Men In Black Suits Part 2

Sam Sullvan eyed his clip-on ID card with disgust. Zee had sent to personnel, via his phone, a picture of Sam, horrified expression and all, clawing at his waistband. Since the badge had been delivered Sam had been trying to convince Zee to let him get a different picture.

“Oh stop whining, you get a new ID in seven months.” Zee snapped at Sam, his lip curling at Sam’s latest complaint that the picture made his waistline look thick.

“Seven months? Why seven months? And why doesn’t this stuff stick to my hands?” Sam Followed Zee into a small room, where Zee sat down at a computer terminal and began to surf the net.

“Because that’s when your probation period is over.” Zee logged into a website and began typing information into a form, which Sam didn’t see because he was too busy trying, once again, to peel the super slacks away from his waistband. He had flatly refused to don the shirt and jacket supplied to him, and instead donned the top half of the suit that he’d worn to his interview.

Of course, he’d worn a brown houndstooth jacket with elbow patches to the interview, which didn’t exactly go with the black slacks. He thought the jacket made him look scholarly. It really made him look like a man who wanted to look scholarly.

“And,” Zee continued, “It doesn’t stick to your hands because your hands are treated against it. Remember the fluid bath?”

“I thought that was a manicure.”

Zee blinked at Sam for a few moments and shook his head before turning back to the computer.

“It was a specially compounded semi-impermeable molecular wash, to keep certain chemical compounds from adhering to your skin. Like those compounds in the fabrics. And, oddly enough, peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter?”

“Yep, slides right off like butter off a hot knife.”

Sam wondered at this for a moment, then put it aside as unimportant, as he did so many other things that confused him.

“So what now? You erasing my life?” Sam peered at the screen, but didn’t have time to make sense of anything on the screen before Zee jumped up. Sam realized that he’d leaned in over Zee’s shoulder, with his hand around Zee’s shoulder, cheek to cheek.

“Let’s get one thing straight here, and I do mean straight,” Zee began heatedly. “Agency policy frowns on romantic engagements with other agents. And I do not welcome advances from the same sex.”

“What? I’m not gay, dude.” Sam was flabbergasted.

“Bull. I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, or polka dotted, as long as you don’t hit on me.” Zee had backed up and returned to his chair, and wasn’t looking at Sam at all.

“No, I’m serious, I’m not gay.”

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t blow in my ear anymore.”

Sam stiffened indignantly and walked across the room to lean against the wall and glare at Zee. Zee, meanwhile, ignored Sam’s glares and continued with… whatever it was… on the computer.

After a few minutes, Sam began shifting his weight from foot to foot. The longer he stood there, the faster he shifted his weight.

Zee looked up at Sam and narrowed his eyes.

“Are you… Are you doing the potty dance??”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how in the hell I’m going to use the bathroom in these things!”

Zee smirked at this news.

“Bathroom is down the hall on the right.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope. Have fun.”