Life in The City

You gave your life to the city…

A sacrifice you made, in spite of the fact that you were not born in the city. You came as an outsider, from a simple life—growing up on a small farm just outside of town. It was a dull and dreary existence that promised you no future, except more of the same. You always dreamed of a life full of distractions, of unpredictable adventures. When you were old enough, you escaped to the city: to a place where dreams come true.

Life in the city—everything was so different and new—it was like living in someone else’s imagination. But, even a dream can die when faced with cold hard reality.

First, there was a matter of suitable shelter. After weeks of searching, and living out of a hotel in the meantime, you find nothing that would be considered habitable. So, you compromise. You settle for a place that, in most circumstances should have been condemned, but is a mansion compared to surviving on the streets. It’s your basic roof over your head situation (even though half the roof is rotted away), where walls are held together more by luck than any sort of formal construction. You share this space with a family of cockroaches, who make their home in the toilet, sink, and bathtub, of your bathroom. They make you well-aware of your place in the pecking order. They were there first, and resent your intrusion. They make their annoyance well-known, and quickly eat you out of house and home. But, despite this, you pay the two thousand dollars a month for the privilege of having a roof over your head. And, you take a certain amount of pride in the fact that you have a place of your own.

Your pride is short-lived. You are informed by your landlord that you still owe first and last month’s rent. You would have thought a deposit was enough. Reluctantly, you hand over the amount from your dwindling savings. But, you apply yourself, working hard to find a trade that will give your financial woes a new lease on life. Employment, however, remains elusive. You begin to notice that everywhere you go, people are staring at you. At first, you think it’s just a slight case of paranoia. You suspect the paranoia is merely symptomatic of living in an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people: but there is twinge of doubt in your suspicion, and it is unsettling to say the least. The months pass, without hope, and you are crawling even further into debt. You are ready to give up. It’s obvious the city doesn’t want you here. You pawn your remaining possessions, and with the proceeds, buy a ticket home on the # 9 bus from Highcliff to Riverbottom.

At the last minute, you are granted a reprieve. Saved by a phone call with a company you’ve never heard of. They say they are different. Outsiders like yourself, who would love to have you as part of their ever-growing family. You agree whole-heartily to their offer. When you hang up the phone you are energized and full of life: a chance to prove your worth at last.

Hoping to make a good impression, you show up early to your interview. As it turns out, however, it really doesn’t matter how early you are because no one is there to meet you. Finally, after two hours, a woman shows up. She seems frightened and confused by your presence. For the longest time she stares at you, and you feel about as small as humanly possible. You shuffle your feet and squirm where you stand—all the while trying to avoid her stare. Finally, you stammered out who you are and what you’re doing here. The woman curses under her breath, then nods, and lets you in.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” she snaps, even before you sit down.

“I don’t understand,” you confess, and look down at your suit. The suit, while not flashy, is serviceable. There are no patches or stains to speak of.

“We like to keep up appearance here,” the woman answers reproachfully. You stare at her in disbelief; noticing her own suit. A two-piece, covered in coffee stains.

“Try to do better next time,” the woman replies, looking down at you. “I would send you home, but you’re late enough as it is.”

“Excuse me?” You protest.

The woman ignores you. Instead she begins to shuffle papers around on her desk. She does this for some time, to the point where you think you have been forgotten. That is until she suddenly announces: “So you want to work for us? Well, there are certain rules you should be aware of.”

“As I’m sure you are aware, the world is not a safe place, and our organization can protect you.” She continues, speaking in a flat, overly rehearsed, voice that suggests she has made this speech many times before.

“But, only if you are willing to accept our help. The best place to start is by helping yourself. Helping yourself, however, can often be a difficult and confusing process. That is why we have taken the incentive and designed a schedule that will guide you on a clear path…”

You have zoned out the annoying, mechanical hum of her voice ages ago. That’s why it comes as a surprise when she drops a heavy book on your lap. The weight of the book almost crushes you, and your legs are shocked out of their sleep. You are now awake and alert. But at first, you don’t know where you are, and it takes a moment for you to get your bearings. Your eyes meet the woman’s stare. She seems to want some kind of response from you, and is getting impatient. Finally, exhausted by your present ignorance, she snarls: “The bottom line here is that you must not do anything to embarrass the company. Image is everything.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize nervously.

“To keep you safe,” the woman continues exactly where she left off, “your day has been mapped out for you. That way you will not be tempted to stray from the right path. There are many dangers in this world that only we can protect you from.”

And here she whispers intimately in your ear: “I feel it is my duty to warn you—there is a murderer loose in the city.”

“But as long as stick to the schedule,” she says in her normal, uncaring voice, “you will be fine. The company will protect you.”

