The prank

Oh dear god this week has been really unpredictable. After Tuesday, we did not see ANYONE other than our co-workers, and an inter office memo came down on Thursday informing us that we had to work all weekend. Everyone is pretty disgruntled and crabby, people are barely speaking to each other. Even the seven of us are in our own little worlds. The only one who seems the same is RayMan, he is friendly, smiling, slogging through files and re-organizing them after the uppers stampeded in such a fit - and let me tell you, they TRASHED the filing cabinets, toppling them over to find some info. I don't know if they found what they needed, but they didn't bother to pick up after themselves, and poor RayMan has been left to deal with it. He has not uttered a single complaint, just put his nose to the grindstone and has been sorting things out ever since. Huge job, and he could have gotten really surly about the whole thing. If anything, he seems to have a little spring in his step. Its weird.

Then yesterday, a junior member barged in and wanted to know "who was responsible for the company pumpkin?"

Everybody was silent, we had no idea what this goon was talking about.

"Fine, follow me, I am sure once you see this mess, you will be compelled to take responsibility for it."

We were marched single file into the lavatory, where, well, you see what was perched on the toilet.

The seven of us stared at each other - it could only be one of us, but the same look of astonishment was on all of our faces.

The whole floor was staring, mouths open, and you could practically feel a mass outbreak of laughter building when we were angrily ushered out.

"We're going to find out who's behind this, believe me," the junior resident snarled. "There will be a full investigation, and the repercussions will be severe, believe you me." He glared at us, seemingly more enraged by our silence.

"It's the COMPANY PUMPKIN people! A longstanding WME tradition has just been sulllied, and no one seems to care. Well, you will care plenty when we get to the bottom of this." His whole body was shaking with anger.

I was nervous, but knew I had nothing to worry about, I had not done it. I was a bit envious of the brave soul that had not only thought of this, but had the nerve to execute it. It was simply brilliant. I glanced at my comrades, was it one of them? They looked back at me. Not a clue. We would have to arrange a meeting ASAP.

We were marched back to our cubicles and everybody was whispering, subdued, curious, worried, checking with others to be sure they had alibis......

Only RayMan seemed unaffected. If anything, there was even a little more spring in his step, and a wild little gleam in his eye.

SEPTUAGENARIAN GONE WILD!

We are in shock, all of us. Psychiatrist Jack Barchas has spilled the beans to the media about what the WME did to Tom Cruise. The WME is in a total uproar today. You should have seen the white coats running, yelling at each other, bursting into our area and jerking file cabinets open, grabbing discs, no order or protocol at all. A few of them even popped into the lunchroom and snatched some pills from our bowls! God, it's not like they don't have absolutely every drug on earth right at their fingertips. Snagging coffee and pharmaceuticals from the lowly grunts is just, well, low. But, we don't care, this is actually a great day for us - any paranoia that we were under suspicion has relaxed during this crisis - we have gone back to being nameless, faceless drones incapable of doing any damage to the WME by escaping and spilling office secrets - Go Barchas!

It's so frenzied here Jordan said that he and Sam saw Dr. Eaudiamonia come barging down the hallway, glasses all askew, yelling for people to get into the crisis room STAT! None of us have ever seen Eudaimonia except on the news or in the paper or the lifesize oil painting of him that hangs in the main lobby. We were starting to think that perhaps he was not on the premises at all, that he had his own little RV parked near the White House residence or down in Crawford somewhere. What a shock to actually see the guy, and see him so agitated. It's just been great. This is going to keep the spotlight off of us for quite some time. We will be able to get a lot of information smuggled out of here AND have time left over to continue planning our escape. I'ts like being granted an extra 24 hours in a day.

