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.”

Men In Black Suits

So, some of my mental meanderings, mentioned in the last post, brought me to wonder what would happen if the Men In Black were less supermen, and more average Joes given entirely too much power. Thus, is a short story born. Here's the first part. Ya'll let me know if I should continue or not.

“It’s time to put it on.”

“Huh?” Sam Sullvan had only been recruited by this “agency” about five minutes ago, and already they had him confused. They had a nice benefits package though, and he’d been bored.

“The last suit you’ll ever wear.”

“That sounds ridiculously like something out of a science fiction comedy movie. Admit it, it’s the last style of suit I’ll ever wear. And not even that. You said I get two weeks a year paid vacation, and I might want to go to a nice dinner.”

“No, it’s the last suit you’ll ever wear. It’s structure bonds to your skin on a molecular level. You’ll need to shower with a dryer sheet from now on.”

“Ha ha very funny.” By this time Sam had stepped into the slacks and was buttoning them, since the other man, who had introduced himself as Zee, had made no move to leave. Sam didn’t have much problem changing clothes in front of others anyway; he’d played football in high school, and always thought fondly of the showers in the locker room at Milton J Burbank Senior High School and Auto Repair.

“You think I’m joking? Try to take the pants off.” Zee smirked at Sam in a very disquieting manner.

Sam dropped his drawers with a flourish. Or, he tried to. Instead he broke a nail on the waistband and cursed while he inspected his manicure and wondered if Chow Ming could get him in to fix the ragged thumbnail.

After a moment, Sam realized that the slacks were still firmly attached to his hips, and he gaped at Zee in horror.

“Told you so. Now put the shirt, tie, and jacket on. Don’t put the socks on yet though, we’ll need to treat your feet before you do.” Zee pulled a small device out of his pocket and started tapping on it, hmming at intervals.

Sam, meanwhile, was picking at his pants. Literally. They felt like normal high quality suit slacks, on the outside, and his hands didn’t stick to them, but he couldn’t peel so much as a thread away from his hips.

“You have got to be kidding! I am not putting any more of this stuff on! Why in the hell would you make something like this anyway??” Sam was becoming more hysterical by the second, and Zee wasn’t helping. Instead of helping Sam take the possessed pants off, he was leaning against a locker, holding the small device up at different angles, and snorting with laughter.

“Because, we asked some of our unofficial friends for a fabric that would never wrinkle, never tear, never stain, and be wash-and-wear. Unfortunately they were a little confused on the concept of wash-and-wear, so we got this.”

“But why would you keep using it??” Sam was near to tears by this time, and he hadn’t even wondered how he was going to use the toilet yet.

“Because, those of us who started this thing are stuck with it, and it’s funny as hell watching the new guys. Feel lucky, Vee always went commando, said it was breezier.”

“Went? If he’s stuck in these things he still does.”

“Unfortunately Vee had a small psychotic break after six months with the agency. He was working a case at a strip club, and… well… it was messy.” Zee brushed his hands down his sleeves and checked his cufflinks, not looking at Sam.

“Huh? Never mind, that’s not important, I’ll figure it out later.” Sam eyed the small device which Zee had once again pulled out and begun tapping on. “So, I guess you guys have all kinds of freaky technology, considering the suits and all.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what’s that thing? Some kind of molecular de-atomizing spectral analyzer?”

Zee looked at Sam like he’d just super glued his hand to his genitalia, on purpose, and was loudly extolling the virtues of having one’s hand permanently attached to one’s “pride.”

“Nooo,” Zee said slowly, “it’s a smart phone. You know, a PDA and cell phone in one?” Zee held the device up and showed Sam the screen.

“So what was all that pointing it around at different angles before?”

“Oh, just trying to get the best picture for your ID.”

“What?!?”

This is Why...

So many of the crazy things that float through my head don't wind up on my blog.

Last night I was laying in bed waiting for sleep, and since the neighbors were being noisy I had left the TV on in the living room for some background noise.

