Chapter 18

The final leg

Leaving Rolla was going to be the more interesting driving to do on this final leg home. It was dark, had been raining. The road was two lane now, would change and intersect with other two-lane roads while I was supposedly following a Federal highway north to the state capitol.

Once at Jeff City, I'd be in a wild scene of several Federal highways intersecting and combining to cross a single bridge. Somehow, I would then exit onto Interstate 54, which had been widened into a dual-lane highway all the way to my home.

I started in good spirits, wanting to be off, wanting these next few hours to be over so that I could start my life over again. The road wound through the hills through the town, houses becoming more infrequent and trees filling the gaps.

Thoughts wandered as well. So much had happened in the 20-some years I had been away. Roads like this we traveled in Big Bear when we went for Christmas holiday vacations from Center. Buses would be rented, or people with less would take their own cars or vans up the mountain into the snow to spend the day or perhaps two. I loved skiing. Never had it in Missouri, but I found it to be fascinating and a great deal of fun.

That last time I had gone up was a complete fiasco. My then-wife, Lennie, was working at the upper-upper-eschelon management level doing what-she-wouldn't-tell-me, because of ostensible "security" concerns. (Actually, the place was pretty paranoid as a whole - which seemed to echo way down the chain of command. The location of this "secret" base was findable on the Internet, as was most of the data about who worked there and what they were doing in general terms.)

We had decided to meet (she arranged it and then told me what and where to go) and I was the odd man out. Seems that there were cliques within cliques there. I was left with a lower-echelon clique, among people I had known years before, after Lennie had left with her earlier-scheduled departure clique. So for some hours, I waited until my ride was ready to go. Meanwhile, I tried to talk with people I had been friends with from years before. I found that they had all changed. Those I was able to talk with most easily had the least to lose, the lowest positions. Those who I had been on the BRP with were now all too distant, involved with other people, other conversations and not the least interested in talking to me. I really was just wanting some conversation to burn the time away until I could sink into some back seat of the van going back to LA and so have my few hours of private oblivion until I could return to those I worked with daily and had normal conversations, more or less.

This was another scene which chilled me on the whole management scene. Where were the deep friendships and the "old times" to go over ad nauseum? These friendships weren't deep, weren't lasting. It mattered not to people that marriages were created and dissolved. The only time important was the Now, the only relations important were the current ones. And all work was seniored by the authorities at hand, those currently in Power.

The continuity of these officials changed over time. There had been a shakeup due to ostensible corruption, where some had left to start unauthorized franchises, only to get sued over trademark violations. A new clique had moved in to replace these and was supposedly straight-shooting. All I knew was that these people were pretty well damned and shunned by the new management. You didn't hear about them after that. Shortly later, Rhino died and there was another smaller shakeup after that. Some left, but then there were people leaving all the time, and more people being hired on.

That was the consistency - constantly training and retraining staff, constant staff shuffles and overturns. A few people remained in key positions, however.

It was the annual events, several per year, where these these key people would then spin their speil over the heads of the people who attended - hounded by numerous callers (organized in a boiler-room setup) until they finally agreed to come. Then they would be re-confirmed and again tell people they were coming. By the time I had left, they were up to re-re-confirming people, as people had quit responding to these calls (big surprise). There was good turnout when something was interesting to attend, something truly new. However, if one were only going to rehash or repackage something, then the public wouldn't attend well. New Year's usually was a big attendance scene; I worked the millenial event, building and installing the various trappings and decorations, as well as the booths for all the various and different local franchises to man - all in the hope of separating the various local patrons from their money, current or future.

All of this was grist for the mill, all manner of things went into the decision to leave. Events were one of these. Seeing the facade and what lay behind it - almost a metaphor for the Center itself. Even Coetta, the girl who was in charge of locally coordinating the various events, was herself shallow and more interested in getting recognized from "on high" management instead of dealing honestly with those around her. A stacked blonde, just before I left I found out her assets were padded like her production record - all designed to get her noticed so that she could return to the 'on high' management level.

- - - -

The trees crowded the sides of the road, forcing my speed down below the speed limit. My problem was the inertia which started on one side of the road only to shift toward the other side on every curve. The small shocks on this small truck wouldn't handle the higher-loaded weight. I had worked to keep only the lighter stuff on high, with the heaviest stuff lower and to the front, in order to make the drive best for the engine and driver comfort. However, the total weight took its toll. There wasn't any way to lighten or shift the content at this point. I had to deal with up, down, and sideways actions, trusting that the highway department had built the roads well and put the slants such that I could hold the truck on the road.

Doing this juggling of what road, what curve, accelerate, brake - all while simply keeping going to make my schedule somewhat - these were taking their toll on my nerves. Made me almost want to have paid the toll in Oklahoma, which would have had me in divided highways all the way to Jeff City and then north. As it was, I just had to endure the roads I'd chosen.

- - - -

Somehow I was reminded of some of the projects I had been sent on to sort out the various franchises. One was up north, mid-winter in the Twin Cities area. My sidekick was another blonde, this one honestly stacked and friendly. The Center frowned on extra-marital relations, both of us were married at the time, so all I could do was be gallant and try not to get frustrated.

It didn't help when whe announced (and repeated several times) that she had forgotten to pack underwear for the trip. Since she was wearing skirts the entire time during this cold weather, I guess she might have been reminded of this on more than one occasion.

Months later, she had left the Center and was coming in as a volunteer on a strictly non-staff basis. Still looked great. She was single and I was still apparently married, although I'd not heard from my then-wife much over the last few preceding years. But rules were rules and I had no need to court trouble at this point.

