We were standing in what looked like a giant wash basin. Guards were patrolling along the edge twenty feet above us. Escape was impossible. There were drains on the floor spaced every ten feet or so and there was one metal door directly ahead of me. None of the prisoners spoke. Judging by the amount of body fat on these dudes, I knew I must be the newest member of this country club. As I glanced about I saw the pictures spread everywhere along the walls: a man's face with a zipper for lips; authoritative faces with one finger in front of the lips. SHHHHH. SILENCE WILL BE REWARDED. TALKING NOT ALLOWED. "Great," I thought to myself. "What did they do hire a bunch of librarians to decorate this place?" It smelled like a latrine. I had to go and I had to go bad. One of the guards started throwing buckets of what smelled like soap powder all over us. I heard the sound of metal grinding and was suddenly hurled into the corner by the force of ice cold water spraying from several fire hoses above us. We were being given a shower. The impact caused me to lose control of my bowels. I felt like apologizing, but all I could do was close my eyes and clench my teeth as I lay on the ground, huddled with one hundred other poor slobs as we endured the fifteen minute cold water hose down.
Gradually the water subsided and all I could hear was the generalized groaning of the others mixed with the sound of the water swirling down the drains. "This is not working out for me," I said to myself out loud. The door opened and we started to walk out single file into a courtyard. The light hurt my eyes, but it hardly mattered. I hurt everywhere: my head hurt, my legs hurt; I was a wobbly mass of pure pain. I was aware of every muscle in my body and they all felt torn and stretched. The courtyard was plastered with advertisements for MACROHARD. What a difference with MACROHARD. Solve your information problems today with MACROHARD. The loud speakers were playing Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band. "It's wonderful to be here. It's certainly a thrill. Your such a lovely audience. We'd love to take you home with us."
I tried to keep walking. I knew sooner of later we would be back in the honeycomb modules. All the prisoners were looking at the ground. No one spoke to one another. One guy walked by me and made eye contact for a split second.
"Don't you see man, this whole fuckin' movie is DUBBED. It's all dubbed, man," His words ricocheted in my head, hurting my ears.I dared not look behind at him. I continued walking. The courtyard was bleak. It looked like an abandoned school yard with its forever grey concrete and wire chain link fences. The guards were all well dressed in their typical four piece business suits; each with his hair slicked back and stylish. I recognized the buildings in the distance. We were in the corporate center, downtown. I had never been in the corporate center because I was a living unit worker. Correspondence with the center was only allowed electronically. It's easier to hire and fire when you don't have to look someone in the face.
A siren went off and we all started marching back into the basin room. Something inside me split open. I was overcome with anxiety. There was no way I could go back into the basin. I broke out of the line and started running in circles, screaming: "No fuckin' way, no fuckin' way. I'm not going back in there." I snapped. I could almost see myself from the outside. I completely lost my cool. My hands were sewn up in the damn straight jacket, so all I could do was slam myself about like a loose fire hose at a punk rock concert. Two of the suits wrestled me down to the ground, pushing my face into the dirt. I felt sharp pains running through my twisted arms. I felt a flash go off to the side of my face and I passed out.
All I remember was the weirdest dream: There I was in a boxing ring. My feet were dancing lightly on the spongy white mat that from above probably looked like a cracker floating away on a sea of ants cause there were so damn many people in the stadium. My opponent took off his robe and skipped over to meet me in the center of the mat. He had no arms! I'm telling you the guy had no arms! He was a boxer alright, he had a muscular as hell torso, a beat-up face, red shorts and shoes, but no arms. As he danced around me, I felt my arms fall to their sides into a "this wouldn't be fair" posture. I looked at the referee who obviously wasn't aware of anything unusual. The crowd was roaring around us. I tried to speak; I wanted time out. I looked the armless boxer straight in the eyes. I felt overcome with embarrassment. I didn't want to call attention to his handicap, but I thought it was my duty to remind him of it. Didn't he see? Why is he making me the one to shatter his illusions? And then the first blow came, square and center onto my right eye. I saw an explosion of golden stars as my body flew back onto the mat. I quickly came up to my knees to see his red shoes continuing his never ending dance around me. I couldn't speak or hear anything except the roaring of the crowd. I watched his feet. Did he kick me? I raised my gloves and faced him. My original sense of sympathy was thoroughly replaced by my desire to find out what the hell was going on. I lowered my gloves ever so slightly to protect my torso from his kicks when, POW! I received a wallop against my face. Again I fell to the mat. As I was falling into unconsciousness I managed to lift up my head slightly to see his face grinning at me. The armless boxer stood in victory.
When I woke up I was in what looked like a luxey-lux hotel room. I was in a clean bed wearing pajamas. They must have given me pain relievers because my body felt good. The monitor was on blasting away some trivia game show. There was a bundle of sweet smelling organics by the bed with a "hoping you're feeling better" card signed by the staff. I squeezed the sheets to see if they were real. I walked over to the window and looked into the yard below. It looked like a typical MACROHARD corporate play yard. There was a volley ball game in progress. The lawn mowers were at work twenty-four hours a day. Will had all the lawns mowed every thirty minutes so there was no chance a single leaf of grass might overextend its welcome. I could see others dressed in pajamas like mine across the courtyard at the other side. I felt another wave of pain in my stomach. I sensed I was a pig being fattened up for some sort of sacrifice: fattening me up for the STAB. I felt myself becoming faint of breath. I knew my only hope was to expect they would trap me into a panic situation when I was least expecting it. If I could just keep from letting the panic overtake me, I would be able to mend off the conditioning. I knew they would avoid killing me; they just wanted to put me in a panic situation to reprogram me. The big question is: when? "Shit," I said out loud. "I need a tobacco tube."