half-mast blackboards. The smell was getting stronger.
"Jake!" I said to his back, just inside the door of the last room in the hallway.
He didn't turn, and I saw what he was looking at. A man – a hobo, you might even say – was sitting by the window. He'd built a fire, and he was cutting the last of a potato into a dented pot hanging over the fire.
I'd have thought it was a ghost or a hallucination, if the man hadn't spoken to us. And if I hadn't recognized his voice.
"Have a seat. This should be done in twenty minutes or so," he gestured at the pot.
"Mr Dell?" Jake said, before I found my voice.
The man peered at us as we walked closer.
"Jake Carter. Oh, and Roy Griffin."
I was sure his tone had changed when he said my name. But surely he couldn't remember me that well. He'd tormented plenty of children in his years as a teacher. I wasn't anything special.
"Yeah," Jake said. "Wow." To him, this was obviously the coolest thing. Almost as good as really seeing a ghost.
"Well, fancy meeting you boys here," Mr Dell said.
I supposed that to him we were still boys. Jake remembered it all so well, he might as well have been. He was off and running, reminiscing about elementary school, about a trip we'd taken to a historic recreation site of some kind, another to some museum, all the kinds of old buildings he'd grown up to be crazy about. I just watched. Mr Dell hadn't shaved or washed in a long time. I wanted to know what had happened that he was homeless, living in an abandoned building, cooking over a fire like a hobo. But Jake had taken hold of the conversation, and he was more interested in the distant past.
After a while Jake ran out of breath and paused for a second. Mr Dell said to me, "So I guess you don't remember so much about second grade, Roy."
"Oh, sure," I said. "Like that time you gave me an F for drawing those birds."
Stupid thing to pop into my mind. Stupider to mention it. No way he could remember the lesson where we were supposed to show we knew our numbers by drawing one bird, two birds, three birds. He'd drawn the birds as those abstract curved W shapes. I'd drawn whole birds with feet and wings and heads. I liked to draw, and the assignment was less boring that way. He didn't even give me a chance to redo it.
"Those fancy birds, with patterns on the wings," he said.
I stared at him. He remembered? Impossible. It was just that plenty of children had been given Fs for doing the same thing, I thought. But did they all draw patterns on the wings?
"Yeah," I said. "Boy, I felt terrible about that."
I meant for it to sound casual. How could I still hold a grudge about something so stupid?
I waited for him to apologize. To say that now he realized that that was no way to treat small children. That he'd been too hard on them, and he was sorry.
"Well, it's important to learn to follow instructions carefully," he said.
"Oh no," Jake interrupted. "I have to go. I have a job to get to."
Right. This was why Jake hadn't gone off to see the abandoned amusement park on the Jersey shore with his friends. He was a photographer, and he had a wedding to get to. And he couldn't go in those dirty clothes and that purple jacket.
"Cool to see you," Jake called over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
He trotted down the hall, as fast as you could with all the debris scattered around. I struggled to keep up. I wondered, did Mr Dell know he only had another day to live in his old school building? That the wreckers were coming on Monday?
As we squeezed out the gap between the chained-together exit doors, Jake stopped and turned to me.
"Wait," he said. "Do you think he knows that the building's coming down?"
"He must," I said.
"We should go back and make sure," he said, uncertainly.
"You don't have time."
He looked at his watch again. "Oh god, you're right. You go?"
"OK," I said. "Go ahead."
"Oh, that's great. I really have to go. Thanks for coming. I'll show you the pictures tomorrow," he said as he pushed his way through the overgrown weeds and grass to the gap in the chain-link fence around the site.
I watched till he disappeared down the street. Then I pulled the doors shut behind me and headed home.
"Here it is!"
I picked my way carefully among chunks of drywall. The floor tiles were loose as well. It was one thing to do a little trespassing to take a picture for a friend, but breaking a leg was another.
I looked through the doorway that his voice had come from.
"This was my old classroom," Jake said. "This is so cool. I've never done this in a building that I knew before it was abandoned."
He was looking around with wonder in his eyes. I looked around with nothing more than mild interest. There was still a blackboard, half hanging off the wall, and a few overturned desks. Otherwise the room was mostly empty. Many of the windows were broken, with vines and tree branches poking through. If I'd had more imagination I'm sure I could have entertained myself by thinking of the many generations of children who'd gazed out these windows. Instead the main thing I had in common with them is that I was pretty bored.
"So this is where you want the picture?" I prompted. Let's do it and get out of here, I thought.
"Yeah."
He stood in front of the blackboard, wearing his special purple jacket. This was his thing, collecting pictures of himself in the jacket on all his adventures. In the past I'd only seen the resulting photos. But all his urban-exploration friends were off on a trip to an abandoned amusement park when he heard that the demolition of our old elementary school would start on Monday.
"Great," I said after clicking the shutter a few times.
"Let me have it," he said. "We should take some more. It's the last record of the place."
I gave up the camera. I should have seen this coming, of course, even if just from seeing the dozens of photos of decaying factories, hospitals and whatnot. He'd made it sound like this would be a quick trip, but it had been foolish of me to believe him.
Jake had disappeared out the door, clicking the camera at everything he passed. I followed without enthusiasm. Returning to our old school didn't thrill me nearly as much as it did him. Not only was I uninterested in decaying buildings, I had no fond memories of grade school.
He was far down the hall when I smelled something. Something like burning.
"Jake?" I called. OK, this really crossed the line. I had not signed on for dying in a fire. They wouldn't think to look for anyone to rescue, because there shouldn't be anyone in here.
He had disappeared into another doorway. I walked after him faster, slipping on the loose tiles. Dammit, this wasn't funny anymore.
I glanced in the classroom doors as I passed, more peeling paint, more half-mast blackboards. The smell was getting stronger.
"Jake!" I said to his back, just inside the door of the last room in the hallway.
He didn't turn, and I saw what he was looking at. A man – a hobo, you might even say – was sitting by the window. He'd built a fire, and he was cutting the last of a potato into a dented pot hanging over the fire.
I'd have thought it was a ghost or a hallucination, if the man hadn't spoken to us. And if I hadn't recognized his voice.
"Have a seat. This should be done in twenty minutes or so," he gestured at the pot.
"Mr Dell?" Jake said, before I found my voice.
The man peered at us as we walked closer.
"Jake Carter. Oh, and Roy Griffin."
I was sure his tone had changed when he said my name. But surely he couldn't remember me that well. He'd tormented plenty of children in his years as a teacher. I wasn't anything special.
"Yeah," Jake said. "Wow." To him, this was obviously the coolest thing. Almost as good as really seeing a ghost.
"Well, fancy meeting you boys here," Mr Dell said.
I supposed that to him we were still boys. Jake remembered it all so well, he might as well have been. He was off and running, reminiscing about elementary school, about a trip we'd taken to a historic recreation site of some kind, another to some museum, all the kinds of old buildings he'd grown up to be crazy about. I just watched. Mr Dell hadn't shaved or washed in a long time. I wanted to know what had happened that he was homeless, living in an abandoned building, cooking over a fire like a hobo. But Jake had taken hold of the conversation, and he was more interested in the distant past.
After a while Jake ran out of breath and paused for a second. Mr Dell said to me, "So I guess you don't remember so much about second grade, Roy."
"Oh, sure," I said. "Like that time you gave me an F for drawing those birds."
Stupid thing to pop into my mind. Stupider to mention it. No way he could remember the lesson where we were supposed to show we knew our numbers by drawing one bird, two birds, three birds. He'd drawn the birds as those abstract curved W shapes. I'd drawn whole birds with feet and wings and heads. I liked to draw, and the assignment was less boring that way. He didn't even give me a chance to redo it.
"Those fancy birds, with patterns on the wings," he said.
I stared at him. He remembered? Impossible. It was just that plenty of children had been given Fs for doing the same thing, I thought. But did they all draw patterns on the wings?
"Yeah," I said. "Boy, I felt terrible about that."
I meant for it to sound casual. How could I still hold a grudge about something so stupid?
I waited for him to apologize. To say that now he realized that that was no way to treat small children. That he'd been too hard on them, and he was sorry.
"Well, it's important to learn to follow instructions carefully," he said.
"Oh no," Jake interrupted. "I have to go. I have a job to get to."
Right. This was why Jake hadn't gone off to see the abandoned amusement park on the Jersey shore with his friends. He was a photographer, and he had a wedding to get to. And he couldn't go in those dirty clothes and that purple jacket.
"Cool to see you," Jake called over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
He trotted down the hall, as fast as you could with all the debris scattered around. I struggled to keep up. I wondered, did Mr Dell know he only had another day to live in his old school building? That the wreckers were coming on Monday?
As we squeezed out the gap between the chained-together exit doors, Jake stopped and turned to me.
"Wait," he said. "Do you think he knows that the building's coming down?"
"He must," I said.
"We should go back and make sure," he said, uncertainly.
"You don't have time."
He looked at his watch again. "Oh god, you're right. You go?"
"OK," I said. "Go ahead."