And for the record? Barchas is telling the whole truth - everything he said is true, except for the numerical figure. The WME offered Tom Cruise 175 million to go off of his meds, and have only paid him twenty five. Whenever Cruise shows up here demanding to be paid, he is warmly shown into the WME's Celebrity Lounge, and given a nice homemade beverage heavily laced with chloral hydrate. He rants and raves for about fifteen minutes, then falls asleep, where one of us senior interns has to stuff him into our backseats and drive him home. We are given a key to his house, security code, the whole banana. It usually keeps him away for a few months, as they give him quite a hefty dose ( either in hot chocolate or a pina colada, depending on the season) and he generally has no memory of showing up with his panties in a twist, having a tantrum about money. By the time he remembers that the WME still owes him 150 million dollars, he is off in the middle of a movie or twirling some new gal off the top of the Empire State Building, whatever. After that he shows up again and they drug him again and we haul him home and dump him on the couch again, it's just routine over here. They are never going to pay him another dime, and he is too nuts to figure it out. Poor guy. Oh well. You deal with the WME voluntarily, you are making a deal with the devil.
However, if you are like one of us, and wind up working here without knowing exactly what you have gotten yourself into, by the time you find out, it's over. They own you.

But the seven of us are going to change all that, it's just a matter of time and a little luck.

By the way, back to the Lunesta issue - listen carefully to the commercial and how many times they contradict themselves. Just stop watching the happy sleeping people and the butterfly and listen to the words. It's all there for you to hear, but nobody seems to hear it. You HAVE to start paying attention and stop being distracted by the pretty images and happy music. That is what the WME counts on and how they get away with legally drugging people. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. People, pay attention! Wake up! Help us help you!

Be careful out there, fellow Americans. The shit is starting to hit the fan.

Julianne Freaks Out

Oh boy, it's getting insane here. Our plan to get together over the weekend worked beautifully, I can't give all of the details, but for those of us that live in first floor dwellings it was easy - out the window. The others swiped out at different times, and it took practically half a day staggering everyone for us all to meet at our little Salvadoran hideaway - NO ONE from the WME would ever find us there, and if they did, they'd be too scared to go in.

Anyway, Julianne showed up last, and it was so great to all be together and talk about the craziness of the swipe card, the bizarre testings, and we spent a LOT of time discussing the issue of RayMan, was he cool? He seemed it, but we really had to be careful. Julianne was particularly suspicious because RayMan was the one who brought her the file about herbs that was all lies.

Well, today at work we saw the paper. It was a few days old, we never get to read current news, by the time it trickles down to us, it has been said, done, signed, whatever, and there is nothing anyone can do. So, sure enough, there was a piece on Angelina Jolie, the Secretary of Foreign Medicines, and she had held the town hall meeting in New Orleans, then there was an older article about her at the Kennedy Center attending a gala called the Global Business Coalition on HIV/AIDS standing with Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. Angelina Jolie is an actress, and out of the blue she was appointed Secretary of Foreign Medicines. Was this to take away some of the Brad-Jen breakup criticism? For whatever reason Jolie is suddenly holding a high government office, it has Julianne going out of her mind.

"That bitch," she practicaly spit, gliding up behind me, the article clenched in her hand. "I spent a little time with her, just before I was getting out of the business, and I have a few friends still in who know her. She is TOTALLY into alternative medicines, herbs, homoeopathy, all of it. Ever since she cleaned up, she has a super healthy lifestyle, I swear, I don't even think she takes an aspirin!"

She threw the article on the counter. "Look at her now, a HUGE post here, at the WME, parroting their lies and bullshit, then rubbing shoulders with prominent members of this administration. It makes me sick, I don't think I can take anymore, I have to get out of here...."

I grabbed her arm and propelled her to a chair.

"Juli, pull it together, this is not the place to lose it, you've got to block this out until you get home, I'll meet you after work and the two of us will talk, okay? But not here." I reached into the candy dish.

"No, no, I am not going to numb out," she said, her voice raising.

"Oh yes you are - we need you, we all want to get out of here, and we can't do it without you. We all agreed that if we started flipping out at work, we would utilize the lunchroom pantry. Now take it."

I handed her a Vicoden and a Xanax, a great combo to make everything okay until the end of the day, but not so strong that you are stoned and nodding out at your desk. Julianne's desk was piled with work, she had a lot to do, besides, it was too great a risk to have her fill out the paperwork to get an Oxy, she was too disraught, it would cause attention.

