Brought to you by Freedom Cola. In the beginning there was freedom. A marketing word so overused the word itself was stripped of all meaning. It seems like gibberish there, now, in front of the word cola.
“I tell you, it’s going to be one of those days,” sighed Thomas Middle. “One of those days when you fall into a pit and turn toward the sky and scream, ‘Help, I've fallen in a pit!’ And a crowd assembles above because they think it’s performance art. Even when you shout ‘It’s not performance art. I have fallen in a pit. Who put the pit here?’ Which was the wrong thing to say, because then the crowd became excited about the audience participation portion of what they thought was a performance art piece. And they began, one and all, to debate who, who would put a pit there so a man could fall in it and spark debate? Yes sir, one of those days.”
“And then the man from the Ace Cement Truck company came. And he had a dump truck full of cement which had been scheduled to be poured into the pit that morning. And he was screaming, ‘Out the way! Got a load of cement to deposit!’
And I shouted, ‘I don't want any cement!’
And there was so much murmuring and excitement up there he couldn't tell that my response was coming from down here.
And he shouted, ‘It’s not really cement when it's wet. Least I never think of it that way. I always think of it as cement with added water that is yet to be concrete. Potential concrete. It's my sunny outlook on life, which has done nothing but harden in my years in this business.’
And I shout again, ‘No cement!’
And he says, ‘Cheerio!’ and dumps a load of wet cement on me.
Yep. One of those days.”
A voice from above announces: “You’re watching Stuck in the Middle with everyone's favorite little man Thomas Middle.”
Middle, having struggled up to the surface, at least his right arm and his neck and head, says, “Oh, Dear!” An unseen audience laughs welcomingly.
“Stuck in the Middle is brought to you daily by Freedom Cola and the Privatized Waterworks Amalgamated.”
Thomas Middle says, “Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear.” The audience erupts again as a light comedic jingle signifies the beginning of the program.
“My, that was a sticky situation,” says Middle. “Now if I can just get out of here.” He struggles. “Mphh. Umph. Useless. No worries. I, a modern man, have both patience and verisimilitude. I can get by.” He is quiet for a while. “Ridiculous that a crowd always disperses after the screaming stops.” He hums. He is quiet. Then he screams, “Help! Help!”
“Oh, dear. Never a copper when you need one!”
A policeman arrives and the audience cheers. “What’s all this, then?” he asks.
“Officer! I was walking along and fell in a pit! Then the cement man nearly buried me alive in wet cement!”
“No, No,” says the policeman, “There is no such thing as wet cement. Cement is a powder. Granulated. Wet cement is just concrete that is yet to be. In fact, not even that certain, concrete which may yet be, determined by the circumstances, the mix, the set, whatall…”
“Yes,” says Middle, “Well I was nearly buried alive in potential concrete which is potentially becoming concrete concrete around me now. Help?”
“Well,” says the officer, “You tell an interesting story, but you’re blocking the road. I must ask you to vacate that spot immediately or face retributive action of the state.”
“Retributive action of the state? Just dig me out.”
“Your well being is your own regard in this life, Mister Middle. You can’t depend on the good will of the collective to help you out in times of trouble, now, can you? Stand up for yourself Mister Middle. Pull yourself out of your own troubles. And get out of the street. Now, here, sign this ticket for obstruction of a throughway and loitering.”
“Five hundred pounds!”
“If you don’t like it, would you like me to run you in?”
“Yes, please!”
“Well, tough. I don’t want to do the paperwork. Just be gone by tomorrow. And pay the ticket by the end of the month. Penalties accrue.” He leaves.
Thomas Middle says, “Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear.” The audience erupts again as a light comedic jingle signifies the beginning of the commercial break.
A little girl skips over to Middle. “Are you thirsty Mister Middle?” she asks.
“Oh, yes, dear child. And do you have a shovel?”
“I have Freedom Cola and that’s made from Privatized Waterworks Amalgamated water. You know what they say, Mister Middle, in this life you don’t own water, you rent it.”