Not very assured, you take a moment to glance through the heavy book still weighing you down. You focus in on the morning blocked out for you.

“5:35 AM—Dream of ways to improve your company performance.

“6:00 AM—Wake up, and get out of bed. (WARNING: DO NOT STAY IN BED. Staying in bed may result in further sleep. See Section B:2-1: “Waking up in the morning.”)

“6:05 AM—Shower, shave, other personal needs. (See Section V:7-5 “What constitutes as a personal need?”) Be sure to dress and put clothes on in the right order (see Fig 5:C-J). Wear a blue or black suit with a white shirt, blue or black pants, gray socks, and black shoes (not tennis shoes).

“6:10 AM—Prepare a well-balanced breakfast (see Fig 7: H-X) of cereal, milk, orange juice, and lightly buttered toast. (Breakfast information provided by an independent study. For further details see Appendix R).

“6:15 AM—Finish breakfast. Begin cleaning up (see Fig 9: A-pp)

“6:18 AM—Walk to front door.

“6:18:30 AM—Open door (If unable to open door by yourself, please call for assistant at our 24-hour hotline: 555-2424. For instruction on how to call our hotline see Section C:22-4 “Help—this is the first time I have had to exit my home.”)

“6:19 AM—Close door. Make sure it is locked. Walk to end of hall and enter an elevator (If elevator is non-functional, or your apartment building (i.e. home) has no elevator, then turn to Section Q: 1-2 and find instructions on the use of stairs. Follow all that apply.)

And the rest of schedule went on like that for 57,060 more pages.

You sigh, at the impossible task before you.

“It is company policy that you memorize the entire schedule. Until then, keep the schedule with you at all times. “

She looked up to see if you are paying attention, and, seeing your plight for the first time, the woman from personnel offers some assistant.

“Most of our new employees find adjusting to the schedule a little difficult at first, but in time it will become second nature to you.”

Then, all humanity drops from her face, and her expressions and movements again become robotic. Once more, with machine-like precision, she began to shuffle papers around on her desk. It’s beautiful to watch her work, and yet horrifying. This is what you have to look forward to: day in, and day out.

Without looking up, or breaking her routine, the woman says to you: “Your employee number is 125340016.”

You snap out of your trace, and your first question is: “What?”

“Names are inefficient. Memorize it. Without your employee number, you don’t officially exist to the company. Sign your name here, please.”

From her stack, she hands you a piece of paper. You look down and hesitate for a moment. The woman sighs, looks up, and rolls her eyes in disgust.

“This just states that you have been informed, and agree to our various rules and regulations.”

Despite some personal reservations, you sign the document. The woman has resumed shuffling papers around her desk, and seems to have lost interest in you. Then without even bothering to look up, she directs you to do the following:

“Now go up to Human Resources. Mr. Chadwick will show you your new duties.”

You sit there for a moment unsure of what to do. The woman from personnel looks up from her stack of papers, and snarls: “Anything else?”

As you get up to leave, she shakes her head and turns away from you. When you are safely out the door, you hear the door slam shut and the lock turn. The woman begins drawing the blinds. You notice, out of the corner of your eye, the woman peaking out from behind the blinds to see if you are still there.

The search for Human Resources proves to be a difficult one. When you ask various people about it, you are answered by shaking heads, quick glances away, and the nervous shuffling of papers around desks. It’s only after you retrace your steps several times that you are able to find what you’re looking for.

You find Human Resources to be a dank and cheerless place, where the light filters dimly through the ceiling—giving everything beneath it an unhealthy and sterile glow. You notice your fellow Man packed, like rats, into a labyrinthine cage. They cautiously appear behind their cardboard walls, and when they notice you, they quickly disappear—scared like rabbits.

Into the labyrinth comes the guard. He is a large man who, in the fading light, is nothing more than a giant shadow.

“What’s matter?” The giant demands. “Did you get lost? No one comes here unless they get lost.”

You try to explain. The giant listens patiently, and then nods in understanding.

“So, you’re our latest victim, aye?” The giant asks, and reveals a frightening smile. “Well, let’s get a good look at you.”

Before you can put up any resistance, you are grabbed by the shoulders, and forced into a corner,

“Jesus, the light in here is terrible,” the giant cries.

He stares down at you, and after some time, comes to a conclusion.

“You aren’t much of anything, are you?” The giant asks. Then, before you can answer, he makes a pronouncement: “Yep, you belong here.”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” his reassuring voice booms. “He is one of us.”

Having passed an accepting judgment, the giant lets you go, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“What’s your name?”

Letter perfect you recite the number the woman in personnel had earlier christened you with.

“Memorized it, did you?” The giant laughs.

