“They’re out to get me, Doc!”

“Who is this they, Gerald? And please come out from behind the couch.”

Gerald slowly peaked out over the top of the couch back, his face obstructed by the gas mask he was wearing. After taking a cautious look around, he stepped around and sat upon his former hiding place.

“Them, Doc, THEM. They’re everywhere, Doc, and they are trying to kill me.”

“Gerald, there is no one trying to kill you. We have been over this before. Remember two months ago when you thought the mail carrier for your building was trying to kill you by poisoning your mail? It turned out to be nothing of the sort.”

“Yeah, OK, I may have been wrong on that one. But I swear, Doc, they are really out to get me!”

“Just like the Meteorological Society was plotting your demise last December? What was their method again?”

“Trained ninja icicles.”

“Ah yes, trained ninja icicles. How exactly does one train an icicle, Gerald?”

“I wasn’t able to figure it out before it warmed up and melted them all. That warm spell was the only thing that foiled their plans, Doc. But this isn’t them. This is a worldwide conspiracy. It’s the …”, Gerald looked quickly back and forth, scanning the room for anyone who could have materialized into the closed office space before whispering, “… the Verdant Society.”

“I’m sorry, the what? It really is hard to understand you with that gas mask on, Gerald. I understand it helps you feel more at ease, but you really must speak louder and enunciate if you insist on wearing it during our sessions.”

“The Verdant Society! Is that clear enough for you, Doc?”

“I’ve never heard of them. What can you tell me about them, Gerald?”

“What can’t I tell you, Doc? They are a global organization. They experience regular periods of activity followed by short periods of dormancy, though they are always active somewhere in the world. They focus their operations on bringing down the Industrialized nations of the world by striking at the very people of those societies, releasing bioagents into those areas to incapacitate and potentially kill off those who would seek to expand the footprint of the Industrialized world upon the Earth. One could call them Luddites, but one would be wrong. It is not technology they have issue with, it is those who have embraced that technology and lost some measure of contact to the Preindustrial world as a result. It is that loss of contact that marks you, even though you may not realize you have been so marked. It may start with a sniffle, a cough, watery eyes, there are numerous signs. But it can quickly spread, making you an easily identifiable target to the VS, especially if you decide to try to cover up your mark by some over the counter …”

“Are you talking about hay fever, Gerald?”

“Hay fever. It always sounded like a code word to me too, Doc, but I can see you know what I am talking about.”

Gerald sneezed. Then shrieked.

“Calm down, Gerald, it is merely allergies. Let me get you some antihistamines and water and you can tell me all about this plant conspiracy of yours.”

“Legend holds that the Golden Lion guards the entry from those who would trespass upon the grounds of the Duke of Wormetshire. There are tales of unexplained deaths in the area near the Golden Lion and the gateway it is said to protect. Pretty scary, yes? If you’ll follow me this way, I’ll lead you to the gardens …”

The tour guide led the rest of the gawkers on towards a lush and borderline overgrown garden. Lawrence stayed behind, staring at the Golden Lion.

“People come up with the craziest stories sometimes.”, Lawrence muttered.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”, replied the Golden Lion.

Lawrence jumped back awkwardly, landing square on his ass. His voice was apparently far more agile than Lawrence as it was nowhere to be found. He just sat, mouth moving silently. The Golden Lion just looked down at him. And burst out laughing.

“Oh I say, that is the funniest thing I have seen since Lord Manfred Wigglesmith passed away in front of me with his trousers around his ankles!”

Lawrence stared up at the metal lion’s head mounted on the gate as it chuckled. Perhaps the local cuisine was not agreeing with him, perhaps it was a bizarre jet lag complication, maybe he had just gone completely starkers. There was not way the cast bronze lion head was laughing.

“What the hell is going on?!?”, Lawrence managed to squeak out as he wrestled to regain control of his voice.

“You made a comment, I posed an observation, you scrambled backwards landing on your bottom, and I found that to be rather hilarious. I think that about sums it up.”

“How the hell are you talking?”

“Quite simple, honestly. I move my mouth in specific ways while contorting my lips and moving my tongue, which give rise to changes in tone resulting in the formation of words and sentences. Just as anyone else speaks.”

“But you are a door knocker!!!”

“Psht! I am most certainly not a ‘door knocker‘. I am a door guardian. There is a clear difference.”

“Whatever! You still should …”

“Whatever? I beg your pardon. Do you see a large ring in my mouth or looping around my head through my ears?”