Sheila was her name. She came in to help out with the signage for a local event. Wore a loose top and matching slack-type bottoms. The appeal was still all there, the smile, the cleavage, the allure. Hard to keep my mind on the work at hand, which was a large 3'x3' circular sign I had made from a small logo. We were applying it as vinyl to a paper-covered styrofoam 1/2" thick substrate. The trick on this was that we were working bent over two large tables put together as a work surface. So, more often than was good for my nerves, we would often be bent over and opposite each other as we pealed the backing off the vinyl, her loose top out of the way of her hands, but as well falling away from some of her other assets - which as a male, I had some little resistance to viewing.

I was frustrated for weeks after. As my then-wife refused to leave her all-important work to come visit me so we could start working things out, the frustration would compound with some of the other young staff coming to work in a similar manner over the same table. This is how I found Coetta's assets were more publicized than factual.

- - - -

The policy of no children by staff was an interesting one. Essentially, this meant that they wouldn't support people having children or families while on staff. If they wanted to have kids, they had to leave staff and go out in the real world to do so. Once a person left staff, a great debt was engineered so that a person would have to pay for all the services one ever took on staff before one would be allowed to receive more personal programming as a paying public. Some of these ex-staff never returned to services.

I'd talked to some of these ex-staff to see how their lives were going. Neither better nor worse since leaving the Center staff. Some had gotten some wealth and paid off their debts, appearing with other rich public at the gala events, contributing their funds as a tax write-off (the Center was bona fide IRS non-profit) and generally looking like swell folks.

Some had had kids, many had re-married after they left. Most were working at what they wanted to do, which in Hollywood there were any amount of diverse jobs one could have. I got to work with one guy who had volunteered as a youngster in one of my jobs, routing folders here and there. He had grown up, gotten married and worked building sets for various movies as part of a carpenter union. No, he wasn't remotely interested in coming on staff. He was volunteering to get some carpentry work done for one of the Center's execs, which we on the BRP were "volunteered" for as part of our daily work requirements.

So people outside the Center were living normal lives, having sex, having children, going along with their life without the sky caving in on them. Imagine that. People could live their own life if they wanted to or live a life inside or associated with the Center if they wanted to. No big deal either way. Life didn't care.

Life just didn't bloody care.

That's probably where I started to see that the supposed penalties for departing Center weren't all that dramatic as thought. For so long, I had been told over and over that leaving the Center would be a complete collapse emotionally for anyone concerned, that the road back was harder, that one could only effectively make their road back with more (expensive) personal programming.

It was almost insurmountable to leave staff. First, you would have no real means of support, since one got so little on staff that it was nearly impossible to save anything. Now, after the few years it would take to build up your credit, pay off what you had to borrow to get going - you'd then be faced with spending years paying off the supposed debt you had for being on staff for so many years. After that, you'd have to pay so much in fees to get your various programming done so that you'd be "cleaned up" and able to now get back on your personal "road out" according to the Powers That Be.

Then I looked over those who stayed. They had all their medical covered (just go into the free clinics or VA hospital for service and otherwise simply beg every week for some of the medical monies. Forget health insurance. Your job would change every few years, but what the heck. Just send a note of apology around to everyone and get them to sign it, then you'd be back. When you got too old to work, you could get a note to have you work less hours.

But they were a bit 'touched in the head.' I talked to them. They couldn't reason well. I had often wondered about those who left who had been the "bright and rising stars" of Center. Some were quite brilliant and sharp, ready wit and reasoning. Yet none of these were around. Those who were still around I couldn't engage in any fascinating conversation or compare notes. They were factually clinically nuts.

Essentially, the threshing had been done and the best wheat had been taken, the weed seeds kept to raise. I looked around to find that as a 20 year vet, I was one of the few still around. Most were younger and still had the glossy look in their eyes of the new, energetic and naive.

This said something to me. Another nail in the coffin for the idea of staying and making a "go of it." I'd already been shown the door a few too many times, the last when I was honestly and validly recognized as a talented artist and doing what I'd always wanted to do. Just put their mammoth website together for the first time. Then went back to building their in-house printing unit, but because of a false report by someone to cover his own errors, I was again sent to the BRP. Working on fine carpentry was about as close to artwork as I could get. Nothing graphic.

- - - -

Jefferson City. Got through the needed twists, turns and choices to make my way across that bridge and onto the last highway I would have to take to make my final miles home. Dark, wet, but flatter and straighter and double lane. Smooth sailing now.

It was odd that my last few miles would be the least problematic.

The twists and turns in my life seemed to have melted away as well.

Quiet now, the radio a murmer of the country music I had been listening to for so many miles. This station I could identify as to where the city was it came from.

While I had my work cut out for me to resolve the things of the Center from my own life attitudes and resolutions, it wasn't going to be all that difficult. I had to reconcile myself to the bitterness I'd left with and the various points of contention I still had with them.

One thing was clear: the background philosophy would be separate from the management policies. While I would be able to research the points of philosophy and sort these out, getting these to some sort of equilibrium within my own essence - the injustices and human element of management the Center had might or might not ever be able to be reconciled. What humans do to human on the basis of twisted philosophic interpretations might not be anything but some random, insane factors plugged into the mix.

I'd be able to understand the philosophy of Rhino through finding the sources he altered. I may or may not be able to understand why people in the Center treated others as they did, although I could understand how.

- - - -

Finally, I negotiated the last changes in the highway by our house and took an old, roundabout way to my parents' house. I drove up the driveway and turned to park the rental truck by the carport.

As I got out, the air was moist, clean and one of the family dogs came to meet me. As I scratched his ears, he wagged his tail and made a low rumble of satisfaction deep in his throat.

A porch light went on. My mother was standing in the doorway, opening the sliding glass door.

I had returned home at last.