You can’t believe how small you feel at that moment. The giant leads you to a tiny cell in the back of the office. You take notice of the haunted glances of your fellow creatures as you pass: who look at you with a mix of sympathy, understanding, and revulsion. In you, they see themselves, and they look away in shame.

“It is good you didn’t get lost,” the giant calls back to you. “There is a murderer loose in the city. It’s not safe to wander around by yourself.”

You come to rest at an empty desk. The layers of dust and cobwebs, tells you that it has been long abandoned.

“Now your actual job will only take an average of about ten minutes,” the giant announces. His voice startles you. You had thought you were all alone. Confused, you look up at the giant for guidance.

“You see,” he explains, “the boys upstairs don’t care if you do any real work. They are more interested in seeing an office that looks busy. They love to see people scurrying about. It makes the old boys feel proud, like they have actually accomplished something.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” you protest.

“Welcome to Corporate America,” the giant answers with a laugh.

“A word of advice,” he continues jovially. “The best thing you can do is get a stack of paper—blank or otherwise—it doesn’t matter, and shuffle them around your desk all day. It will make the time go slow, but at least you’ll look busy, and that is really what you are being paid for.”

The giant leaves you to your appointed task, and the rest of the day is spent shuffling paper needlessly around your desk.

You thought the day would never end. The night gives you a new lease on life. Carefree, you walk down the street, heedless of direction. Then, your mind begins working, cutting your freedom short. In hidden alleys— and, from darkened windows— you sense a thousand unseen eyes watch your every move. You are small and insignificant in this paranoid glare. There is nowhere to turn; all directions are a maze of confusion. The road you had previously traveled is an unfamiliar one: as is the one ahead. The streets now fork and twist into an unrelenting nightmare. You are lost, there’s no denying it.

“Let the schedule guide you.” The voice can only belong to a guardian angel, who has come to aid you in your darkest hour. You lift the heavy tome, open it, and consult its pages—miraculously hoping to find answers.

And you read:

“7:05 pm, lift folk to mouth. Place contents on fork into mouth. Chew until contents are ground into tiny pieces, then swallow. Repeat until entire dinner is consumed. WARNING: Do not swallow folk. Swallowing a folk or any other foreign objects, may cause choking (If you are choking now please see: Appendix 7:B-654.b7AhIzz1627pj`245=64352k%6937@ht---*35321. If someone you know, is choking see: Appendix 10:4-223453433+^489321~12. If a stranger is choking, see Section 43:E “Will I be in legal trouble if I help someone I don’t know?”

Subtitled: “Why you should never help someone you don’t know. The steps you need to take to avoid a personal lawsuit.”)

Dear God, you think, I should be at home right now choking down dinner.

You slump down into the waiting darkness, with no hope of escape.

“What are you doing?”

You look up and see a policeman. He has sunken down to your level.

“Don’t you know that there is a murderer loose in the city?

You shake your head, as the policeman seizes your arm, and helps you up to your feet. You are grateful for his help; however, the policeman begins to eye you strangely.

“Just a minute,” the policeman says.

To your astonishment, he begins to sniff, the air around him then aims his nose straight at you. You recoil back.

“Something is not right here,” he announces.

Flashing his teeth, the policeman growls: “You’re not from the city, are you?”

“No sir,” you answer in a tiny voice.

“What a shame,” the policeman states in a very matter-of-fact tone.

“It’s such a nice place to live,” he adds whimsically.

“Yes,” you agree, without missing a beat.

“Too bad you’re not from the city.”

He turns on you.

You step back.

He advances—posed to strike.

“Wait,” you protest. “There has been some mistake.”

“The city is incapable of making mistakes,” he answers beating the inside of his hand with a night stick.

“You know, outsiders like you make me sick. You’re vampires. You come here uninvited, leech onto whatever is good about the city, and bleed it dry. Now a murderer is loose in our city: an outsider like you. And he has to be an outsider, because the city does not breed monsters like that.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Yes you are, or you will be. “

In a heartbeat, you are struck down. When the blow hits the side of your head, there is a blinding flash—then darkness.

“Give it a rest, Kingsrow.”

“But I’m telling you—he’s the murderer.”

You wake up in a nightmare, and find yourself trapped into a box, shut in on all sides by rusted iron bars.

You sit up. Instinctively, you touch the back of your head and wince. A large beautiful lump is growing on the side of your head. You feel woozy.

“Take it easy. You are going to be okay.”

Through dizzy, blood-shot eyes, you make out the impression of two men standing outside your cell. They stand on opposite ends of each other. One, you recognize as the policeman from the street—the other, an elderly man, is unknown to you.

“We should just kill him now and get it over with. He deserves it. I’m telling you he’s the murderer. He even smells like a murderer.”