"Oh all right," she popped both in her mouth and sipped some water. "I don't even know why this is upsetting me so much, really."

"I think I may have an idea," I answered, giving her a quick pat on the back. "But we'll talk about it later - do you want to get together tonight?"

She nodded, and I made the scribble on hand gesture, our code for getting notes to each other. I had to get back to my desk before it became noticed that we were talking in the lunchroom alone, so I gave her a wink after the gesture and she gave me a weak smile.

"That bitch drinks chamomile tea every single night," she said, shaking her head.

"No!" I hissed as I walked out.

"Uh-huh." Julianne folded her arms, and stared at the wall, the muscles in her jaw twitching.

The Plan is in Motion

Finally , this week is over. Through walkie-talkies, the throwaway cells, and the good old fashioned passed note, the seven of us might be able to get together this weekend undetected. I cannot write long, I have a lot of work ahead to prep for Sunday.

RayMan had lunch with us on Thursday. He talks really fast, sometimes it's hard to keep up with him. Since we always make sure to have other people at the table with us during lunch so it doesn't draw attention, we kept things on a very superficial level. The main topic was that the Secretary of Foreign medicines had gone to New Orleans to tell people to stay away from herbs. Julianne told us that is why she was going over old herbal files, she had been instructed to get some dirt on alternative medicines.

"It's hard," she was complaining, "I really couldn't find any, and when I sent my report two weeks ago saying that everything was clean except ephedra, they told me to go into a different file, it was on a different disc, that the new guy had just filed it. Remember RayMan?"

RayMan had nodded, his eyes darting to the door for just a flash.

"Anyway," she continued, " I started working on the new file, and there was ALL kinds of shit, on herbs like Kava, Chamomile, St. Johns Wort, Valarian Root, you name it. I have never read these reports before, and I was instructed to compile them into an outline for a statement. Now I hear about some big town hall meeting with the Secretary of Foreign Meds. It's weird." She shook her head and took a big bite of her sandwich. I looked over at RayMan and he was looking at her, a contemplative look on his face.

"You look familiar" he said. "Weren't you married to...."

"Yes, yes, yes" Julianne waved her hand back and forth like she was swatting a fly. "After my series went off the air in '96, I wanted to go through one day without people asking me that question, so I thought I would do this for a while. I didn't know they were going to give me a new name, new identity." She sighed. "I also didn't think I would be here for nine years. You're the first person to ask me that in a long time, RayMan."

"I was a big fan," he smiled back. "I always wondered where you went".

Julianne looked around, meeting all of our eyes only briefly.

"So did I," she answered, taking another bite of her sandwich.

The New Guy

I sat in my apartment Saturday until the mail came. The box arrived overnight, as Jordan had promised. All kinds of stuff from the counter-surveillance store. Walkie talkies, a bug detector (the place was clean) throwaway cell phones, and other gadgets that we will need later. We all swept our apartments and only then did we use the throwaways. We were undetectable, but I still had the jitters. Sunday I went grocery shopping, dutifully swiping out of the house. That was the part I had missed on Friday - we had to use the card whenever we left the house. The white coats explained it away with the most lame reason - that the swipe box was laser activated and if we did not swipe, our house alarms would go off. You have never seen such a large group of poker faced people as were on our floor that day.

Jordan and I "bumped into" each other at the market, where we stayed safely in the produce section, gently squeezing avocados while talking out of the side of our mouths. Thank god people shopping are so preoccupied with themselves, because we looked like nutcases. Anyway, we started on a plan on how to get us all together, and I think it is going to work, but we cannot execute it until next weekend. We parted ways and I went back to my house, swiping in. Go ahead, track my every move, assholes. You're on to us? We're on to you.

So today a new guy showed up for the filing job. He's been very quiet, but every time I turn around he seems to be near me. I started studying him out of the corner of my eye. Small, compact build, dark hair, very serious. Suddenly he glanced up and caught me looking at him.

