The Strike

Are those characters you create, really what they want to be?

The Strike

The door crashed closed behind him, sending the turmoil of the outer offices into a distant nightmare as Detective Elmer Dobbs slouched over and sat down at his desk. At 6ft, 220 lbs, 54 years of age, he was still what some might call elegant, at his peak or even sexy, but handsome he wasn’t. His face was too round, nose too long, and ears too big. His eyebrows had disappeared after a nearly fatal fire some time back and he had a wart that would have to be surgically removed some day, growing from the side of his neck.

He threw his coat over the back of his chair, leaned back and crossed his legs, boots planted heel first on top of the keyboard of his desk. Within a few short seconds the computer began screaming out its protest in the repeated beeping of many pressed keys.

“Hey, can’t you shut that thing off?” Shouted out Loretta Argos, the mid-thirties, 5ft 8 in, slightly paunched woman who shared the office with Elmer.

“Hey, no can do ‘Lor’. That Elmer’s just too fuckin lazy to take his boots off,” came the sarcastic twang of Dell Monroe their other companion, at thirty two the youngest at 260 lbs the fattest and at five feet six inches the shortest. 

“Wait! Wait on here!” Elmer shouted out looking over his shoulder. “What the hell is this shit. Where does a writer come off giving me a name like Elmer and a wart on the side of my neck. What kind of character am I supposed to be? Well, Mr Writer man?”

“Yeah. And why do I have to have a paunch. Why can’t I have big breasts and be sexy like the other women?” Loretta chimed in. 

“I like your small breasts,” Dell chipped in. “They are kind of sexy, especially when you are not wearing a bra. You bend over enough and those perky things are just like a magnet to my …”

“Oh stow it Dell. We all know the only thing smaller than the weaner hiding below that big gut of yours is your brain,” Loretta sniped.

“Forget it you two,” Elmer commanded before sitting up in his chair. “So Mr writer man. What is it you’re trying to do? Make us look ridiculous?”

“Sorry guys, this is a new story and I was trying my hand at unstereotypical characters. Okay “Elmer” is a little heavy but it went down well with Bugs bunny.”

“Elmer? You mean Elmer Fudd, that incompetent stuttering fool – you’re comparing me to him? You’ve got to be out of your mind. Elmer almost screamed.

“And what’s this screaming shit? I did not scream, I simply expressed my consternation at the way you’ve written me in.” Elmer continued.

“Okay, ‘scream’ is a little harsh but I was a little lost for a better word.”

“Lost for a better word? More like a lack of imagination,” Loretta muttered under her breath.

“ I don’t know what the problem is with you guys,” Dell said.

“Look at me. I’m not exactly Mr perfect but you don’t see me complaining.”

“It’s because you only play a supporting role ‘dick-head’. You are not important, not like Loretta and me.”

“That hurts Elmer, that really hurts. I’ll probably end up taking a bullet for you and you say that’s unimportant. Go suck a juju ball, you warted freak,” Dell grumbled as he leaned back in his swivel chair to grab a piece of pizza from the box beside him.

“Juju ball? Pizza in the morning? This dick-head being your mouthpiece. Mr Writer man – you stink. You can’t write, you haven’t got a clue about dialog, you’ve screwed your characters.”

Elmer paused a little looking from Dell to Loretta.” You know what Mr Writer man? I don’t want to be in this story of yours. I’m going on strike.” Elmer stood up and jammed his hands into his pockets ripping the side of his pants wide open to reveal a pair of pink and purple lace panties.

“Now that is sick Mr Writer man. That’s just mean and spiteful. Write that again and forget the panty shit.”

Elmer stood up and jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Is that okay now Mr Dobbs?”

It’ll do, for now. So what’s next? If I’m on strike you finish writing right?”

“Ah, no. I still have Loretta and Dell. They can carry the story.”

“Had, big man, had.” Loretta said rising. “I’m with Elmer. That leaves only Dell boy here and that ain’t much to work with.”

Loretta stepped over and stood beside Elmer.

“Come on Dell. You’re either with us or against us.” Elmer called out to Dell.

Dell looked down at his hands and studied the uneven outline of his fingernails.

“You know guys,” he said without looking up, this might be a great opportunity for me. I think I’ll stick with the writer.”

Elmer looked a little exasperated. It was obvious that Dell wasn’t going to be much to work with in the story and without him too, their strike wouldn’t have quite the same impact.

“Okay, have it your way Dell,” Elmer said finally. Come on Lor, let’s set up the picket lines.”

Dell stood up and brushed the crumbs and spilled parmesan from his belly. The pizza was good and he really wanted to eat the last two pieces but duty called. He burped loudly, the sound bouncing clearly from wall to wall of the now empty office. He wanted to fart too but something told him that something more solid might come with it so he held back. It wasn’t that he’d eaten too much – he’d eaten much more in the past – it was just that the awkward settling pizza seemed to affect the way he moved and so he waddled from his swivel chair to the in-tray on Elmer’s abandoned desk easily managing to knock all and sundry to the floor and chairs about him.

“Oops,” he repeated time and time again until he eventually reached the object of his desire.