"Oh, that's great. I really have to go. Thanks for coming. I'll show you the pictures tomorrow," he said as he pushed his way through the overgrown weeds and grass to the gap in the chain-link fence around the site.
I watched till he disappeared down the street. Then I pulled the doors shut behind me and headed home.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Untitled
I stumbled towards the glass doors that led to the yard. The stumbling was partly the usual this morning, the result of two pugs scrambing around my feet, acting like they couldn't hold it in one second longer. They fooled me every morning and then I'd watch, half asleep, as they sniffed the ground for ten minutes before finding the perfect place to go.
I slid the door open. It had somehow gained weight in the night. The pugs tumbled into the weedy yard and commenced their detailed inspection. I had no idea what about its smell could possibly have changed so much from yesterday, but my opinion carried no weight in the matter – they were the experts.
I yawned. It was hard to wake up in this apartment at the best of times. What they called a "garden apartment" around here, meaning it opened right onto this tiny backyard, to distract you from the fact that it was a basement with no windows. There was no morning light to ease you into conciousness before fat pugs started walking on your full bladder.
But this morning there was another reason I was only half awake. I'd been up all night tossing and turning. Today I had to decide.
"Come on," I moaned at the pugs. I needed some coffee, so bad it was like a physical pain. I really didn't want to wait ten minutes this morning.
They didn't even look up. I didn't have the strength to argue. I sunk down to the ground and sat leaning against the glass doors. I glanced back into the apartment, at the phone, lying there like some malignant sleeping creature.
Whichever way I decided, one part was going to be easy. I wouldn't need to use the phone - I could just get on the computer, and either register for classes or drop out.
There would be no one to ask me if I was sure, no one to remind me that I was throwing away a chance at a respectable career in a clean office, one where the worst injury I was likely to get was a paper cut. That I was crazy to give all this up so I could clean up animal poop for almost no money.
Which was what everyone had been saying in one way or another, of course. And which was what made the whole thing so hard. I was sure I wanted to drop out. I was sure I wanted to stay in my job at the zoo. I was insanely lucky that they offered me the chance to stay on past the summer. It was the coolest thing I had ever done, maybe that anyone had ever done, even if everyone else I knew couldn't see it.
And it wasn't just the animals, the chance to hand-feed a sloth an orange slice, watch its alien pinprick eyes as it took the fruit awkwardly with its long, curved, immobile claws, better suited to hanging from branches. It was also how it had made me realize how painful it was for me to sit still all the time, cooped up at a lecture or stuck at a desk. All my restless energy – it was an asset instead of a liability when I had to run up and down the stairs, climbs around on rock walls, scrub and hose things and chop vegetables all day.
The whole thing suited my nature. It was the niche I belonged in. But the thing is, I also knew another thing about my nature, that it was stubborn and contrary. The more people pushed, the more I pushed back. Was I sure I wasn't doing this just to show them?
Gus finally lifted his leg and peed. Rose waddled over and sniffed, then added a second opinion.
"Breakfast!" I called.
That was of course one of the words the pugs knew. In a more challenging situation I'd have to call "cookie" or "cheese" or "peanut butter," but first thing in the morning "breakfast" was enough.
They both turned and started to hurtle towards me, as aerodynamic as a couple of flying meatloaves. I got up and trudged back into the apartment toward the tiny kitchen, leaving the doors open behind us. If we couldn't have light at least we could have fresh air. It might help wake me up enough to remember how to make the coffee.
As I passed the desk I reached over and turned the computer on. It had to be on, either way. Whichever way I decided. But that would only be half of it. For the other half, I had to pick up the phone, to either quit or say I was staying in the job I'd had all summer. And I had to say it to Chris.
Did I forget to mention that I had a little bit of a crush on my boss? I had been trying to put that aside in the decision making process. He was always careful to remind me that he wasn't really my boss, that he didn't supervise people and that he had no personnel authority. But he was in charge of all the animal stuff, which was more important. He knew everything about animals, which was part of what made him so crushable. Really, that was most of it, I swear, but he also had the most amazing blue eyes –
Oh god. I really had to not think about that part of it. I was maybe about to throw away a whole year in graduate school to do something that everyone else I knew said was crazy. My boss's blue eyes could not enter into this.
I filled the bowls with kibble, my thoughts momentarily drowned out by excited barking. It was nice that they were so enthusiastic, I reminded myself as the noise reverberated in my skull, I hated the kind of animal you had to coax to eat.
I watched them contendedly hoovering up the kibble without any evidence of chewing. Where was I? Oh, right. Blue eyes. Not a factor. Really, not a part of the decision-making process. But also, it was just as stupid for what other people thought to be part of it. They didn't have to live my life. They didn't have to sit in classrooms and lecture halls feeling like they were about to explode with impatience. They didn't have to spend the rest of their life thinking they had thrown away the best thing they ever did just because other people said it was crazy. No, I was ready. I knew what was right for me.
"OK, it's time," I said to the pugs.
I always talked to them, I couldn't help it, as a primate, I naturally never shut the hell up for one second. The monkeys I took care of were just the same, always chattering and screaming whether there was a reason to or not. It didn't seem to inconvenience them, but in my case, it meant that the pugs had learned all kinds of words it was a problem for them to know, because I was unable to stop myself from announcing things like "I need to cut your nails" which, of course, sent them flying in the opposite direction.
They looked up, cocking their heads. Oh, right. "Time" usually was followed by "time to go outside and pee" at the end of the day. But they'd just been out, and it wasn't the end of the day. Now they were terribly confused. Yeah, welcome to the club.
"Sorry," I said. "I meant, now I'm doing it. I'm going over to that computer and withdrawing."
"No way."
I nearly jumped out of my pajama bottoms. "What the – "
There was a great commotion from the open door to the backyard. It took my sleep-deprived, stressed-out brain a moment to process the totally unexpected sight. A large bird had just flown in and settled on the back of a chair.
The pugs exploded in a frenzy of high-pitched barking. Justified, at least, for a change. They'd bark like mad at recycling bins or overly large strollers – perhaps they were offended at the ostentation of pushing a child around in something large enough to have its own cup holders – but I was never sure if I'd be able to trust them to announce the presence of an actual intruder. Nice to know.
I peered at the visitor. I didn't know a damn thing about birds, I was a mammal person. But even I knew that this was an African grey parrot.
It cocked its head at me.
"No way," it repeated.
"Who asked for your opinion." I knew, it had no idea what it was saying. But I was so used to talking to animals. I talked to the zoo animals whether they responded or not. In fact, just the other day, I'd found a tree shrew dead at the end of my shift, and had to stay late to bring it up to pathology. I was glad no one was around to hear when I exclaimed to it, "If you weren't dead I could go home now!"
But the worse influence was the years of talking to the pugs, who actually responded most of the time – not always cooperatively, of course, like when they ran away when nail-trims were announced – but intelligently.
And I knew these were really intelligent birds.Everyone knew about the late Alex, the famous grey who a psychology researcher had taught to answer questions about numbers and colors. She'd proven through careful experimentation that he really understood the words he was using.
But even in my sleepless, pre-caffeinated state, I knew that this bird's intelligence didn't extend to having an opinion on my career situation. The real problem was whose bird he was. It was the same deal as whenever I saw a loose dog. I had to do something because it was karma. What if my pugs got loose someday? The thought was too horrible to contemplate. If they managed not to get hit by cars, they were of course completely unsuited to life in the wild. Their highly evolved skill at being cute enough to make people want to feed them was all they had to rely on. And what if those people thought they were so cute that they wanted to keep them?
So I always had to fall all over myself to catch a loose dog and find its owner, because I hoped that someone would do the same for me. But I had no idea what to do about a bird.
"Look," I said, gesturing at the door. "I know you're smart enough to find your way home. Why don't you just go back the way you came?"
"No way."
We looked at each other. It was clearly a standoff. The bird didn't want to leave. I didn't want it in my house. It would poop everywhere, for one thing. And though the pugs had calmed down for now, I suspected that they'd go wild again the minute it moved.
OK, I had no bird experience. But, I had seen how people had them walk onto their arms. If I could get it to do that, then I could put it outside.
"Here you go,' I said, holding out my arm, nudging its toes a little the way I'd seen make birds lift their feet and step onto someone's arm. Not this time, unfortunately. The parrot scooted sideways on the back of the chair to avoid me instead.
"No way." I swore it laughed this time.
"Look. I have important business here, today. I can't be distracted by a bird. Can we be reasonable here? I need you to go home."
"No way."
Oh, for Pete's sake. I could have seen that coming. I was just getting myself in ridiculously deeper. But I couldn't help it.
"Fine," I said. "Make yourself at home. I'm just going over to that computer to get on with my life."
I waited a moment for the predictable comment, but this time, the bird just cocked his head.
Whatever, I thought, managing to keep it to myself this time. I walked over to the desk and sat down at the computer. I got so involved in beating my head against the university's recalcitrant computer system that I'd forgotten about the bird's presence by the time I got to the last thing I had to click to complete the withdrawal process.
