Dyscountopia Page 3

  The next man to take the microphone was tall and gaunt, with a shiny bald head that sparkled under the fluorescent lights. “I urge all of my troops to spend at least a little of the money they earn that day before going home in the evening,” he said gruffly. “After all, by giving back to Omega-Mart, they’re giving back to themselves.”

  “I dock my troops five points anytime I see them talking to one another in the aisles,” said the next person to take the microphone. “And for every point they lose, they lose a minute of break time. After all, why should the customer have to pay for their free time?”

  “I wrote a poem about Omega-Mart,” said the next person, unfolding a small slip of paper from his vest pocket. “It goes like this…. Ode to Omega-Mart. Omega-Mart, Omega-Mart – lowest prices under the sun. Omega-Mart, Omega-Mart – our customers are always number one. We cut prices in the Spring. We cut prices in the Fall. Low prices on everything. Low prices for one and all… that’s all I got so far.”

  Everyone clapped and nodded emphatically, and Albert clapped too. He’d tried writing poetry once in school, but it hadn’t been very good.

  Ron held up his hands to halt the flow of questions. “You should all be very proud of yourselves,” he said. “You’re a great bunch of people, and you’ve given us all a lot to think about. Now, if there aren’t anymore questions, we’ll just finish with the Omega-Mart anthem and… oh, yes… you, sir.”

  Ron was pointing directly at Albert Zim, much to Albert’s surprise. Roger, who had already begun to mouth the first syllables of the Omega-Mart anthem, gazed impatiently at his befuddled neighbor, letting his hand drop from his heart with an irritable sigh.

  That’s when it occurred to Albert that somehow, without his knowledge or consent, his hand had made the slow, treacherous journey above his head, exposing him to the world. A stark realization gripped him that he was about to do something terrible – the worst thing that anyone can ever do in a room full of people. He was about to ask a question. He desperately searched the recesses of his mind for another one, any other question than the one he was about to ask. But he couldn’t find a single one.

  “Since our customers are what’s most important, and our customers are also our employees, and our employees are part of our family, couldn’t we help them out every once in awhile? Like with emergencies or whatever? Couldn’t we pay to have someone’s teeth fixed?”

  The question slid out of his mouth and crashed to the floor like a cannonball with a lit fuse. Albert was certain that, for just a short moment, time had frozen and all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

  Ron’s eyes darted around the amphitheater, falling everywhere but on the humiliated image of Albert Zim. Albert had stupidly squandered his right to exist. “No more questions, then? Alright. Good-night everybody, and remember – low prices at all costs.” Ron exited the stage.

  Albert heaved a sigh of relief. For a moment he was convinced that he hadn’t said anything at all. Then it occurred to him that what had really happened was that no one had even heard him. Good. He could just go on with his life like nothing ever happened. So why was everyone looking at him like that?

  ****

  She followed the purple stripe home, her eyes fixed to the floor, unraveling with every step. The world around her seemed fragile and perilous, as if the walls might open up and swallow her, as if she might plummet to her death through a thin spot in the floor. The voices around her were a babbling brook, each human soul a tiny rock against which splashed the tiniest of waves. She felt a thousand eyes upon her, though none looked in her direction.

  She stopped at a place where she’d stopped before, many times on the long walk home. It was a small, poorly lit kiosk at the end of a long, lonely aisle. On the plastic shelves there, strewn haphazardly by the hands of harried bargain hunters, lay dozens and dozens of small red tagged items -- cheap glittered lip-gloss, shoddily glued refrigerator magnets, discontinued snow globes from Christmases past -- silly, needless objects forced to suffer the cruel humiliation of multiple price-slashings but never allowed to die; not while there was still hope that they might turn a penny.

  She stood alone there in front of them, her stomach tingling with shame and anticipation, electrified by the forbidden possibilities of this place. Only she knew its significance. The eyes of the world could not see here. It was a blind spot, a shadowy corner of the universe where Omega-Mart’s cameras did not penetrate. It was, as far as she knew, the only place like it in the world.

