The Company Physical
Three neighborhood cats saw the spectacle of a weeping man, running madly, gesticulating wildly, on his way to a huge oak trunk, which he embraced, holding on for dear life. As the tears came down and his limp wet head coursed into the ground, searching for the roots, he was suddenly lifted, his body rising, as if on the wind of a mysterious gravity-defying force, his body scrambling up the tree itself until it finally came to rest in a dangling rubbery heap from the highest branch, the short-hair turned to the long-hair and said:
‘Impressive.’
The long-hair sneered: ‘Human beings are so stupid. They take themselves so seriously.’
The Siamese replied: ‘That’s good for us. We’ll always be able to cute them.’
The short-hair: ‘Yep. But that was still pretty impressive.’
The fire department had already been on the scene for some commotion and now were busy extracting the catatonic man from the highest limb of the tree. Communication was impossible, but soon they had him down and taken away.
Dr. Johnson, the Company Doctor, is now inspecting the body.
O god the light the light the light…I’m blind I’m blind...Am I still crying…shit..what happened..something just..like a dam breaking…where’s my dam…where’s my damn dam….can anybody hear me?I’m blind…I’m blind..help!
A very pallid Dr. Blake with an eerie green tint to his face enters with what appears to be a bag of gardening tools. He’s covered with dirt and grass stains.
A startled Dr. Johnson replies: ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Dr. Blake. Now what seems to be the problem?’
Are you the new man?
Yes.
How long have you been around?
A few hundred years.
What?
Anyway, what seems to be the problem?
The patient seems to be in a state of catatonia.
Did anyone witness it?
Only a few cats.
Have they been questioned?
What?
Background?
One was a Siamese..the other...
No, the patient.
Oh, he was a fully functional workaholic.
Aha.
(Dr. Blake looks into his bag)
So how did this happen? Fear of the boogeyman?
(Dr. Johnson looks over his file.) No. Lost at 5.
A sudden loss of faith in a personal god?
No. Lost at 6.
A sudden loss of faith in romantic love?
No. Lost in marriage.
A sudden loss of faith in the progress of humanity?
No. Lost after graduation.
Well, what was it that took him down?
Psychological trauma brought on by witnessing some sort of traumatic event.
Not the local news?
No.
Top 40 radio?
No.
Reality TV?
No.
The O’Reilly Factor?
No.
Did he see somebody killed?
No. He’s inured to violence.
Boredom?
No. He’s used to that, too.
Ah...Well, let’s get to work.
Aren’t you gonna scrub first?
What? He’s dead. What does it matter?
No. Just catatonic.
At this moment, Dr. Blake grasps at something in the air as if to catch it.
Damn…
What?
Almost had it.
What?
Ok. Let’s get to work.
Dr. Blake whips out a chainsaw and cranks it.
Hey…what the hell? What are you doing???
Autopsy!
Autopsy??? He’s not dead!!
Who sent you?
The company!
Who sent you? Put that away.
(Blake turns it off. Puts it down.)
Go wash yourself!
I was sent to discover the cause of death.
He is not dead. This is only a physical! And even if he were, we don’t use chainsaws!
How do you know?
Because I’m a doctor, fool! Who the hell are you?
I’m Dr. Blake. Now how do you know he isn’t dead?
He has brain-wave activity! A pulse! I'm a doctor hired the company to see that he is a functioning member of society!
How do you know that's not the problem?
What?
Ok. Tickle his feet.
(Rolls his eyes but does it)
Nothing.
Tap his knee.
(Rolls his eyes but does it)
Nothing.
Grab his balls.
(He does)
Nothing.
Buy him dinner first.
What?
Whisper sweet nothings in his ears.
You’re fuckin’ crazy.
Ok..I’ll do it.
(Dr. Blake whispers something into the patient’s ear.)
(A huge phallic symbol rises from the patient’s lower extremities, punching a hole in the ceiling.)
Whoa.
Shit.
(Dr. Blake goes over to inspect it.)
Damn. All the way up to the sky. Piercing a hole in the protective layer.
Somewhere the short hair says:
Impressive.
The long-hair rolls his eyes.
The Siamese says: Next time we’ll be in charge
What the hell did you say to him?
Hit me baby, one more time.
Hmmm…. Well, you see he’s not dead. And this is definitely progress. His pulse is quickening, brain activity, too.