Which meant that I almost had a heart attack when, just as I was about to click, a huge flurry of feathers landed on the back of my chair.
"No way! No way!" The shriek blended with my own as I jumped up and with the immediate addition of a duet of hysterical yapping.
"You little shit," I gasped as the parrot as the racket died down.
The bird looked quite pleased with himself. No doubt all the action was entertaining. And as my heart slowed, I had to admit it was kind of funny. Especially because if the bird really had been trying to stop me, he didn't know my nature. Now, bird or no bird, I was going to click on that last thing if it took me all morning.
However, I didn't really want to sit back down with him on the back of the chair. I wouldn't say I was frightened. It just seemed prudent. That was a sharp, pointy hooked beak he had. The claws were nothing to sniff at either. There was no need to have them so close to the back of my neck. Or any other part of me.
So I just reached out slowly toward the computer mouse.
"No way," said the bird, but this time in a much smaller voice.
I reached further, all the way, and clicked.
I felt an absurd surge of triumph. Take that, bird! Take that, office-working, classroom-sitting world!
The parrot turned and flapped back to the chair he had started on. It was an obvious admission of defeat. I decided that I could be big enough not to rub it in. So without further comment, I picked up the phone and dialed.
I kept my eye on the bird. One ring. He glanced over at me, saw I was watching, and looked away. Two rings.
"Small Mammals, this is Chris."
I was momentarily speechless. Not because it was a surprise, since he usually answered, and he was the one I needed to talk to. But because he always affected me this way.
"Um," I said.
"Hannah," he said, easily.
Oh, I thought, he recognized my voice just from 'um.' I was overcome with that feeling like my insides had turned to armadillo gruel, including my brain.
"Yeah. Uh," I said, brilliantly.
He waited patiently. This was another part of the thing about him. He was like the still center of chaos in the building. All the rest of us talky monkeys, never shutting up or sitting still and always panicking about the least little thing, running out of peanut butter or some animal looking at us cross-eyed in a way that surely meant that it was at death's door with some ailment we hadn't noticed till it was too late. But he always took a moment to think before he opened his mouth, or managed not to open it at all just for the sake of filling the silence. It was calming, usually, but not so much right now. It meant I had to step up.
"Uh, OK, so, I'm going to stay."
"No way," the shriek came from behind me, one last hopeless objection thrown to the wind.
"I'm glad – what was that?"
"Uh, yeah, I have kind of a problem here, do you know anything about parrots?"
"What do need to know? Gwen at the bird house is best for that. I'll give you her number."
I was pretty sure he knew anything I needed to know, but that was another of the reasons he was so crushable. He would always defer to someone else's expertise, even, sometimes, mine, when he knew damn well I didn't really have any. But it was the only way I'd learn the job, to have to make my own decisions.
I wrote down the number. "Thanks."
"I'm glad you're staying," he said.
"Uh me too." Oh, so articulate. It was a good thing they'd hired me to pick up poop. Yeah, that was only part of it, but you could always fall back on that part of it when someone's blue eyes meant you couldn't think straight enough to form a coherent English sentence.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.
"Yeah." As I hung up, I swear my heart went pitter-pat. Oh god. I'd solved one problem, but now I was going to have to deal with this other one for the long term.
"Way!"
Oh right. There was this other other problem, even before that.
But wait a minute. "What did you say?"
"Way!" The bird flapped its wings with enthusiasm. Yeah, that is an anthropomorphic description. So sue me.
"Well, thanks for the vote of approval. So can you leave now so I can go back to bed?"
"No way," the bird cackled.
I sighed.
"Fine. I may not know how to catch a parrot, but I know people who do. I am picking up this phone. I am calling Gwen, and she is going to lend me a cage. She is going to come over and catch you, and then we'll take you to the animal shelter or the parrot rescue or whatever. You can just wait right there."
I reached for the phone.
"No way," the bird laughed again. Then it turned, spread its wings, and flew out of the apartment.
I ran to the glass doors – followed by the pugs, as usual - and pushed them shut. I sunk to the floor with all kinds of relief and watched as the bird disappeared, the pugs whining beside me.
I slid the door open. It had somehow gained weight in the night. The pugs tumbled into the weedy yard and commenced their detailed inspection. I had no idea what about its smell could possibly have changed so much from yesterday, but my opinion carried no weight in the matter – they were the experts.
I yawned. It was hard to wake up in this apartment at the best of times. What they called a "garden apartment" around here, meaning it opened right onto this tiny backyard, to distract you from the fact that it was a basement with no windows. There was no morning light to ease you into conciousness before fat pugs started walking on your full bladder.
But this morning there was another reason I was only half awake. I'd been up all night tossing and turning. Today I had to decide.
"Come on," I moaned at the pugs. I needed some coffee, so bad it was like a physical pain. I really didn't want to wait ten minutes this morning.
They didn't even look up. I didn't have the strength to argue. I sunk down to the ground and sat leaning against the glass doors. I glanced back into the apartment, at the phone, lying there like some malignant sleeping creature.
Whichever way I decided, one part was going to be easy. I wouldn't need to use the phone - I could just get on the computer, and either register for classes or drop out.
There would be no one to ask me if I was sure, no one to remind me that I was throwing away a chance at a respectable career in a clean office, one where the worst injury I was likely to get was a paper cut. That I was crazy to give all this up so I could clean up animal poop for almost no money.
Which was what everyone had been saying in one way or another, of course. And which was what made the whole thing so hard. I was sure I wanted to drop out. I was sure I wanted to stay in my job at the zoo. I was insanely lucky that they offered me the chance to stay on past the summer. It was the coolest thing I had ever done, maybe that anyone had ever done, even if everyone else I knew couldn't see it.
And it wasn't just the animals, the chance to hand-feed a sloth an orange slice, watch its alien pinprick eyes as it took the fruit awkwardly with its long, curved, immobile claws, better suited to hanging from branches. It was also how it had made me realize how painful it was for me to sit still all the time, cooped up at a lecture or stuck at a desk. All my restless energy – it was an asset instead of a liability when I had to run up and down the stairs, climbs around on rock walls, scrub and hose things and chop vegetables all day.
The whole thing suited my nature. It was the niche I belonged in. But the thing is, I also knew another thing about my nature, that it was stubborn and contrary. The more people pushed, the more I pushed back. Was I sure I wasn't doing this just to show them?
Gus finally lifted his leg and peed. Rose waddled over and sniffed, then added a second opinion.
"Breakfast!" I called.
That was of course one of the words the pugs knew. In a more challenging situation I'd have to call "cookie" or "cheese" or "peanut butter," but first thing in the morning "breakfast" was enough.
They both turned and started to hurtle towards me, as aerodynamic as a couple of flying meatloaves. I got up and trudged back into the apartment toward the tiny kitchen, leaving the doors open behind us. If we couldn't have light at least we could have fresh air. It might help wake me up enough to remember how to make the coffee.
As I passed the desk I reached over and turned the computer on. It had to be on, either way. Whichever way I decided. But that would only be half of it. For the other half, I had to pick up the phone, to either quit or say I was staying in the job I'd had all summer. And I had to say it to Chris.
Did I forget to mention that I had a little bit of a crush on my boss? I had been trying to put that aside in the decision making process. He was always careful to remind me that he wasn't really my boss, that he didn't supervise people and that he had no personnel authority. But he was in charge of all the animal stuff, which was more important. He knew everything about animals, which was part of what made him so crushable. Really, that was most of it, I swear, but he also had the most amazing blue eyes –
Oh god. I really had to not think about that part of it. I was maybe about to throw away a whole year in graduate school to do something that everyone else I knew said was crazy. My boss's blue eyes could not enter into this.
I filled the bowls with kibble, my thoughts momentarily drowned out by excited barking. It was nice that they were so enthusiastic, I reminded myself as the noise reverberated in my skull, I hated the kind of animal you had to coax to eat.
I watched them contendedly hoovering up the kibble without any evidence of chewing. Where was I? Oh, right. Blue eyes. Not a factor. Really, not a part of the decision-making process. But also, it was just as stupid for what other people thought to be part of it. They didn't have to live my life. They didn't have to sit in classrooms and lecture halls feeling like they were about to explode with impatience. They didn't have to spend the rest of their life thinking they had thrown away the best thing they ever did just because other people said it was crazy. No, I was ready. I knew what was right for me.
"OK, it's time," I said to the pugs.
I always talked to them, I couldn't help it, as a primate, I naturally never shut the hell up for one second. The monkeys I took care of were just the same, always chattering and screaming whether there was a reason to or not. It didn't seem to inconvenience them, but in my case, it meant that the pugs had learned all kinds of words it was a problem for them to know, because I was unable to stop myself from announcing things like "I need to cut your nails" which, of course, sent them flying in the opposite direction.
They looked up, cocking their heads. Oh, right. "Time" usually was followed by "time to go outside and pee" at the end of the day. But they'd just been out, and it wasn't the end of the day. Now they were terribly confused. Yeah, welcome to the club.