“Well, no, but …”

“Then it should be quite plain to see that I am by no means a door knocker as I possess no means to knock upon the door.”

“I suppose I see your point, but …”

“You suppose? You suppose?! Well, suppose I simply devour you here and now as the tales say, hmmm? Would that perhaps solidify the fact for you that I am not a ‘door knocker‘?”

“Nononononono!”, Lawrence stammered as he scuttled backwards.

“Just as well, I really can’t devour anyone. Most of the tales are simply rubbish. People have died by this gate, to be sure, but mostly they just died of heart attacks and the like when I spoke to them. You humans certainly are a fragile lot.”

It happened again. Perfect plan, perfectly executed … up until my minion decided to go all mouse-brained.

I had it all worked out. I was going to corner the world anchovy market and use the profits to fund my undersea base of operations. It was brilliant and fool-proof. Or at least it seemed fool-proof.

The simplicity of it all should have precluded any error. My minion managed to secretly amass a majority stake in almost all the anchovy wholesale companies worldwide. With the majority stake in hand, a series of leveraged buyouts and mergers would consolidate the anchovy wholesale market to a handful of regional companies. With less competition, and in reality no competition as I would have controlled all the anchovy players worldwide, prices for those delectable morsels would skyrocket.

Want anchovies on that pizza? It just became a premium topping. Want a true Caesar salad? Expect to shell out for it. Want to make your cat a really happy cat? Better buy a gold tin of the new golden fish. Profits were guaranteed.

Before I could initiate the cascading acquisitions and buyouts, however, my minion let the proverbial cat out of the bag.

The night everything was set to begin, he “got a hankering” for an anchovy pizza. He blathered on about how he was the anchovy king and how the prices of anchovies were going to skyrocket to the pizza place when he placed his order. When the pizza arrived he started to go on to the delivery girl how an anchovy pizza is a steal right now since he had not yet been able to put any price fixing into place.

And that’s when she busted him. Apparently the Organization bugged the office phones after my minion repeatedly called the former cast members of Firefly and then called the White House and all members of Congress to get them to force Fox to restart production if they were going to start forcing companies to do things they otherwise wouldn’t do anyway. While I did appreciate the sentiment, who doesn’t like a bad good guy, the timing was horrible, and the lack of common sense in using a direct line to make the calls rather than bouncing them off the numerous satellites I have in place to make tracing phone calls next to impossible is … well, honestly, I suppose it was to be expected.

The Organization heard the anchovy rant and mobilized … and delivered a pizza … all in under 30 minutes.

Maybe I should look into the Organization’s staffing procedures and requirements when I look for my next minion. Honestly, it could not be any worse than the last dozen minions I have had. At least they left the pizza when they hauled my minion away.

Times are tough, that is for sure. Even for those of us who have held onto the same position for years can eventually find themselves underemployed due to changes in society or technology.

My job is certainly an example of that.

For ages it was pretty steady, but when technological developments sped up, change started creeping in. I did my best to try to keep up, to adapt. I even went to school, hoping to gain an edge. I am certainly more well spoken now (thanks to Mrs. Bebelbraun for her excellent public speaking class and Mr. Henshaw for his eye opening creative writing class), but it did not really help in the long run.

As technology advanced, people’s lives sped up, which was not beneficial to my line of work. To say that it is a disappointment is an understatement. My father, and his father before him, worked this same job, and now I fear I will be the last to actually hold it. Just the thought of that makes me fear for my child’s future.

This is not to say I do not appreciate technology. There are so many benefits that is has brought, from the internet to the rapid expansion of coffee culture. Fifteen years ago, you would have gotten drip coffee and been happy. The terms latte and cappuccino were not mainstream, certainly not here. I freely admit I am a monster without my morning latte.

But the cost. An age old family business will be coming to a close. Not that the business has had much business in the last decade, and the previous seventy years had seen a stead decline. But such is the cost when technology improves, automobiles move faster and faster, and no one pays any mind to the roadside.

And let’s face it. Trolls are not exactly the most agile of creatures, so when cars sped up, we were losing more than we were stopping. Now the only saving grace is if there is a traffic jam and I can go down an entire line of cars at once. Though with their shatter resistant glass and reinforced frames, folks just are not as intimidated by trolls as they used to be.

Oh how I miss the days of foot traffic and billie goats. Sure the goats were tricky, but I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. Not that it will ultimately do me much good with my current position. I’m going to have to face the hard reality that I will need to look to a change in career.

I wonder if I could get a job as a toll booth attendant? Or maybe work for the IRS?