Something on the TV made me think of Futurama and the little critter that poops antimatter. Which made me think of that critter biting off the lobster-doc's claw, whilst lobster-doc whined about how long it would take to regenerate. (It's been a while since I've actually watched Futurama, give me a break.)

Regeneration brought me to MIB one and two, and Jeebs's amazing regrowing head. Especially the line about "Now nothing is going to taste right!"

Which brought me to wonder, what if they'd shot Jeebs in the crotch? "Aw man! It's smaller!"

And then a dog food commercial, one of the ones where they're speaking for the dog, and I wondered what the dogs would actually say if they could speak human?

The old pup at the Homestead would probably say "Get these danged cats off of me so I can nap!"

My pup would probably say "Mommy! OhmommyImissedyousomuchandlookIbroughtyoutheropecanweplaytug? OrhereI'llgettheballandwecanplayfetchbutfirstIwanttositinyourlapisthatfoodohgoodyfood!" She has the attention span of a gnat unless tug, fetch, or food is involved.

If I could just train her to put that attention on something useful, like herding cattle, it would make things a lot easier on the old homestead. Of course, seeing as how she's a pit mix, training her to nip at heels could be bad.... She's only recently learned not to pop her tennis balls, (and I do mean pop them, not gnaw a hole in them) in the front of her mouth, she'd fetch the ball, bring it back, sit down and look at me before popping it and giving it back to me.

Yes, my mind really does jump from thing to thing in ways that make sense only when they're explained. Luckily those who know me have gotten used to me saying "that reminds me" and pulling a subject out of thin air.


So, now you know.

I've Been Hijacked!

By the Christmas Police.

Apparently it's a crime not to have a Christmas tree, so Mamaw issued orders to that effect today, and bought the tree and decorations.

So I now have a three foot pre-lit tree and ornaments. It's not up yet, and I'm not sure where it will go, but it's in the apartment.

Soon as I get things cleaned up, I'll put it together and have a pretty pretty tree.

As ordered.

You're not who I thought you were...

I had those words spoken to me recently, and it just struck me. It's been mulling around in the back of my head for days, like an endless loop.

"You're not who I thought you were..."

In this case it was more of a compliment than one of those last minute, throw it in your face things that that phrase brings to mind. For me it does, anyway.

But it got me to thinking about first impressions. Those instant judgments that we all make, upon first sight of a person, by their clothes, their hair, the way they walk, even before they ever open their mouths. And how wrong they can be.

Hair back in a pony tail, grimy, stained jeans, old wore out t-shirt, ball cap that looks like its better days are far behind it, skinny as a rail, walking in a fluid slouch that saves the knees and back when walking long distances on hard surfaces.

That's what I look like.

It's not who I am.

I love movies and books, horses and learning.

I like clothes shopping, as long as I can do it at my speed, which is fast.

I like tall shoes, I was the smallest person around for so many years, I like having the extra height.

I dress for what I'm doing. If I'm working, I dress for work, if I'm goofing off, I dress for comfort. When I go out, I dress for going out. I don't dress to impress the people I see every day, because I don't care if they're impressed with how I look.

I love to dance and to sing, even though I'm no good at either of them.

I love Edgar Allen Poe, e.e. cummings, Mercedes Lackey, Laurell K. Hamilton, Hemingway and Mark Twain and Robert A. Heinlein.

I cuss like a... well, like a construction worker, and I make a decent meatloaf.

I'll dig a hole, climb a hill, stand all day, and shovel shit, but I don't have to be happy about it.

I'll drive off into the sunrise with nothing more than a cheap road map and a car full of camping gear. I'll park myself in the middle of a wheat field and just sit for hours.

I'll park in front of my computer and surf the web for hours, talk to friends and work on papers.

I hate feeling helpless, and I hate when people don't follow through on their promises.

I can live in the world that is around us today and I can still have hope for the future.

I can live in the world of technology and cars, four wheelers and automated everything, and still believe with every ounce of my being that there's a place for the horse mounted cowboy in the world.