"Sorry," I said. "I meant, now I'm doing it. I'm going over to that computer and withdrawing."
"No way."
I nearly jumped out of my pajama bottoms. "What the – "
There was a great commotion from the open door to the backyard. It took my sleep-deprived, stressed-out brain a moment to process the totally unexpected sight. A large bird had just flown in and settled on the back of a chair.
The pugs exploded in a frenzy of high-pitched barking. Justified, at least, for a change. They'd bark like mad at recycling bins or overly large strollers – perhaps they were offended at the ostentation of pushing a child around in something large enough to have its own cup holders – but I was never sure if I'd be able to trust them to announce the presence of an actual intruder. Nice to know.
I peered at the visitor. I didn't know a damn thing about birds, I was a mammal person. But even I knew that this was an African grey parrot.
It cocked its head at me.
"No way," it repeated.
"Who asked for your opinion." I knew, it had no idea what it was saying. But I was so used to talking to animals. I talked to the zoo animals whether they responded or not. In fact, just the other day, I'd found a tree shrew dead at the end of my shift, and had to stay late to bring it up to pathology. I was glad no one was around to hear when I exclaimed to it, "If you weren't dead I could go home now!"
But the worse influence was the years of talking to the pugs, who actually responded most of the time – not always cooperatively, of course, like when they ran away when nail-trims were announced – but intelligently.
And I knew these were really intelligent birds.Everyone knew about the late Alex, the famous grey who a psychology researcher had taught to answer questions about numbers and colors. She'd proven through careful experimentation that he really understood the words he was using.
But even in my sleepless, pre-caffeinated state, I knew that this bird's intelligence didn't extend to having an opinion on my career situation. The real problem was whose bird he was. It was the same deal as whenever I saw a loose dog. I had to do something because it was karma. What if my pugs got loose someday? The thought was too horrible to contemplate. If they managed not to get hit by cars, they were of course completely unsuited to life in the wild. Their highly evolved skill at being cute enough to make people want to feed them was all they had to rely on. And what if those people thought they were so cute that they wanted to keep them?
So I always had to fall all over myself to catch a loose dog and find its owner, because I hoped that someone would do the same for me. But I had no idea what to do about a bird.
"Look," I said, gesturing at the door. "I know you're smart enough to find your way home. Why don't you just go back the way you came?"
"No way."
We looked at each other. It was clearly a standoff. The bird didn't want to leave. I didn't want it in my house. It would poop everywhere, for one thing. And though the pugs had calmed down for now, I suspected that they'd go wild again the minute it moved.
OK, I had no bird experience. But, I had seen how people had them walk onto their arms. If I could get it to do that, then I could put it outside.
"Here you go,' I said, holding out my arm, nudging its toes a little the way I'd seen make birds lift their feet and step onto someone's arm. Not this time, unfortunately. The parrot scooted sideways on the back of the chair to avoid me instead.
"No way." I swore it laughed this time.
"Look. I have important business here, today. I can't be distracted by a bird. Can we be reasonable here? I need you to go home."
"No way."
Oh, for Pete's sake. I could have seen that coming. I was just getting myself in ridiculously deeper. But I couldn't help it.
"Fine," I said. "Make yourself at home. I'm just going over to that computer to get on with my life."
I waited a moment for the predictable comment, but this time, the bird just cocked his head.
Whatever, I thought, managing to keep it to myself this time. I walked over to the desk and sat down at the computer. I got so involved in beating my head against the university's recalcitrant computer system that I'd forgotten about the bird's presence by the time I got to the last thing I had to click to complete the withdrawal process.
Which meant that I almost had a heart attack when, just as I was about to click, a huge flurry of feathers landed on the back of my chair.
"No way! No way!" The shriek blended with my own as I jumped up and with the immediate addition of a duet of hysterical yapping.
"You little shit," I gasped as the parrot as the racket died down.
The bird looked quite pleased with himself. No doubt all the action was entertaining. And as my heart slowed, I had to admit it was kind of funny. Especially because if the bird really had been trying to stop me, he didn't know my nature. Now, bird or no bird, I was going to click on that last thing if it took me all morning.
However, I didn't really want to sit back down with him on the back of the chair. I wouldn't say I was frightened. It just seemed prudent. That was a sharp, pointy hooked beak he had. The claws were nothing to sniff at either. There was no need to have them so close to the back of my neck. Or any other part of me.
So I just reached out slowly toward the computer mouse.
"No way," said the bird, but this time in a much smaller voice.
I reached further, all the way, and clicked.
I felt an absurd surge of triumph. Take that, bird! Take that, office-working, classroom-sitting world!
The parrot turned and flapped back to the chair he had started on. It was an obvious admission of defeat. I decided that I could be big enough not to rub it in. So without further comment, I picked up the phone and dialed.
I kept my eye on the bird. One ring. He glanced over at me, saw I was watching, and looked away. Two rings.
"Small Mammals, this is Chris."
I was momentarily speechless. Not because it was a surprise, since he usually answered, and he was the one I needed to talk to. But because he always affected me this way.
"Um," I said.
"Hannah," he said, easily.
Oh, I thought, he recognized my voice just from 'um.' I was overcome with that feeling like my insides had turned to armadillo gruel, including my brain.
"Yeah. Uh," I said, brilliantly.
He waited patiently. This was another part of the thing about him. He was like the still center of chaos in the building. All the rest of us talky monkeys, never shutting up or sitting still and always panicking about the least little thing, running out of peanut butter or some animal looking at us cross-eyed in a way that surely meant that it was at death's door with some ailment we hadn't noticed till it was too late. But he always took a moment to think before he opened his mouth, or managed not to open it at all just for the sake of filling the silence. It was calming, usually, but not so much right now. It meant I had to step up.
"Uh, OK, so, I'm going to stay."
"No way," the shriek came from behind me, one last hopeless objection thrown to the wind.
"I'm glad – what was that?"
"Uh, yeah, I have kind of a problem here, do you know anything about parrots?"
"What do need to know? Gwen at the bird house is best for that. I'll give you her number."
I was pretty sure he knew anything I needed to know, but that was another of the reasons he was so crushable. He would always defer to someone else's expertise, even, sometimes, mine, when he knew damn well I didn't really have any. But it was the only way I'd learn the job, to have to make my own decisions.
I wrote down the number. "Thanks."
"I'm glad you're staying," he said.
"Uh me too." Oh, so articulate. It was a good thing they'd hired me to pick up poop. Yeah, that was only part of it, but you could always fall back on that part of it when someone's blue eyes meant you couldn't think straight enough to form a coherent English sentence.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.
"Yeah." As I hung up, I swear my heart went pitter-pat. Oh god. I'd solved one problem, but now I was going to have to deal with this other one for the long term.
"Way!"
Oh right. There was this other other problem, even before that.
But wait a minute. "What did you say?"
"Way!" The bird flapped its wings with enthusiasm. Yeah, that is an anthropomorphic description. So sue me.
"Well, thanks for the vote of approval. So can you leave now so I can go back to bed?"
"No way," the bird cackled.
I sighed.
"Fine. I may not know how to catch a parrot, but I know people who do. I am picking up this phone. I am calling Gwen, and she is going to lend me a cage. She is going to come over and catch you, and then we'll take you to the animal shelter or the parrot rescue or whatever. You can just wait right there."
I reached for the phone.
"No way," the bird laughed again. Then it turned, spread its wings, and flew out of the apartment.
I ran to the glass doors – followed by the pugs, as usual - and pushed them shut. I sunk to the floor with all kinds of relief and watched as the bird disappeared, the pugs whining beside me.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Unbearable
Unbearable
"Did you smell that?" Sara wrinkled her nose.
"So what's new." Caleb's tone was placid. He reminded Sara of the bears that they worked with. Large, furry, and quick to move from stillness to anger. Not nearly as cuddly as outsiders seemed to think.
"It's worse when Bob is off," Sara said, nodding her head at the closed door of the assistant curator's office.
Caleb shrugged. "He needs a drink just to be normal, at this point. Anyway, I'm not his boss. As long as he's not endangering anyone else, I'm not getting involved."
The conversation stopped abruptly as Nick shuffled back into the food prep area, the miasma of alcohol almost visible around him.
"Hot wire's off," he said. "Sloth bears."
The three exchanged looks. Sloth bears were Bob's exhibit. They should have decided first thing this morning who was working them today, but they'd procrastinated. On his return, Bob would always find some detail that had been neglected and nag about it. No one was enthusiastic about being his next victim.
It's probably my turn, Sara thought, resigned. She picked up another handful of mealworms.
"I can do it. No problem," Nick said, waving a hand, before she could speak up.
Sara put down the log she was stuffing with mealworms for the cusimanses. She walked over to the display that indicated the state of the various exhibit hot wires. The system was intended to give the animals a shock if they tried to climb out over an exhibit wall. Designed to react when something touched it, it was finicky about any kind of intrusion. Sara saw that one of the wires wasn't off, exactly, but clicking on and off excitedly.