"Uh, hi, we haven't met. I'm Peter," I stumbled. He had caught me off guard. His eyes were dark, inquiring, fiercely intelligent. He held out his hand.

"RayMan" he smiled briefly, a fleeting sweetness transforming his face into something elfin, mischievous.

"Nice to meet you, Ray," I answered.

"RayMan" he repeated. "One word".

"Oh, sorry, I thought you said...."

He waved his hand. "I get it all the time. Listen I have a question, got a minute?"

I nodded, thinking how appropriate the name was, really.

"The kid who had this job before me," RayMan lowered his voice, "took herbs, right?"

I barely nodded my head and began looking through the file cabinets for an old test processing disc.

"Can we drink chamomile tea at bedtime?" he turned to the file cabinet next to me, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"That's a strong negative".

RayMan nodded imperceptibly.

"The home swipe card. A new thing?"

"Yes". I answered tightly.

"Okay." He proceeded to move a few files down, busying himself with data sorting.

I turned to head back to my desk.

"Peter?" He turned towards me. "It was very nice to meet you," He held up a disc. "Thanks for helping me figure out where to file these".

I nodded. "No problem, RayMan. Welcome to the WME".

He locked his eyes with mine. "May I join you guys in the lunchroom sometime this week?"

"Sure," I answered, after a beat. "Come round anytime".

I got back to my desk, chewing on the inside of my lip. RayMan was no intern, he was too sharp, too together. He was on to something, was it us? How did he even know there was an "us" - asking to have lunch with "you guys". It's his first day here!
But there was something about him that felt like he was not one of "them" at all. I didn't know what to think. Jordan, Luka and Renee were in a meeting, Anacuerva and Sam were not at their desks, and although Julianne was sitting just five rows up from me, we all studiously avoided each other at work, I could find no good reason to approach her, she was on an old alternative medications case, where I was stuck going through all of the files on the Presidential Cocktail.

Who was this RayMan? I liked him, but the paranoia was barely manageable as it was. I resisted the urge to go to the lunchroom and grab a Vicoden - I really had to keep my wits on.

And how the hell did he know about the chamomile tea?

Why They Look So Happy

Thank god it's Friday. After the poor St. Johns Wort Kid didn't come back to work yesterday after lunch, I just numbed it all out. That's one thing about this job - anything you need to numb out is usually right in the lunchroom, and if you want something special you can always request it from a junior associate. There are a few forms to fill out, but they're quick and standard, definitely worth it if you want an Oxy or two.

So I am sitting at my desk with that mellow loaded feeling, still able to input data but my mind is a million miles away, walking on the beach (before I knew about THIS place of course - I haven't walked on the beach since I started working here - all I can do is think of the people underneath me working overtime) making a special dinner for a few close friends, after dinner single malt scotch, music, reading in bed late at night.......my eyes were starting to droop slightly and my typing got slower. Jordan leaned over and pretended to grab the stapler, knocking into my chair.

"Peter!" His whisper was ragged. "Look sharp - they're coming in."

Six of the highest staff white coats walked through the double glass doors, their black shoes heavy, gleaming, their thick glasses masking the satisfaction their posture radiated.

"'Ladies and gentlemen," one man announced, "we have implemented a new clocking in system, it is very simple, you will hardly notice it."

He droned on for a bit, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was the oxy and my semi stoned state, but I felt like I had seen this guy before. Understand, this group hardly ever addresses us, it's almost always junior members, and junior junior members we deal with, and half the time they are just a revolving door blur of faces, numbers, testing facts, blah blah blah. I wouldn't know the guy that handed me the disk this morning any more than I'd know you. So you could probably think I was a stoned idiot, of course I would recognize him, he works here. You'd have to work here to understand that no, you don't recognize anyone who works here. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and didn't have a clue who the dude in the bathroom with me was.