I can watch the skills that made my grandparents and great grandparents their living be turned into a hobby, or a curiosity, and still know that those same skills are valuable, and honorable.

All of that still doesn't add up to who I am.

And some people will never look past the grimy jeans and hat far enough to see any of that, let alone see more.

Their loss.

Letter to Me

Got the country music channel turned on, and this song caught me, made me stop washing dishes, and sit down and listen.

(Mostly) Lazy Day

As planned, I awoke at gawdawful in the morning today, to sit with the nephews whilst the majority of the FarmFamily made the pilgrimage to the Black Friday sale.

Ok, ok, I was awakened at gawdawful in the morning by Farmmom because I had forgotten to set the alarm on my cell phone. Sue me.

Froze parts that I'm rather fond of on the trip to the Farmbrother and Sister In Law's house, then stretched out on their couch to catch a couple more hours of z's before the munchkins awoke for the day. Or so I thought.

A few minutes into my warm up period I heard a rustling in the other room. Well, along with FB, SIL and the munchkins, there are two cats and a dog living there, so I didn't think too much of it. That is, until I heard something else.

"Auntie Farmgirl,"

The oldest nephew was awake, and the sleepily annoyed expression on his face told me he'd been being very quiet (just like his mother and father had told him he had to be when he got up before anyone else), but I was supposed to have heard him anyway. Considering his volume at that point was somewhere slightly above that of a mouse tiptoeing across plush carpeting, I thought I was doing good to have understood him at all, personally.

"That would be me."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was trying to sleep."

"But why are you sleeping here??"

At this point I decided that as fun as playing word games with eldest nephew is under normal circumstances, if we continued in this vein he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Which, of course, meant that I wouldn't be able to either.

"Mom and Dad had to go to Lamar to get some stuff, so I'm staying with you till they get back."

"Oh."

"What did you need, kiddo?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Ok, let's get you a drink, then you can go back to sleep."

"Ok."

He stepped back from the edge of the couch and turned to walk to the kitchen, and I realized that while he was big enough to want underwear like his dad's, he wasn't quite big enough to fit the boxer briefs, since they were hanging off of one cheek.

After FB and SIL came home from the war, I migrated back to the Old Homestead and curled up with a good book for several hours. I then realized that I had to make a trip to the horses, since I had left Red shut in the top pen for ease of catching when I had time to ride him again.

See, early this morning, sometime between Eldest Nephew's groggy interrogation and the time I woke up for the day, it snowed about two inches, and then froze.

Red's pen had only a shallow tank, shallow enough to freeze solid. Red's pen also had the hay bale. Snow on the ground, freezing temperatures...

I had to let Red out where he could get to water that didn't resemble the world's largest ice cube, and so that the other horses could get to the hay.

So, I bundled up and went... eventually. See, there's a secret about driving in rural areas in the winter time. If the highways are icy, but the entire world isn't one big bruised tailbone waiting to happen, your best bet for travel is the dirt roads.

That is, as long as they aren't muddy. The moisture will make them slick, but if the temperature is below freezing, and they haven't been churned to muck, they're safer than the highways. Better traction.

By the time I realized that I had to go to the horses, the temperature had risen above freezing, but it was already on it's way back down. So I waited.

Got Red turned out (for which he was eternally grateful, and showed it by farting in my general direction as he ran out of the corrals calling for his buddies) and checked the big water tank... Which they hadn't gotten the tank heater in yet.

So, I had to break ice. Without an axe. Or a hammer.

I was in my car, fer gossake, I didn't have anything bigger than a socket wrench, and my tire iron is collapsible.

So I broke ice with my foot, and Farmmom's Toastytoes Boots.

It worked, and I didn't wind up hip deep in cold, cold water, mostly through luck and excellent traction on the soles of the boots... I had to jump up and down on the ice a few times to get it to crack, then balance on one foot on the edge of the tank (and holding on to the fence) to get it broken up. But I did.

Tomorrow, I'll take an axe.

After that, it was more laziness with the book, and my feet up. Best way to spend a winter day, I just wish there was a fireplace.