"It's the one up top," she said. "Probably there's a branch or something in stuck it again. You'll have to climb up that rock wall."
"No problem," Nick repeated. "I can do it. No problem."
Nick wandered toward the exit of the keeper kitchen. Sara and Caleb exchanged glances. Was he going to make it out the door?
Nick stopped. He stuck his hand out, and it made contact with the doorknob.
"No problem," he said, pulling the door open. "Back in a jiff."
"Better him than me," Caleb grunted as the door closed behind Nick.
"Do you think he can really climb the wall in that condition?" Sara wrinkled her brow. She felt a bit guilty, but not quite enough to run after him.
Caleb shrugged. "I don't think he can climb it sober. He'll stand there all morning throwing rocks at the branch hoping to knock it free. Beats working, right?"
Sara thought about picking up the phone. Was it worth calling their senior curator about Nick's drunken state? But they'd complained before. No one seemed to care that they had to follow closely behind Nick all day, making sure he'd closed shift doors and locked gates. The problem was, they did such a good job of it that no one realized there was anything wrong. But what choice did they have? These were dangerous animals. They couldn't risk letting one of them get out just so Nick would get fired for it.
"Yeah. You're probably right," she said. She loaded the mealworm-stuffed pieces of log into a bucket. "See you later."
Sara glanced over at the sloth bear exhibit as she walked past. She didn't see Nick, either up on the wall or throwing rocks from the ground. He'd better not be up on the wall, she realized – the bear was out. It wandered into view from behind a pile of logs, shaking its head back and forth. Foolish animal, she thought. Not one of her favorites.
She peered toward the back of the exhibit. Something didn't look right. She sighed. She'd just spent a long morning scrubbing the forest carnivore section, and was looking forward to lunch. She was in no mood to cover Nick's ass again.
She trudged over to the exhibit without enthusiasm. As she'd suspected, the shift door to the back holding area was ajar. Not just ajar, but half open. The bear was supposed to be closed out during the day. If he had access to his holding area all day, they had trouble getting him to come in for the night. If the bear decided to mess with the door, it would be easy for him to push it the rest of the way open. In fact, he probably wouldn't have to bother. He could squeeze through that opening if -
Suddenly she had a worse thought. Was Nick drunk enough to leave the door that way while he was working back there?
Sara started to run. She pulled her keys out of her pocket as she approached the door to the service area. Her hand trembled as she tried to fit the key in the lock. It seemed like forever before the door opened and she pushed it open, so hard that she almost fell through the entrance.
"Nick?" she called out as she rushed toward the holding cage.
The light was dim. That ought to mean he wasn't back here working. But this was no time to waste time thinking. She pushed the shift door shut, hard.
Now she could relax. Her heart started to slow.
"Nick," she called again.
She turned on the light. There was no one in the service area. And no one lying there, mauled, in the shift cage.
It smelled like no one had cleaned yet, in fact. Obviously all Nick had done was pop in and let the bear out. And then not even closed the door properly behind him. She looked around. Her eyes lit on the panel of switches on the far wall. Nick hadn't turned the hot wire back on either, she saw. She walked across the room and flipped it back on.
Her concern had turned to annoyance now. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, she thought. Giving me a scare like that. And what had he been doing all morning that he hadn't gotten around to cleaning here? If she or Caleb ended up having to do it, she was going to be furious.
Not that anyone would care, she thought, scowling. She turned out the light and slammed the door behind her.
It was nearly the end of the day. Caleb, carrying a clipboard, opened the animal fridge. He stuck his head inside and started making marks on the order form.
Sara was cleaning the kitchen. She'd rather clean than do the inventory and ordering any day. She hadn't become an animal keeper to spend her time doing paperwork.
An incomprehensible sound came from the depths of the fridge.
"I'm sorry?" Sara called.
"Eeniglaidly?" With Caleb's voice still muffled by the refrigerator, Sara couldn't make out any more than that. She put down her sponge and walked over to him.
"Sorry, what?"
Caleb's shaggy, bearded head emerged from the chilly depths. "Sorry. I said, have you seen Nick lately? Isn't this the sloth bear pan?" he pointed.
"Yeah. No. I haven't seen him since this morning actually. Not that I've looked for him, I was so angry after that thing with the sloth bear shift door."
Caleb nodded. Nick hadn't been around for lunch, either, or they wouldn't have been able to spend the whole break complaining about him. Caleb pulled out his radio.
"Caleb to Nick, lower bears."
They waited. There was no reply. He repeated the call, with the same result.
"He didn't – oh, he couldn't have gone home early, could he?" Sara said.
Caleb's face grew dark. Sara was reminded of how she'd often thought she wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of a shift door with Caleb if he got really angry. She watched as he stomped across the keeper area to the small office and vanished inside.
He reappeared after a moment. "No, his radio hasn't been put away. He must still be here."
"And ignoring his radio," Sara whined. It was such a good excuse, pretending you'd bumped up against something, accidentally turned your radio down. It happened for real often enough to be plausible. And such a perfect way to avoid someone who was trying to give you work to do.
Caleb shook his head. "I've had just about enough of this."
Sara nodded. "Between ignoring the radio, and giving me that scare at the sloth bear this morning, and not feeding – "
She stopped. "I didn't go into the holding cage," she said.
They looked at each other, both thinking of the covered den area in the bear's holding cage. Thinking, that was where he liked to drag his last bits of food, to eat in private.
"You don't think...." Sara began.
"He's probably just passed out in one of his other exhibits." Caleb sighed heavily. "Let's go look. Not that I care if he sleeps it off behind the grizzlies overnight, but who knows what else he hasn't gotten done today?"
"I guess. You take the grizzlies, I'll do the rest?" The grizzlies were the farthest walk away, so that was a fair division.
Caleb nodded. He took the sloth bear pan out of the fridge. "I'll feed this guy afterwards. Someone has to do it."
Sara nodded, her lips pursed, as they headed out the door.
Nick wasn't behind the beaver exhibit. Sara had run out of places to look. She unclipped her radio from her belt.
"Sara to Caleb."
"Go ahead."
"Any luck?" She didn't really think so, or he'd have called, but you never know. Maybe she'd missed it. Like Nick was always claiming.
"No. You?"
"No."
She hesitated. Nick couldn't really be dead or dying in the sloth bear holding cave, could he? That was crazy. Caleb would have had them go there first, if he'd thought that was really a possibility.
"Did you feed the sloth bear yet?" she continued.
"I'm just headed there now."
"I'll meet you."
"Ten-four."
Sara trotted toward the sloth bears. She couldn't decide whether to be concerned or angry. If Nick was fine, just slacking off somewhere, and they'd wasted all this time looking for him...
Caleb was just walking up to the exhibit as she arrived. Sara found herself scanning the enclosure. She told herself it was stupid, there's certainly no way he's been lying in there all day without anyone noticing. There've been hundreds of people walking by, she thought, as she was jostled by a woman pushing a huge stroller full of babies and cupholders.
But in back was different. She felt nervous as Caleb unlocked the door and she followed him in.
Caleb checked the shift door to make sure it was safe for him to go into the holding cage. It was solidly closed, as Sara had left it. He unlocked the cage door and picked up the pan of food he'd left on the floor behind him. The food was supposed to be spread around the exhibit for enrichment. Nick should have done it, of course. But now that it was so late, they didn't have time.
On the bright side, Sara thought, it would make it easy to bring the bear in for the night. She tried to convince herself that that was all there was to worry about as Caleb, inside the cage, bent over and looked into the den.
She felt all the tension go out of her body as Caleb just set down the pan and turned away. No reaction, like everything in there was normal. The urge to get mad at Nick resurfaced. It's not like I even like him, she thought, or the bear, that much. But the idea of one of the animals hurting or killing a keeper – it was everyone's worst nightmare. Even if it was the keeper's own drunken fault.
Caleb left the cage, closed and locked it behind him. He opened the shift door and rattled it, as they did to tell the bear it was time to come in. It didn't always work so well for the other keepers as it did for Bob. But the bear was hungry, and after only a moment he stuck his head through the door, lifting his snout, smelling. Catching a whiff of something edible, he hurried into his den, and Caleb closed the shift door behind him.
Sara's worry had turned fully to anger now. "So, no Nick," she said, as the two keepers watched the bear vacuum the pan clean. Worth waiting for, he seemed to think. Food delivered on a silver platter, instead of having to hunt for it through the exhibit. He looked over at them as if to indicate his approval. Why didn't they do more of this sort of thing?
"I say the heck with him," Caleb said.
She shook her head, disgusted. "The shift door was half open. The hot wire – he hadn't even turned that back on, and that's what he'd come out here to deal with. He's done nothing, and where's he disappeared to?"
"The hot wire?" Caleb said. He seemed suddenly interested.
"Yes. He'd switched it off to work on getting the obstruction off it, obviously. But he never turned it back on."
Caleb got a funny look on his face. Suddenly, without a word, he turned and walked quickly out the service area door.