“Leave the poor guy alone, Kingsrow,” the old man barks at the snarling policeman. Then, turning to you, he kindly asks: “Is there anything you need, something we can get you to make you more comfortable?”

Your thoughts are muddled. You have no response.

“I can’t believe this,” the policeman screams at the old man. “You’re treating him like a human being…HE’S AN OUTSIDER! Do you know what that means?”

Ignoring the statement, the elderly man, in a comforting manner, says to you: “You just rest now. And, as soon as you talk to a lawyer, you can go home.”

“The fact that he needs a lawyer prove he’s guilty,” the policeman growls.

“Haven’t you done enough damage already, Kingsrow?”

The two men stare at each other, neither one giving an inch, until the policeman looks away.

“There is something different about you,” Kingsrow says under his breath. In a huff, the policeman storms out of the room.

The elderly man takes a deep breath, and sits down next to your cell.

“Listen,” the old man whispers in confidence, “I am an outsider like you. My advice to you is to learn how to play the game. The city is a dangerous place—it hates outsiders—and is suspicious of anyone who acts different. There is a murderer loose in the city so everyone’s on the edge. All I’m saying is watch your back.”

A sharp, mind-numbing pain burrows inside your head. You grab the side of your head to make the lump stop throbbing, but it does little good. Your eyes fill with blood. You feel hazy, then dull, and soon completely lose all sense of yourself. You return, screaming, back to the non-living darkness.

A strange tapping disturbs your rest. Once again, you find yourself among the living.

“They’re calling for you...”

At first, you are afraid to answer, unsure of who, or what, is waiting on the other line.

And here, despite being alone in a dark cell with only the old guard for company, you can’t help feeling that you are being watched by an unseen presence. Even the phone, old and falling to pieces, taunts you—daring you to answer it.

You succumb. For better or worse, you answer the call.

“You haven’t been following the schedule.” It’s the woman from the personnel. You can’t understand how she has even found you.

“Are you trying to embarrass the company, and in turn bring shame onto yourself?”

You have no answer to her accusation.

“The company only has your best interests at heart,” she pleads with you. “The schedule is there to keep you safe. It’s there to prevent you from doing something foolish and hurting yourself—thereby damage the reputation of the company. Remember, above all else, the company’s image must be maintained. We will not allow you to do anything to jeopardize our good name.”

“And, let us not forget,” she continues in her monotone, shrill voice. “There is still a murderer loose in the city. We are the only ones who can protect you.”

“Help me, please,” you cry. “I’m so confused. I’ve been arrested, beaten up, and no one will help me…”

You breakdown and confess: “I don’t know why this is happening to me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A cold silence greets your desperate plea.

“The company will no longer protect you.”

You hear—then the phone goes dead.

You know, deep down in your heart, that nothing can be done. It’s over. You have no one to watch over you now.

Carfax is the name of the attorney you are sent to see the next morning. He greets you with a mixture of annoyance and formal indifference. You get the feeling that you are not welcome here, and you begin to wonder if the attorney has even noticed you at all.

Busily shuffling papers on his desk, he quietly ignores you.

“Um…excuse me,” you begin.

He looks up briefly, to acknowledge your presence.

“You are excused,” the attorney says, “except for the things you are not excused for.” He looks down again, and resumes shuffling papers. Without looking up he asks: “How will you be paying for this consultation?”

“I was told I need to talk to you,” you say trying to explain the situation. The attorney looks up and answers: “You may talk, except, of course, for the things you may not talk about.”

Looking down again at his papers, he adds: “Checks and money orders are accepted, but only with a major credit card and photo id.”

“I have had enough of this! Do you hear me?” You scream. Out of desperation? Out of confusion? Out of frustration? All seem to apply, but you scream for whatever the reason.

“What is the point to all of this?”

“Please,” you say falling back into your chair, “Just tell me.”

“The point,” the attorney answers, somewhat mystified, “Yes there was a point. I seem to have lost it among my papers…”

Then, leaning back in his chair, he looks at you and smirks: “Unless of course, there is no point at all.”

Without skipping a beat, the lawyer returns to shuffling papers around his desk.

“We accept all major credit cards, but only with a cash deposit to cover the entire amount.”

You have had enough. Fed up, you storm out of his office. No one bars your exit.

But once outside you stop. You realize you have nowhere to go, and nowhere to turn.

“The city loves you. It loves all of its children.” Turning, you see a blind man, begging for change. You reach into your pocket and give him all you have.

“But, I’m not from the city,” you tell him.

A sharp pain in you back! Without even knowing it, you have just been murdered. You sprawl to your feet. Now, you hear someone laughing at you behind your back.

You crawl until, you rest at the foot of a policeman, Kingsrow!

“Help me please,” you beg of him.

“What am I,” he answers, “your babysitter?”

And that is the end of your life in the city.