Oh, you moderns have a strange belief system.
Beliefs? This is science, fool. You call yourself a doctor? Who the hell are you?
I’ve come to discern the cause of death.
Death? He’s ALIVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
Ah, but that’s a reflex. Hair grows, fingernails, too. Hard-ons.
Like going back and forth to work and picking up a paycheck.
What are you doing?
I’m examining this thing.
It’s a penis. Perhaps he was on Viagra. There’s always a rational explanation.
No, this thing doesn’t work properly. This is supposed to be an instrument of love. Where I come from, there are millions of these things growing peacefully in the sweet moist garden, where the seeds of love beget true perennials.
Are you some kind of foreigner? How the hell’d you get in here?
There’s definitely something wrong with these legs.
What? The legs are fine. He climbed up a damn tree.
They did not stand.
Yeah, they did and they ran and they climbed.
They stood for nothing. Except maybe the National Anthem.
What the hell’s wrong with that? Are you some kinda Commie sympathizer? Are you an Arab?
(Dr. Blake takes out an oil dipstick. Sticks it in.)
What the hell are you doing?
Checking his blood.
With that?
Well, he’s a quart low.
He is not. He lost no blood.
Do you have any WD-40?
What?
Check his ears.
They’re fine. (shines his light)
No.
Yes.
They do not work as they are supposed to.
Yes, they do.
No, they don’t.
Yes, they do.
No, they don’t.
Yes, they do.
I know I am…
But what are you?
They only hear the first level of frequency. They cannot discern ideas at all nor the majestic sounds that are all around.
Beauty is in the ear of the beholder.
Yes, but this man would not know it if he beheld it.
You’re a snob all right. But not an Arab. French?
Check his eyes.
Well, they are glazed over. But I think they will work fine.
They only see what they want to see. Only see what they are told to see. What do they know of true beauty?
This is a Company physical. Any fool knows what beauty is. Open any magazine! Turn on any TV show! Watch the Rich and Famous! One more mention of non-functional things and I will call security!
It seems that the tear duct is not working properly.
Oh, it worked all right. The paramedics found him weeping from the top of a tree. The fool couldn’t stop weeping. He was taken down by a simple act of selflessness, ok?
Aha!
Dr. Blake reaches for the air again.
Damn.
What?
Almost had it.
There’s hope yet for this man.
Well, I told you he wasn’t dead. But why do you see hope because he wept. There’s no hope in weeping. It’s a disgrace. There’s no crying in baseball! Everybody knows that. You cry, you show weakness. And every damn person with a sheet on his head will think they can walk all over you. This is a perfectly functioning world...where the strong survive and you can’t function if you go around weeping for people who are too stupid to work their way up in the Company! Or or for some stupid rose or some other imaginary frequency level! Of course, if your dog dies or you mother that’s ok…but do it in private for god’s sake and get it over with and get on with the business of making money!
(Suddenly Blake punctures the phallus, runs to the wall, turns out the light. A light glows from the patient’s head.)
What the hell are you doing?
See…look…I knew it. He was hit by the light.
The light? I’m sure there’s some logical explanation.
Oh God look! It’s growing! It’s growing!
(Something in the lower abdomen is indeed growing).
Oh shit. What is it?
The stomach?
The appendix?
Sigourney Weaver?
Shit, it’s gonna burst!
(Dr. Johnson tries to make an incision.)
No, no don’t touch it!
It’s the appendix! He will die.
No, no..it’s the..it’s the…Don’t do it! Let it grow!
It’s the…
Appendix, fool!
Don’t touch it!
He will die!
To live..finally!
Don’t!
While Dr. Johnson works with the appendix, Dr. Blake tries to grab the light in the patient’s head with one hand and distract Johnson with the other.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Don’t.
Got it. That functionless bastard just wants to kill us!
(The light in his head goes off. Darkness. Sounds of struggle.)
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! You’ve killed it, fool! The only that can save you from a living death!
The alarm goes off. The light comes on. Janis Joplin sings It’s all the same fuckin’ day, man.
Paul tries to wake up. Shrug off sleep. Find his legs, which fold under him as he tries to get up. Mutters:
Shit...Must be getting old. I feel like making a major purchase today. Or falling in love. Get the blood pumpin’.
Three neighborhood cats meow.
posted by rays | 11:15 PM
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