"Caleb?" Sara called, trotting after him, surprised.
Outside, he was already in the exhibit, the heavy metal door left unlocked and wide open behind him, and was climbing up the wall to the top hotwire. Sara hurried in and closed the door behind her. She stood at the bottom of the wall where Caleb was now looking over the far side, his face oddly pale.
"Caleb? What's wrong?"
He didn't reply. She called again, and again, strangely, he didn't respond.
There was nothing else to do. She climbed up the wall after him, quicker than she'd ever climbed it before. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what he was looking at.
She reached the top and looked over, as Caleb was. Nick was lying on the ground at the bottom of the outside of the wall. Even at this distance, Sara and Caleb could recognize death. It was part of their job. They had no doubt.
Sara felt a moment of guilt. If she'd hunted for Nick earlier, before lunch, would it have made a difference? She considered the angle of his neck. No, she thought. It wouldn't have mattered.
Caleb took out his radio and called the zoo police. She looked over at him. His face had regained its color and his voice had sounded perfectly controlled.
The police responded. Caleb gave them the location, not revealing over the radio exactly what the problem was. There was no point in causing a ruckus.
He clipped the radio back on his belt. Now he looked directly at Sara for the first time.
He shrugged. "Well, that problem's solved." Then he began to climb down the wall without waiting for a reply.
"Did you smell that?" Sara wrinkled her nose.
"So what's new." Caleb's tone was placid. He reminded Sara of the bears that they worked with. Large, furry, and quick to move from stillness to anger. Not nearly as cuddly as outsiders seemed to think.
"It's worse when Bob is off," Sara said, nodding her head at the closed door of the assistant curator's office.
Caleb shrugged. "He needs a drink just to be normal, at this point. Anyway, I'm not his boss. As long as he's not endangering anyone else, I'm not getting involved."
The conversation stopped abruptly as Nick shuffled back into the food prep area, the miasma of alcohol almost visible around him.
"Hot wire's off," he said. "Sloth bears."
The three exchanged looks. Sloth bears were Bob's exhibit. They should have decided first thing this morning who was working them today, but they'd procrastinated. On his return, Bob would always find some detail that had been neglected and nag about it. No one was enthusiastic about being his next victim.
It's probably my turn, Sara thought, resigned. She picked up another handful of mealworms.
"I can do it. No problem," Nick said, waving a hand, before she could speak up.
Sara put down the log she was stuffing with mealworms for the cusimanses. She walked over to the display that indicated the state of the various exhibit hot wires. The system was intended to give the animals a shock if they tried to climb out over an exhibit wall. Designed to react when something touched it, it was finicky about any kind of intrusion. Sara saw that one of the wires wasn't off, exactly, but clicking on and off excitedly.
"It's the one up top," she said. "Probably there's a branch or something in stuck it again. You'll have to climb up that rock wall."
"No problem," Nick repeated. "I can do it. No problem."
Nick wandered toward the exit of the keeper kitchen. Sara and Caleb exchanged glances. Was he going to make it out the door?
Nick stopped. He stuck his hand out, and it made contact with the doorknob.
"No problem," he said, pulling the door open. "Back in a jiff."
"Better him than me," Caleb grunted as the door closed behind Nick.
"Do you think he can really climb the wall in that condition?" Sara wrinkled her brow. She felt a bit guilty, but not quite enough to run after him.
Caleb shrugged. "I don't think he can climb it sober. He'll stand there all morning throwing rocks at the branch hoping to knock it free. Beats working, right?"
Sara thought about picking up the phone. Was it worth calling their senior curator about Nick's drunken state? But they'd complained before. No one seemed to care that they had to follow closely behind Nick all day, making sure he'd closed shift doors and locked gates. The problem was, they did such a good job of it that no one realized there was anything wrong. But what choice did they have? These were dangerous animals. They couldn't risk letting one of them get out just so Nick would get fired for it.
"Yeah. You're probably right," she said. She loaded the mealworm-stuffed pieces of log into a bucket. "See you later."
Sara glanced over at the sloth bear exhibit as she walked past. She didn't see Nick, either up on the wall or throwing rocks from the ground. He'd better not be up on the wall, she realized – the bear was out. It wandered into view from behind a pile of logs, shaking its head back and forth. Foolish animal, she thought. Not one of her favorites.
She peered toward the back of the exhibit. Something didn't look right. She sighed. She'd just spent a long morning scrubbing the forest carnivore section, and was looking forward to lunch. She was in no mood to cover Nick's ass again.
She trudged over to the exhibit without enthusiasm. As she'd suspected, the shift door to the back holding area was ajar. Not just ajar, but half open. The bear was supposed to be closed out during the day. If he had access to his holding area all day, they had trouble getting him to come in for the night. If the bear decided to mess with the door, it would be easy for him to push it the rest of the way open. In fact, he probably wouldn't have to bother. He could squeeze through that opening if -
Suddenly she had a worse thought. Was Nick drunk enough to leave the door that way while he was working back there?
Sara started to run. She pulled her keys out of her pocket as she approached the door to the service area. Her hand trembled as she tried to fit the key in the lock. It seemed like forever before the door opened and she pushed it open, so hard that she almost fell through the entrance.
"Nick?" she called out as she rushed toward the holding cage.
The light was dim. That ought to mean he wasn't back here working. But this was no time to waste time thinking. She pushed the shift door shut, hard.
Now she could relax. Her heart started to slow.
"Nick," she called again.
She turned on the light. There was no one in the service area. And no one lying there, mauled, in the shift cage.
It smelled like no one had cleaned yet, in fact. Obviously all Nick had done was pop in and let the bear out. And then not even closed the door properly behind him. She looked around. Her eyes lit on the panel of switches on the far wall. Nick hadn't turned the hot wire back on either, she saw. She walked across the room and flipped it back on.
Her concern had turned to annoyance now. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, she thought. Giving me a scare like that. And what had he been doing all morning that he hadn't gotten around to cleaning here? If she or Caleb ended up having to do it, she was going to be furious.
Not that anyone would care, she thought, scowling. She turned out the light and slammed the door behind her.
It was nearly the end of the day. Caleb, carrying a clipboard, opened the animal fridge. He stuck his head inside and started making marks on the order form.
Sara was cleaning the kitchen. She'd rather clean than do the inventory and ordering any day. She hadn't become an animal keeper to spend her time doing paperwork.
An incomprehensible sound came from the depths of the fridge.
"I'm sorry?" Sara called.
"Eeniglaidly?" With Caleb's voice still muffled by the refrigerator, Sara couldn't make out any more than that. She put down her sponge and walked over to him.
"Sorry, what?"
Caleb's shaggy, bearded head emerged from the chilly depths. "Sorry. I said, have you seen Nick lately? Isn't this the sloth bear pan?" he pointed.
"Yeah. No. I haven't seen him since this morning actually. Not that I've looked for him, I was so angry after that thing with the sloth bear shift door."
Caleb nodded. Nick hadn't been around for lunch, either, or they wouldn't have been able to spend the whole break complaining about him. Caleb pulled out his radio.
"Caleb to Nick, lower bears."
They waited. There was no reply. He repeated the call, with the same result.
"He didn't – oh, he couldn't have gone home early, could he?" Sara said.
Caleb's face grew dark. Sara was reminded of how she'd often thought she wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of a shift door with Caleb if he got really angry. She watched as he stomped across the keeper area to the small office and vanished inside.
He reappeared after a moment. "No, his radio hasn't been put away. He must still be here."
"And ignoring his radio," Sara whined. It was such a good excuse, pretending you'd bumped up against something, accidentally turned your radio down. It happened for real often enough to be plausible. And such a perfect way to avoid someone who was trying to give you work to do.
Caleb shook his head. "I've had just about enough of this."
Sara nodded. "Between ignoring the radio, and giving me that scare at the sloth bear this morning, and not feeding – "
She stopped. "I didn't go into the holding cage," she said.
They looked at each other, both thinking of the covered den area in the bear's holding cage. Thinking, that was where he liked to drag his last bits of food, to eat in private.
"You don't think...." Sara began.
"He's probably just passed out in one of his other exhibits." Caleb sighed heavily. "Let's go look. Not that I care if he sleeps it off behind the grizzlies overnight, but who knows what else he hasn't gotten done today?"
"I guess. You take the grizzlies, I'll do the rest?" The grizzlies were the farthest walk away, so that was a fair division.
Caleb nodded. He took the sloth bear pan out of the fridge. "I'll feed this guy afterwards. Someone has to do it."
Sara nodded, her lips pursed, as they headed out the door.
Nick wasn't behind the beaver exhibit. Sara had run out of places to look. She unclipped her radio from her belt.
"Sara to Caleb."
"Go ahead."
"Any luck?" She didn't really think so, or he'd have called, but you never know. Maybe she'd missed it. Like Nick was always claiming.
"No. You?"
"No."
She hesitated. Nick couldn't really be dead or dying in the sloth bear holding cave, could he? That was crazy. Caleb would have had them go there first, if he'd thought that was really a possibility.