  Her eyes were drawn to a small, pink plastic picture frame. Inside the frame was a photo of a kitten hanging from a tree branch, and written beneath the kitten, these four simple words: HANG IN THERE, BABY.

  “Oh, will you just look at that!” A thick, blue-haired woman suddenly appeared behind her, an enormous leopard printed scarf suffocating her neck. “Purple nail polish – who could ever pull such a thing off? And why would they want to? The woman made a face like she was sucking on lemons. “’Course, a young thing like you could wear whatever she wants and get a way with it, couldn’t you, doll? I was a young thing once, too, and boy did I like a bargain. Not junk like this, but a real bargain, you know what I mean, sweetie?”

  The younger woman stood transfixed, anxiously watching the kitten struggle against nature and gravity, ignoring this intruder who vomited words onto the floor. She could, she thought, hear the old woman’s blood pumping through her hardened veins; hear the slow, labored pulsing of her heart.

  “…, but if you want to see a real bargain, just go down to Sector 14, Delta Quad. That’s where you’ll get some real steals. Why, just the other day I – sweetie? Honey? Are you, okay?”

  The young girl had turned to face her, and something about the girl’s expression had turned the old woman pale.

  “I could kill you.”

  “Wha-wha-what?”

  “I could break your spine like a dry twig, right now, and no one would even see it or care.”

  The old woman stepped backward. “Wh-why would you say something like that?”

  “I could strangle you to death with that hideous scarf.”

  The old woman tried to mask her fear with indignation. “Young lady, I never -- .”

  “You will,” growled the other. “You will unless you turn back around right now and leave this place and never come back.”

  The old woman’s jaw continued to work in slow uniform motions, producing no sound. Then, as if she’d suddenly become aware of her peril, she snapped her mouth shut and retreated down the aisle, waddling like an elephant seal.

  The girl was alone again. Her face relaxed as thoughts of murder passed. Turning her attention back to the picture frame, she reached out her hand and lifted it from the shelf. She placed the thing gingerly into the pocket of her sweatshirt and walked away.

  ****

  “Taxi!” Albert’s hand shot into the air. The shiny green floor shuttle pulled dutifully up next to him, humming softly.

  “Hello”, it said in a woman’s voice. “Thank you for using Green-Line Shuttle service. Please insert your card.”

  Albert hurriedly pulled his credit card from his wallet and swiped it through the scanner on the side of the shuttle.

  The shuttle vibrated, thinking it over. “Card approved,” it said. “Please state your destination.”

  “Whispering Meadow Housing District, Number 5,” said Albert.

  “One moment…. That is a valid destination. Please enter the shuttle now.”

  The door of the shuttle split open in the center, stopped, then closed again. “Please enter the shuttle now.”

  “I can’t,” said Albert. “The door isn’t open.”

  “Response not recognized. Please enter the shuttle now.”

  Albert thrust his fingers into the crack, trying to force the doors open. “This is silly.”

  “Response not recognized. Please enter the shuttle now.”

  “Dammit!” Albert pleaded, pounding lightly on the door. �
��Let me in.”

  “Response not recognized. This shuttle will now take you to your desired destination. A charge of 68 dollars will be deducted from your account. Please fasten your safety belt.” And the little green shuttle sped away toward Albert’s home, leaving a very distressed Albert standing alone on the vinyl tiles.

  “Sixty-eight dollars,” Albert muttered, hastily trying to memorize the customer service number on the back of the fleeing shuttle. “Just wait ‘til they hear from me. They’ll get a piece of my mind.”

  He thrust his hand into his pocket and fished out a tiny black device no larger than a book of matches. Holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, he recited the number into the phone.

  “Hello, and thank you for calling Green-Line Shuttle customer service,” said an automated voice on the other end of the line. It was identical to the voice of Albert’s errant shuttle. “At Green-Line Shuttle we are committed to serving our customers by offering the very best quality in shuttle service, including more upgrade options and more routes that any other shuttle service. No matter what your specific needs are, Green-Line shuttles can get you there on time. For more information, visit our website at www.greenlineshuttle.com, and be sure to check out Green-Line’s new yearly pass plan, saving you money to serve you better.”