So, this fellow starts calling out names, and people are getting up and forming a line. My name was called, I glanced at Jorden, his face was blank. I must have missed something. I got in line, and once we were all up, the guy flipped open a notebook and pulled out a bright red plastic card, holding it up high, turning it this way and that way.

"Now, we already have the box installed at your home, it is right by the doorbell. Simply clock in when you get home, and clock out when you leave for work in the morning. Then use your normal black clock in card when you get here. Any questions?"

Yes. I have a lot of questions, but they are for the few of us, Jordan, Anacuerva, Sam, Julianne, Renee and Luka. When we go have "drinks" we could talk, but I am getting the distince impression that we are to go straight home. My mind is not processing the full implications of what is going on here.

But my biggest question, the one that keeps looming larger as I step closer and closer to this nameless white coat, is why do I recognize him?

He handed me my card and smiled. It was the same glacial smile from the new platelet guy over a week ago, the one whom I had never seen before.

It was the same guy.

I just stood there, my hand not moving to take the bright red home swipe card.

"Is everything all right," he glanced down at his folder, "Peter? It is Peter, is it not?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir, everything is fine. Going swimmingly, in fact."

He chuckled, it was phlegm-y and horribly unpleasant. I took the card and made my way back to my cubicle.

The day I decided to tune it all out is the day they raised the stakes so high that numb is no longer an option.

Back at my desk Jordan leaned over.

"I've already got a plan, Peter. Don't worry."

I dry swallowed my second Oxy.

Don't worry, I wont.

TORTURE

Working at this government pharmaceutical facility is torture. The job review was cancelled due to an "emergency meeting" called by the higher-ups - they all rushed down the hall, white coats flapping, looking excited. Whatever is good news for them is always bad news for us. I wish this day would end. A new kid showed up this morning for the filing position that had opened up yesterday, and he was yammering away about how he had struggled with depression for years, and now he was taking "St. John's Wort" and he has been feeling great. I tried to shut him up, telling him NEVER to talk about taking any kind of natural medicine around here, but he just gave me this blank look.

"Kid," I said, trying to be patient, "you work in the Weapons of Mass Euphoria department, don't you get it? You extol the virtues of what you are TOLD is good, what you are TOLD works, what you are TOLD to take!"

"But, but," he sputtered, "I thought the purpose of this department was about people's health and well being!"

I tried to explain again, lowering my voice, but it was no good. He just kept insisting that he had already tried all of the anti-depressants and the only thing that helped him was St. John's Wort.

I finally gave up - I was getting a headache, and I knew that after lunch the filing position would be open again.

Sure enough, it is.

Yeah, okay, the kid irritated me, he wasn't listening, he wasn't getting it at all, but I wish I had gotten his address so that I could perhaps someday visit his mother and shed some light on his disappearance.

A FEW GOOD MEDS

My little underground excursion out of the full clutches of the Weapons of Mass Euphoria drug testing facility has gathered a few followers, and it's really nice to have the camaraderie and the company and solidarity in the knowledge that we are doing the right thing, but today we are anxiety-riddled, depressed and having an overall group freak out. This week we get evaluated. A full job write up, everything from performance, loyalty, obedience, and punctuality to being slaves at the monthly S&M parties. We think we have done exemplary work, but then we see some of our co-workers going the extra mile, staying late, wearing the little maids outfits on Fridays, while we sneak off for a "drink". One of the upper staff asked yesterday why we went out for drinks when we knew that since every single drug that we use clearly stresses avoiding alcohol - Oh god! I though I was going to have a heart attack. Luckily Jordan answered smartly that we were all enjoying Virgin Marys and Shirley Temples, nothing more. This staff member, Secretary to Someone, I cant keep any of it straight anymore, looked unconvinced, but what could she say? She just gave us the hairy eyeball and suggested we start putting in some overtime.

They're on to us, I know it. We're all going to get canned, and I don't mean fired.

My hands were shaking so badly that I finally had to go to the lunchroom and pour myself a nice cup of coffee and grab some Xanax from the candy dish.

Maybe I should have stayed in the film business.

Our protection

He flies in on days when we need him the most.