“Except,” says Middle, “for the people who own the water sources.”
“Yes,” says the girl, “But they are water providers. And if we didn’t have water providers how would we ever get water at prevailing market cost?”
“Well said, little miss. And do you have a shovel. A pick axe?”
“I have Freedom Cola made from Privatized Waterworks Amalgamated water!”
“Well, it is awfully hot. I’ll take a cup.”
“Five pounds!”
“Five pounds! Your stand on the corner says a shilling!”
“Mister, it’s a shilling over there. Over here it’s five pounds.”
“Oh, Dear… FINE. If you could help dig me out I could get my wallet…”
“I’m a salesgirl, not a rescue worker. I can run a tab but you have to pay a high interest of 35 percent compounded…”
“FINE.”
The girl places the cup of Freedom Cola in front of the man.
“Now, I have some limited mobility issues, Could you give me a hand?”
The girl claps enthusiastically. “Very nice Mister Middle.”
The unseen audience laughs.
The girl leaves.
Thomas Middle says, “Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear.” The audience erupts again as a light comedic jingle signifies the end of the commercial break and resumption of the program proper.
“Excuse me, Miss! Miss! You Who!”
“I’m waiting for a bus. I don’t talk to scruffy street people.”
“I’m not a street person, Miss, I’m Thomas Middle!”
“You’re actually sunk in the street. Street person.”
“Well, yes,” said Middle. “Do you have a shovel?”
“Do I look like I have a shovel?”
“Hope abides, Miss. I think I really need a pick axe. You haven’t one of them, do you?”
“Be quiet.”
“I’ve been nice and polite. I have every right to speak. This is still a free country. And I’m here, minding my own business stuck in the street. Trying to better myself. Mmpthpt.”
A sloshing dribbling sound of Freedom Cola being poured out over Middle’s head. “Hey, I BOUGHT THAT FREEDOM COLA. On credit!”
“And You got it, didn’t you?”
“I never wanted it poured on my head. Now I’ll be sticky! Oh, Dear.”
“Don’t call me ‘Dear’ you Nasty little man.”
“You just can’t talk with some people,” says Middle. The audience laughs.
The sound of a bus pulling away.
“Life certainly does have its unexpected pitfalls,” says Middle. The audience chuckles.
A young voice cries: “News! Infotainment! Frequently requested tips for what to do about being trapped in thickening concrete! Celebrity death pools!”
“Newsboy! Newsboy!” shouted Middle, “Over here!”
“Hey Mister Middle. Want in on the celebrity death pool?”
“I was interested in the tips on thickening concrete escape. But… While I’m here, what’s the hot celebrity action now?”
“Well, while you’re here, things aren’t looking good for Thomas Middle, are they?”
“The tip, boy, the tip.”
“Five pounds.”
“Outrag… FINE. But my wallet is in my pants in the cement. If you could give me a hand…”
“Your pants ain’t none of my concern mister. I can give you a tip on credit. 45 percent interest compounded…”
“FINE. Agreed.”
“Here’s the tip.”
“I’m listening.”
“Watch where you’re stepping.”
“What?”
“Don’t walk into open pits. Be aware of your surroundings, Middle. An ounce of prevention is worth more than all the troubles occurring due to the lack of preparedness. I’m giving you a real value with this tip.”
“You Little…”
“See ya, Middle! Like in the middle of the street!”
The newsboy runs down the street whooping.
“It’s one thing to be presented with fake news, but rather another to be expected to pay for it in the end,” says Middle, as the audience laughs. This fulfills the social education portion of the show.
“You, sir, stuck in the street!” comes a strong female voice.
“Me?” says Middle.
“Do you see another man stuck in the street?”
“Well, I can’t turn around…”
“I represent the rescue association. I am prepared to offer you escape. Yes, sweet escape. Freedom. Like the cola.”
“Ah,” says Middle, “Freedom Cola.”