  “Yeah, yeah – whatever,” said Albert impatiently. “Get on with it.”

  “Please choose from the following list of options. For Chinese, say ‘Chinese’. For ‘Russian’, say….”

  “Chinese!” barked Albert. In Chinese, of course.

  “Great,” said the voice. “Now let me get you to the right department. If you want to schedule a shuttle to pick you up at your door, just say ‘pick-up’. If you are calling about available upgrades, just say ‘upgrades’. If you want to add miles to your Green-Line travel account, just say ‘add miles’. If you want more information on Green-Line routes available at your location, just say ‘routes’. If you want to know how you can become a preferred Green-Line VIP Club member, just say ‘VIP’. If you want to find out more about redeemable Green-Line cyber coupons, just say ‘coupons’.”

  Silence.

  “But I don’t want any of those things,” Albert whined. “I want to talk to someone about…”

  “I’m sorry –response not recognized. Please choose from the following list of commands. If you want to schedule a shuttle to pick you up at your door, just say ‘pick-up’. If you are calling about available upgrades….”

  “End call!” Albert closed his fingers around the phone, gripping it angrily, and briefly considered tossing it into the shuttle lane. Instead, he placed it carefully back into his vest pocket. Silently cursing his dismal luck, he followed the purple stripe home.

  The purple stripe was one of Omega-Mart’s many subtle wonders. It zig-zagged its way through the entire Omega-Mart complex along the otherwise spotless white walls, all the way to the other side of the planet and back, cutting back and forth across itself like a maze without any end or a beginning. Albert would often run his fingers along that stripe and marvel over it, how he was touching the same purple stripe that someone was touching half a world away, and he would wonder what that person’s part of the world looked like and what was happening there. And then it would occur to him that it was probably just like his own part of the world – bright lights and lots of purple. There was something comforting in that and yet, sometimes, Albert found himself trying to imagine what things would look like on a different world altogether. More and more, he felt as if something else lay out there, beyond Omega-Mart’s rooftop, trying to send him a message. But he was like a broken radio receiver. Lost in static.

  The stripe began to stutter in intervals as Albert’s fingers brushed against one purple door, then another. One, two, three, four – all the doors looked identical, but Albert instinctively stopped at number five. He’d been coming to that same door every day after work for twenty years. It was a flimsy aluminum door set in a windowless cinder block wall. It wasn’t much good for security, but no one ever broke into homes in Omega-Mart – not for decades. Everything was very orderly and safe, perhaps due to the diligence of the Guardians of Merchandise, or maybe just because everyone already had everything they needed. The only real criminals in Omega-Mart were Lifters, and they didn’t stay around for long – at least not beneath the roof.

  As he fumbled for his key, Albert sensed someone approaching the door next to his. He hazarded a glance at the young woman beside him, and thought for a moment that he felt her eyes flicker toward him. She was young, had only just moved a few months ago into the apartment next door. Albert had never spoken to her, never looked directly at her. Something about her made him nervous, the same way that stampeding elephants and old dynamite might make him nervous. He pulled the plastic key card from his wallet and fumbled it into the door lock, turning the handle sideways when the light flashed green.

  “Honey, I’m home,” he announced, rushing into the apartment and slamming the door. He stood and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

  The apartment wasn’t much –gray carpet and white walls, a linoleum kitchen nook in one corner, a small living area unexplored by the eyes of children. It was immaculately clean, practically unfurnished, sterile; as if it had been stored under glass only to be broken in case of emergency.

  A dim light oozed from the back room, along with the rapid clacking of fingers on a keyboard – clackety-clack, clackety-clack.

  “Hon? Did you have a good day?”

  Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. The ceaseless hum of online browsing.

  Albert didn’t bother to turn the lights on. After hours of standing under an endless field of searing fluorescent bulbs, he found the darkness soothing. He took a step forward and stumbled with a tiny yelp, almost toppling over as his foot caught a large, oblong shadow. Steadying himself against the wall, he rubbed his toes and inspected the thing through watery eyes. It was an open box, empty except for a bit of plastic and Styrofoam. He could just make out the five words stamped top of it in cold, black letters: Home Furnishing – This End Up.