"Did you feed the sloth bear yet?" she continued.
"I'm just headed there now."
"I'll meet you."
"Ten-four."
Sara trotted toward the sloth bears. She couldn't decide whether to be concerned or angry. If Nick was fine, just slacking off somewhere, and they'd wasted all this time looking for him...
Caleb was just walking up to the exhibit as she arrived. Sara found herself scanning the enclosure. She told herself it was stupid, there's certainly no way he's been lying in there all day without anyone noticing. There've been hundreds of people walking by, she thought, as she was jostled by a woman pushing a huge stroller full of babies and cupholders.
But in back was different. She felt nervous as Caleb unlocked the door and she followed him in.
Caleb checked the shift door to make sure it was safe for him to go into the holding cage. It was solidly closed, as Sara had left it. He unlocked the cage door and picked up the pan of food he'd left on the floor behind him. The food was supposed to be spread around the exhibit for enrichment. Nick should have done it, of course. But now that it was so late, they didn't have time.
On the bright side, Sara thought, it would make it easy to bring the bear in for the night. She tried to convince herself that that was all there was to worry about as Caleb, inside the cage, bent over and looked into the den.
She felt all the tension go out of her body as Caleb just set down the pan and turned away. No reaction, like everything in there was normal. The urge to get mad at Nick resurfaced. It's not like I even like him, she thought, or the bear, that much. But the idea of one of the animals hurting or killing a keeper – it was everyone's worst nightmare. Even if it was the keeper's own drunken fault.
Caleb left the cage, closed and locked it behind him. He opened the shift door and rattled it, as they did to tell the bear it was time to come in. It didn't always work so well for the other keepers as it did for Bob. But the bear was hungry, and after only a moment he stuck his head through the door, lifting his snout, smelling. Catching a whiff of something edible, he hurried into his den, and Caleb closed the shift door behind him.
Sara's worry had turned fully to anger now. "So, no Nick," she said, as the two keepers watched the bear vacuum the pan clean. Worth waiting for, he seemed to think. Food delivered on a silver platter, instead of having to hunt for it through the exhibit. He looked over at them as if to indicate his approval. Why didn't they do more of this sort of thing?
"I say the heck with him," Caleb said.
She shook her head, disgusted. "The shift door was half open. The hot wire – he hadn't even turned that back on, and that's what he'd come out here to deal with. He's done nothing, and where's he disappeared to?"
"The hot wire?" Caleb said. He seemed suddenly interested.
"Yes. He'd switched it off to work on getting the obstruction off it, obviously. But he never turned it back on."
Caleb got a funny look on his face. Suddenly, without a word, he turned and walked quickly out the service area door.
"Caleb?" Sara called, trotting after him, surprised.
Outside, he was already in the exhibit, the heavy metal door left unlocked and wide open behind him, and was climbing up the wall to the top hotwire. Sara hurried in and closed the door behind her. She stood at the bottom of the wall where Caleb was now looking over the far side, his face oddly pale.
"Caleb? What's wrong?"
He didn't reply. She called again, and again, strangely, he didn't respond.
There was nothing else to do. She climbed up the wall after him, quicker than she'd ever climbed it before. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what he was looking at.
She reached the top and looked over, as Caleb was. Nick was lying on the ground at the bottom of the outside of the wall. Even at this distance, Sara and Caleb could recognize death. It was part of their job. They had no doubt.
Sara felt a moment of guilt. If she'd hunted for Nick earlier, before lunch, would it have made a difference? She considered the angle of his neck. No, she thought. It wouldn't have mattered.
Caleb took out his radio and called the zoo police. She looked over at him. His face had regained its color and his voice had sounded perfectly controlled.
The police responded. Caleb gave them the location, not revealing over the radio exactly what the problem was. There was no point in causing a ruckus.
He clipped the radio back on his belt. Now he looked directly at Sara for the first time.
He shrugged. "Well, that problem's solved." Then he began to climb down the wall without waiting for a reply.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
A Whale Story
I kicked the valve one last time. Finally salt water started to pour into the half-full tank.
"This place is really going down the tubes. I've been trying to get this valve replaced for months."
"Don't hold your breath. I heard the last plumber resigned this morning."
"Another one? What is taking them so long to – oh, what's the use. I'm going to get coffee while this fills," I nodded at the tank.
Rick pulled the siphon out of the tank he was cleaning. "I'll come. This can wait."
It was against the rules to leave the area while a tank was filling. Even if you knew, from years of experience, exactly how long it would take before it overflowed. But it had gotten hard to worry about being fired for breaking the rules when we were so busy worrying about getting fired due to budget cuts.
We headed down the corridor in a glum silence. "Let's go out," Rick said as I veered toward the break room.
I shrugged, and we continued down the hall. We probably shouldn't be spending money on Starbucks with the aquarium in the state it was in. We'd need the savings if we ended up having to go and work in a pet shop for minimum wage. But I followed him toward the exit.
I sat down next to Rick at the window table. I tried not to salivate at the sight of his huge mocha frappuccino topped with a mountain of whipped cream. I'd ordered a regular coffee and doctored it up with cream and sugar. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't that different from a cappuccino. That steamed milk always made them too hot to drink at first, and we didn't have that long a break, right? So it saved time as well as being cheaper. But it might be worth asking what they'd charge for some whipped cream.
"So take a look at what I just got." He took a folded-up envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to me.
I unfolded it. It was a letter from our director, Andy, on official aquarium stationery. I started to read.
"What the – you're kidding," I said. "This can't be serious."
He nodded. "Twenty percent cut in pay."
The letter said that Rick was being demoted from senior aquarist, as a result of budget cuts.
"But you – "
He just nodded, cutting me off. We were old friends. I didn't have to spell it out, how he'd uprooted his family, took on a huge mortgage to be in a decent school district, on the strength of this job offer a year ago.
"No change in your responsibilities, I see," I said, shaking my head.
"Of course not. When I talked to him, he made it sound like that was a good thing. Cutting my pay made it possible not to fire anyone else, which would have meant more work for fewer staff. Good deal, right?" He sucked fiercely at his straw.
"Oh, man. This is so bogus," I said as I continued reading to the end, where they put the lame apologies, full of corporate doublespeak. "I am so sorry." I folded the letter back up and handed it to him. "It just hasn't been the same since they appointed Andy."
I waited nervously for his response. I'd encouraged him to take this job, and lately I'd been feeling vaguely guilty about it. Of course, there was no way I could have known about the changes that were coming. But that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't blame me, illogical as it might be.
But he just shook his head. "It's OK. I've got a plan."
I didn't press him. He'd sometimes talked about getting out of the business – the pay was lousy, the schedules sucked, never being home with your friends and family for a whole weekend – but he did it without enthusiasm. I knew he'd busted his ass in worse jobs for a long time and had moved halfway across the country to get the position here. At the time, this place had been the jewel of the city's tourist attractions, with a national reputation as the best. It had seemed like a good idea.
"Yeah, well, let me know if I can help." I had no idea how. But maybe a sincere letter of reference from a trusted colleague would be of more use than the boilerplate nonsense that the director would no doubt produce. Or maybe he could use some of my techniques for gussying up ramen noodles.
"We better get back," he said, slurping up the last of his drink.
"Yeah." I tossed my cup in the trash and we headed out the door.
I looked up and down the hall quickly before opening the door to the service area. I didn't want anyone to see me coming back – clear evidence that I'd left while a tank was filling.
"Don't worry, the coast is clear," Rick said.
"Thanks, cap'n," I saluted.
I hurried to my tank and watched it slowly fill the last few inches while Rick worked on his. I could probably be doing something else at the same time, but if they thought that filling tanks needed to be watched so badly, I'd better keep an undistracted eye on it, right?
I leaned on the crumbling, salt-encrusted concrete that enclosed the exhibit. Rick scrubbed at the empty holding tank behind me. Normally we'd make conversation, but right now, I wasn't sure what to say. Twenty percent salary cut. I remembered that Rick and his wife had been talking about trying to have a second child. I didn't know if they'd made any progress, and it seemed like a bad time to ask.
I decided that the tank was full enough given the uncomfortable situation and started to turn the valve. Of course, closing it was no easier than opening it. And in the almost-closed position it sprayed a trickle of water onto the service area floor.
"Shit," I whined, looking at the puddle that was accumulating as I kicked at the valve. "This leaks right through the wall to the aqua theater if I can't get it shut all the way."
Rick glanced at his watch. "Hey, do me a favor," he said. "Just leave that."
"Uh, sure." I didn't ask why, but the question was obvious from my tone.
"I want to show Andy exactly what the problem is."
"Right," I shrugged. It seemed like Andy knew exactly what the problems were, and just had a vastly different idea of how to address them than we did. But Rick had said he had a plan. I figured he knew what he was doing. He always did – that was why he was paid so well. Or had been. There was no need for me to butt in.