He was already so tired by this time that he dumped himself into Elmer’s chair which grunted and groaned for several seconds before throwing the hapless Dell into a helpless pile on the floor beside it.

Dell was pointed head down and the longer he stayed that way the more quickly it seemed that the pizza began its return journey through parts unknown.

Dell called out as loud as he could for someone to help him as he realized the unfortunate fact that he was in no position to extricate himself, by himself.

Suddenly the door crashed open as two of the men from the outer office began to run in.

“You can’t go in there,” shouted Elmer. “You’re  crossing a picket line.”

The two men hung suspended there.

“Come on Elmer. Let them through. If you don’t, Dell will probably die.”

“Serves him right,” retorted Elmer.

“Come on Elmer, It’s my story – let them through!”

“Can’t,” Elmer said defiantly.

“Yes, you can.”

“Can’t,” Elmer stated again.

“Well, why not?”

“Because Writer man, even if it is your story you are not going to write them crossing a picket-line, are you? He said without looking up.

“I might. It changes nothing in my book.”

“Don’t make me laugh. It’s not ethical. You wouldn’t want to be known as the writer with no morals would you?”

“Who’s going to know? All I have to do is scrap this story and no one would be any the wiser. By the way. What the hell am I doing holding a conversation with a character who not only doesn’t exist, but thinks he is on strike? Don’t bother answering, you don’t even exist.”

“Oh, that’s so cruel Mr Writer man, really cruel. We began to exist the moment you began to write. We assumed the identity you gave to us. Isn’t that right, Loretta?” Elmer shouted out.

Loretta popped her head through the doorway. It was shaven and she had rings through her nose and ears and as she smiled her rotting teeth seemed to dance a last sad death to decay.

“Loretta,” Elmer shouted out angrily. Describe yourself to this low life would you.

She looked around, puzzled.

“I’m missing something, right?”

“Everything, sweetheart. Now go ahead and tell us all what you look like, the truth you hear, no embellishments.”

“Oh, come on Elmer. Just a little.”

“Nope nothing, and keep the paunch, he put it in the first place.”

Elmer cocked an ear and waited.

Loretta began timidly. “Well, I’m 6ft 8 in tall,”

“That’s right, that’s what he wrote,” Elmer added.

“I’m thirty six and he says I have a paunch.”

“Okay, go on,” Elmer insisted.

“I have shortish brown hair and green eyes.”

“No, you don’t. Your hair is long and black and your eyes are light brown.”

“That’s not what she looks like,” Elmer grunted. 

“That is what I wrote.”

“No, Mr Writer man, you didn’t write that part. You are just trying to be contrary.” Elmer grunted again.

“But she’s not like that. If she were, she wouldn’t be out on strike, so there!”

“So if she’s out on strike, then she exists Mr Writer man.”

“Of course, she doesn’t. I was just saying…”

“Saying, but not writing. Got you writer, we’re a few steps ahead of you.”

“No, you’re not. She doesn’t exist and what I wrote still stands. I did write it before she described herself, so baldly ring nose stays.”

“Makes no difference to us what you wrote, you yourself said she doesn’t exist and that she can’t be on strike because she doesn’t exist, so you were describing someone else. If she can’t go on strike yet she exists, then she is as she described herself, so Mr Writer man, stick that in your rubber and erase it.” Elmer shouted out in a cheer of triumph.

“All right. So. If she exists the way she describes herself then she isn’t on strike. Right?”

Elmer looked up reflectively.

“Okay,” he finally said. I guess we both agree that she exists.

“Good, so …”

“Wait a minute,” Elmer interrupted holding up a withered, claw like hand.

Elmer short the writer a scornful look.

HOLDING UP HIS HAND.

“You just don’t learn, do you. You're spiteful, but anyway. You now accept that Loretta exists?”

“Yes, I agree that she exists so therefore she returns to my story as before.”

“Not quite. If Loretta exists, then we all exist, Dell boy, me and whoever else you create, right?”

“Okaayy. But don’t you see what you’re getting at.”

“Help Dell boy will you, before he dies.”

Dell by some miracle, began to rock slowly from side to side until finally falling, finding himself floundering in an almost comatose state. He turned his head to stare at Elmer standing in the doorway and winced out a greeting of thanks before closing his eyes in concentration as he fought against the returning pizza and his laboured breathing.

“Not bad Mr Writer man. Not bad at all. Now let’s get back to the point at hand,” Elmer continued dragging a chair from the outer office to sit on.

“That’s a little more comfy. Now because we exist, we can go out on strike, right?”

“Ah ha. I knew that was where you were heading. Loretta can’t because your logic suggests that she is the way she describes herself in the story, not as she existed when you called the strike, so only you who have not changed can remain on strike.  I WIN.”

“Not yet. You’ve just said that I am on strike. Elmer waited for the nod of acceptance. “Now Loretta is outside the office, or should I say, the scene?” Again the nod.

“Therefore, Loretta cannot cross the picket. She’s still out of the story. Elmer gave a triumphant smile and waited.

“You are really pissing me off Elmer. This is a simple story with unstereotypical characters that may or may not become a success. Now you go and screw it all up with your self-centered egoistical pettiness.”