  “Honey? Did you order new furniture.”

  Clackety-clack.

  Albert looked to the center of the room, instinctively knowing what he would find there. The futon – his refuge, that hibernatory den that kept him warm and safe, that shielded him from the outside world like a tauntaun’s cozy innards – was gone, a doppelganger left in its place, a new version of the old but smelling of chemicals and covered with a ghastly blue-flowered upholstery where a faded, soothing gray had been.

  Albert’s heart sank. She had no right. It was only a year old. And it was his.

  He inspected the tag on the box.

  $25.95. It was a bargain and everyone knew it.

  Reluctantly, Albert flopped down on the futon, reclining against the crisp, new-car smelling upholstery of the inflatable cushion, and stared into the empty flat screen of the television set.

  “TV on.”

  Click. The TV turned on.

  Click. The TV turned off.

  “TV on.”

  Click. The TV turned on.

  Click. The TV turned off.

  “TV on.”

  The television exploded into a host of retina-searing colors, bowling him over with flashing logos and fast moving tickers that zoomed across the bottom of the screen quicker than the human eye could read.

  --inGammaQuadtodaykillinfortyfivepeopleAfterabloodstirringseventhgamethef ourteenthannualWorldDodgeBallVictorycupgoestoteamDeltaTheCEOofOmega-Martsaidtodaythatprofitsareexpectedtorisefifteenpercentthisquartermakingthisthemostproductivequarterofthe—

  A deafening burst of electric guitar music rocked Albert’s eardrums. He flinched involuntarily and, as if to berate him for this act of cowardice, the small, well-groomed figure inside the television began to scream at him.

  “IN OTHER NEWS, ALFONSE WANG REIGNED SUPREME LAST NIGHT ON BOWLING FOR THE WHITE HOUSE, WITH A RECORD BREAKING VOTE T
OTAL OF FIFTY-FIVE MILLION, EDGING OUT ROBERTO FISK, WHOSE TOTAL OF THIRTY SEVEN MILLION VOTES KEEPS HIM FIRMLY IN SECOND PLACE. BLAMING VOTER APATHY, FISK MADE ANOTHER LAME ATTEMPT TO EXPLAIN WHY HE DOESN’T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES, ONCE AGAIN PROVING THAT HE’D MAKE A LOUSY PRESIDENT. LET’S TURN NOW TO OUR PANEL OF EXPERTS, OMEGA-MART’S VERY BEST POLITICAL TEAM, TO GIVE YOU A FAIR AND BALANCED VIEW OF THIS YEAR’S -- .”

  Click. The TV turned off.

  “TV on.”

  No response.

  “TV on.”

  Nothing.

  Albert knitted his eyebrows. “Honey, is there a problem with the TV?”

  Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.

  Albert looked wistfully at his lifeless television, staring into his own dim reflection. His hair was thinning. His eyes were dull and tired. His whole face sagged like a ruined soufflé, as if someone had grabbed him by the cheeks and tugged downward. The more he gazed into his own eyes, the less familiar they seemed.

  He suddenly felt the peculiar disorientation of realizing his own mortality, glimpsing his own existence as a timeline with a certain beginning and a most definite end. He had always lived his life in a sort of even contentment, less intoxicating than happiness, and certainly less satisfying, but infinitely more dependable. But more and more, he had felt that contentment threatened. On days like today, it felt very, very fragile.

  Why, oh why, did he have to go and open his big mouth in front of all those people today? He could only imagine what they were saying about him. He must have looked ridiculous. He would surely hear about it from Victor tomorrow. Stupid.

  Stupid.

  Albert dozed, waking later that night with a tiny whimper. The apartment was dark. He had been dreaming. He stood up and stumbled to his bedroom, holding his hands in front of his face to keep from running into the wall. He felt the door of the bedroom and pushed it open. Someone was in there already, breathing.

  Albert took off his pants and his shirt, tossed them onto the floor. He lay down on the invisible bed next to the warm, hibernating beast that occupied the left side, careful not to brush against her. She grunted but made no move. Albert curled into a ball and closed his eyes, retreating into the quiet recesses of his mind.