It was after closing time. I crossed the soaring glass-enclosed lobby on the way back to my locker. They'd had enough money to build a place like this, once. The summer sun, low to the horizon, hit me right in the eyes. This time of year, I knew that meant I was here much later than they really paid me for. But there weren't really enough of us to get everything done in a day, anymore.
But finally I was ready to head home. Or so I thought. Just as I unclipped my radio from my belt to put it away, it crackled with static. I hesitated, about to decide to put it away anyway – and then a voice said "I need assistance in the aqua theater. I've got a man down. In the pool."
I started to run, out the door of the locker room, back across the lobby. I wasn't sure what help I could be. I didn't work with the marine mammals, the dolphins and killer whales that performed in the theater. And if someone was drowning and there were still animals in the pool... There'd be nothing I could do. But I ran anyway.
Rick had beaten me there. He was standing at the entrance. By the pool, everything was as under control as it could be. Two of the trainers were shifting a killer whale out of the pool into a holding area. Three other staff were pulling a limp body out of the water.
"You probably don't want to look," Rick said.
I could see enough blood from here to imagine what he might mean. It's politically correct to call them orcas now, but they don't call them killer whales for nothing. Like elephants, they were fine most of the time, but they only had to get a bit cross with their trainer for it to be big trouble.
"Who is it?" I said, although I thought I knew. "Is he –"
"It's Andy. He's pretty definitely dead. He – never mind. You don't want to know."
"How... what would he be doing in the pool?" I trailed off, watching the puddle of blood grow larger on the floor next to the theater pool.
Rick looked at me. "It must have been an accident. The floor's slippery there, from that leaky valve."
He held my gaze. I noticed that he seemed to be speaking very carefully.
"Yeah, I guess that's it," I said, hesitantly.
"He did go on about how bad he felt about the budget situation, but I doubt that he was sincere enough about it that he jumped."
"Right," I said.
"I mean, it's not like anyone would have pushed him."
I nodded. "I better get back and close that valve then."
"Maybe we'll get some plumbers hired soon," Rick said. "You know, when we get a new director."
I nodded again as the sound of sirens approached, then turned and walked quickly away.
"This place is really going down the tubes. I've been trying to get this valve replaced for months."
"Don't hold your breath. I heard the last plumber resigned this morning."
"Another one? What is taking them so long to – oh, what's the use. I'm going to get coffee while this fills," I nodded at the tank.
Rick pulled the siphon out of the tank he was cleaning. "I'll come. This can wait."
It was against the rules to leave the area while a tank was filling. Even if you knew, from years of experience, exactly how long it would take before it overflowed. But it had gotten hard to worry about being fired for breaking the rules when we were so busy worrying about getting fired due to budget cuts.
We headed down the corridor in a glum silence. "Let's go out," Rick said as I veered toward the break room.
I shrugged, and we continued down the hall. We probably shouldn't be spending money on Starbucks with the aquarium in the state it was in. We'd need the savings if we ended up having to go and work in a pet shop for minimum wage. But I followed him toward the exit.
I sat down next to Rick at the window table. I tried not to salivate at the sight of his huge mocha frappuccino topped with a mountain of whipped cream. I'd ordered a regular coffee and doctored it up with cream and sugar. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't that different from a cappuccino. That steamed milk always made them too hot to drink at first, and we didn't have that long a break, right? So it saved time as well as being cheaper. But it might be worth asking what they'd charge for some whipped cream.
"So take a look at what I just got." He took a folded-up envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to me.
I unfolded it. It was a letter from our director, Andy, on official aquarium stationery. I started to read.
"What the – you're kidding," I said. "This can't be serious."
He nodded. "Twenty percent cut in pay."
The letter said that Rick was being demoted from senior aquarist, as a result of budget cuts.
"But you – "
He just nodded, cutting me off. We were old friends. I didn't have to spell it out, how he'd uprooted his family, took on a huge mortgage to be in a decent school district, on the strength of this job offer a year ago.
"No change in your responsibilities, I see," I said, shaking my head.
"Of course not. When I talked to him, he made it sound like that was a good thing. Cutting my pay made it possible not to fire anyone else, which would have meant more work for fewer staff. Good deal, right?" He sucked fiercely at his straw.
"Oh, man. This is so bogus," I said as I continued reading to the end, where they put the lame apologies, full of corporate doublespeak. "I am so sorry." I folded the letter back up and handed it to him. "It just hasn't been the same since they appointed Andy."
I waited nervously for his response. I'd encouraged him to take this job, and lately I'd been feeling vaguely guilty about it. Of course, there was no way I could have known about the changes that were coming. But that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't blame me, illogical as it might be.
But he just shook his head. "It's OK. I've got a plan."
I didn't press him. He'd sometimes talked about getting out of the business – the pay was lousy, the schedules sucked, never being home with your friends and family for a whole weekend – but he did it without enthusiasm. I knew he'd busted his ass in worse jobs for a long time and had moved halfway across the country to get the position here. At the time, this place had been the jewel of the city's tourist attractions, with a national reputation as the best. It had seemed like a good idea.
"Yeah, well, let me know if I can help." I had no idea how. But maybe a sincere letter of reference from a trusted colleague would be of more use than the boilerplate nonsense that the director would no doubt produce. Or maybe he could use some of my techniques for gussying up ramen noodles.
"We better get back," he said, slurping up the last of his drink.
"Yeah." I tossed my cup in the trash and we headed out the door.
I looked up and down the hall quickly before opening the door to the service area. I didn't want anyone to see me coming back – clear evidence that I'd left while a tank was filling.
"Don't worry, the coast is clear," Rick said.
"Thanks, cap'n," I saluted.
I hurried to my tank and watched it slowly fill the last few inches while Rick worked on his. I could probably be doing something else at the same time, but if they thought that filling tanks needed to be watched so badly, I'd better keep an undistracted eye on it, right?
I leaned on the crumbling, salt-encrusted concrete that enclosed the exhibit. Rick scrubbed at the empty holding tank behind me. Normally we'd make conversation, but right now, I wasn't sure what to say. Twenty percent salary cut. I remembered that Rick and his wife had been talking about trying to have a second child. I didn't know if they'd made any progress, and it seemed like a bad time to ask.
I decided that the tank was full enough given the uncomfortable situation and started to turn the valve. Of course, closing it was no easier than opening it. And in the almost-closed position it sprayed a trickle of water onto the service area floor.
"Shit," I whined, looking at the puddle that was accumulating as I kicked at the valve. "This leaks right through the wall to the aqua theater if I can't get it shut all the way."
Rick glanced at his watch. "Hey, do me a favor," he said. "Just leave that."
"Uh, sure." I didn't ask why, but the question was obvious from my tone.
"I want to show Andy exactly what the problem is."
"Right," I shrugged. It seemed like Andy knew exactly what the problems were, and just had a vastly different idea of how to address them than we did. But Rick had said he had a plan. I figured he knew what he was doing. He always did – that was why he was paid so well. Or had been. There was no need for me to butt in.
It was after closing time. I crossed the soaring glass-enclosed lobby on the way back to my locker. They'd had enough money to build a place like this, once. The summer sun, low to the horizon, hit me right in the eyes. This time of year, I knew that meant I was here much later than they really paid me for. But there weren't really enough of us to get everything done in a day, anymore.
But finally I was ready to head home. Or so I thought. Just as I unclipped my radio from my belt to put it away, it crackled with static. I hesitated, about to decide to put it away anyway – and then a voice said "I need assistance in the aqua theater. I've got a man down. In the pool."
I started to run, out the door of the locker room, back across the lobby. I wasn't sure what help I could be. I didn't work with the marine mammals, the dolphins and killer whales that performed in the theater. And if someone was drowning and there were still animals in the pool... There'd be nothing I could do. But I ran anyway.
Rick had beaten me there. He was standing at the entrance. By the pool, everything was as under control as it could be. Two of the trainers were shifting a killer whale out of the pool into a holding area. Three other staff were pulling a limp body out of the water.
"You probably don't want to look," Rick said.
I could see enough blood from here to imagine what he might mean. It's politically correct to call them orcas now, but they don't call them killer whales for nothing. Like elephants, they were fine most of the time, but they only had to get a bit cross with their trainer for it to be big trouble.
"Who is it?" I said, although I thought I knew. "Is he –"
"It's Andy. He's pretty definitely dead. He – never mind. You don't want to know."
"How... what would he be doing in the pool?" I trailed off, watching the puddle of blood grow larger on the floor next to the theater pool.
Rick looked at me. "It must have been an accident. The floor's slippery there, from that leaky valve."
He held my gaze. I noticed that he seemed to be speaking very carefully.
"Yeah, I guess that's it," I said, hesitantly.
"He did go on about how bad he felt about the budget situation, but I doubt that he was sincere enough about it that he jumped."
"Right," I said.
"I mean, it's not like anyone would have pushed him."
I nodded. "I better get back and close that valve then."
"Maybe we'll get some plumbers hired soon," Rick said. "You know, when we get a new director."
I nodded again as the sound of sirens approached, then turned and walked quickly away.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
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