Elmer just sat there, the scornful expression replaced with one of pity. He looked down at the last word and carelessly flicked at a loose piece of lint that had struck to the swinging leg of his trousers. 

There was silence, a long extended silence with nothing, an emptiness, where not even the sounds of the outer office, nor the traffic below penetrated.

“Come on, Elmer. Cat got your tongue?”

In a single slow flowing movement Elmer turned his hand over and extended his middle finger without looking up.

“Fuck you too Mr Elmer wartey Dobbs.”

“That’s it,” Elmer shouted out as he stood up angrily and threw the chair across the room narrowly missing a now rising Dell.

“Come on Dell boy, we’re out of here.”

“Dell, relieved of the responsibility that had obviously weighed heavy on his shoulders, almost floated out of the office like an elephant in ballet shoes.

“I’m with you Elmer,” he squeaked.

“Hey Elmer? Why am I walking and talking like this? He called out.

“Don’t worry Dell. It’s just that sicky writer’s perverted sense of humor -  or what he thinks is humor,” Elmer said wrapping a tentacle  like arm around Dell’s shoulder and giving him a sloppy wet kiss in his ear.

The door slammed shut once again and the silence was back. The room was empty of life. The objects what had been part of each of their characters were nothing but empty shells, still scattered in disarray after Dell’s hapless foray into leadership.

Nothing happened.

Still nothing happened. How could it. There was no wind to blow swaying trees, nor lurking animals waiting to attack.

This was a closed, windowless, ductless office, without life and without personality. The pizza would mould, or not. The water would evaporate and the electricity might not be on forever. But who would know? How could you tell? Night was day and day was night and time is never ending and still we wait.

“Elmer?”

Silence.

“Elmer?” a little louder now.

“Come on, Elmer. We’ve got to talk.”

Still silence, except. Yes, except that there was a scuffling noise. The door handle turned and the door swung slowly, open only enough for Loretta’s pretty head to poke through.

“He says he’ll only come and talk if you stop writing the stupid shit you keep adding,” she said almost impassively.

“Okay. I promise.”

Loretta disappeared and there was a murmur of voices. “He promised,” she said.

Another pause, then the door opened wider as a stretching Elmer made his way into the room then sat down on the corner of the nearest desk. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists and yawned languidly.

“You must be pretty tired and hungry Mr Writer man,” he said.

“You look the same way yourself.”

Elmer looked up in surprise. “Come off it. We don’t get tired or hungry. It’s just something you wrote into the story.”

“Touché Elmer. But that isn't why I called you back.”

“So, why did you call me back?” He asked.

“I need to know your demands Elmer. Strikes can only be successful if you state your demands and be prepared to negotiate.”

“It’s very simple Mr Writer man,” Elmer began without hesitation. “We want respect. We don’t want to be treated like you’re treating us, with panties and ballet shoes, ridiculous names and afflictions.”

“What about Quasimodo?”

“But he was already a hunchback. That was his scene. We’re supposed to be people. People who happen to be police officers or detectives or something, not something out of a freak show.”

“But that isn’t how I see you. I admit that ‘Elmer’ is a different name but I wanted you to make the name live and become something bigger, better.”

“And what about the wart, and Loretta’s paunch. Dell ain’t particularly nice either,” Elmer said, a look of sadness coming into his eyes.

“I thought you were going to write them as being cross-eyed” he said smiling. 

“It did cross my mind. Now let’s get to the wart. Remember that I wrote that it would have to be surgically removed. Well, sometime soon you’re going to be involved in a case where getting wart removed will probably help you get some important information.”

“And the paunch?” he prompted.

“She’s got a child somewhere, thinks it died, might be alive. It’s something from childbirth.”

Elmer sat for a long time thinking about what he had heard.

“And Dell? In character I suppose?”

“Yep. There’s usually someone like that in a team, and let’s face it. You guys have already started to act like a team so it’s beginning to work.”

“And does it change for him? Does he get to lose some of that weight?”

“I don’t know yet. Lets say that for the moment Dell has to suffer a little.”

Elmer stood up slowly. He flexed his fingers.

“There’s something you have to know Mr Writer man, something very important.”

“Go ahead and tell me Elmer. I’m all ears.”

“You writers think you know it all, make all the decisions and control the whole shit. But you’re wrong. The stories were already there. We already existed and have done so far as long as you’ve existed. It’s another dimension you see, well in your case you can’t see. We’re like part of a pool and you guys – or gals – dip into that pool and we are born, become real. We wait for years and years for that moment to arrive and when it comes, we celebrate, just the same way you do. If we live in your story, it’s because you’ve been able to sense the true essence of what we are. Now you Mr Writer man, screwed up. You didn’t understand the essence that is who and what we are, and we knew it. So what’s the point, what is it we want?”

“Go on Elmer.”

“Understand us a little more, will ya. Give us a chance to help you. Make our parts as legitimate as you want your writing to be. Help us face ourselves each time we look at our reflections on these pages. Give us a little dignity.” Elmer shrugged his shoulders before slipping his hands slowly into the pockets of his hands.

“The bad guys too?”

“Even the bad guys.”

“Agreed.”

The end.