“Exactly,” said the rescue woman. “But the cola is extra. Freedom Sweet Freedom. Its value is unmeasurable.”
“Yes,” says Middle. “How could one put a price on Freedom.”
“Oh, Mister Middle. You've been stuck in the street a long time, poor man. You can put a price on anything.”
“Are you intending to charge me for rescue?”
“Not at ALL, Mister Middle. The rescue is free. That’s a humanitarian service. It’s immoral to charge for that.”
“It is a Christian Nation.”
“Oh, yes, Mister Middle. We charge only for the method of rescue. I suggest we pull you out of there. Get you on your feet again. Eight thousand pounds.”
“I DON’T HAVE THAT!”
“We are a modern rescue association. We do extend credit.”
“FINE. I’ll pay you. You, the newsboy, the cola stand girl, the policeman’s blasted ticket… No matter how long…”
“OH, Mister Middle. I can’t extend credit to you if you’re overextended.”
“But…”
“No, sir! This is an era of fiscal responsibility. You pay all those older debts and then we’ll talk.”
“Why you…”
“I don’t deal with bums! Good day!” She leaves.
“I am so angry. URRRGG. MMMMPH. AAARRGH.” Heavy breathing. “I’ve pulled myself free with the last of my strength. I think the Freedom Cola weakened the concrete as it was setting. I’ve made my own rescue in the end. With Freedom Cola, of course.”
“Mister Middle!” The audience cheers as the policeman reenters. “That is a nasty hole you left in the street.”
“That is a nasty hole I escaped from.”
“You can explain that to the judge. Property destruction. Anarchism. Bet you don’t even pay your bills.”
Thomas Middle says, “Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear, Oh, Dear.” The audience erupts again as a light comedic jingle signifies the end of the program.
The policeman turns to the camera and says, “Stay tuned for The Last Unicorn. Professor Johnstone found the last unicorn in a small wood, taped off for clearing. She knew no one would believe her. That is how the series of deplorable events which followed began. There are laws against it now, as usual, too late. And tune in again tomorrow as Thomas Middle has adventures in the private debt prison system.
“It was a true exposé of the evils of the economic system on the average person just trying to get by in a system where the dollar takes precedence over human worth,” said Richard. “Disgusting. Low level economic exploitation. Happens all the time. The system is built on it.”
“I love it,” said Sunny. “Tell me, is there a Mrs. distinguished scientist waiting next door?”
“Sunny!” said Rain.
“Just curious.”
Richard looked downhearted. “Sadly my wife passed on a number of years ago. It was an accident. An experimental sex accident involving an Orgone energy machine and a reading from Aleister Crowley. It… went all wrong I’m afraid. Perpetual orgasm. A time travel incident, accidental. She was hurtled backwards in time. I still await a sign.”
“It is so sad,” said Rain. “But I’m here for you.”
“We all are,” said Sunny.
“Good people always come together in times of trouble,” said the clown.
“Now that’s the truth,” said Frankie. “Trouble defines who is your true friend. When I was a younger person I was on the run. I was wanted everywhere I went. But who were they to objectify me in a way I didn’t agree to? So I became another person. My true self. But sometimes you have to let your spirit free, damnit. I gotta fly like a bird. Free. I gotta be me.”
“When I was eighteen it was the World Fair in Seattle, 1962,” said Rain. “And the pavilions were filled with the goods and services of the future, though now, in that future, it is easy to see that those promises were broken. Everyone was there to gawk. And I got my first job after high school. I worked on the adult section of the boardwalk in a stage show called Peep. It was constructed so that patrons would peep in through holes in the walls and watch us gals as we went about our day for them. Reading magazines, curling our hair, taking showers. So many showers a day I felt like a silly mermaid. Mermaids are silly because they spend all their time wishing they were humans, though they know the risks, while humans wish they were mer-folk, for a grass is greener urge, all very silly. But I worked there all through the fair. Six months. But I tell you, it beat being in the secretarial pool. And boy do people like to watch a lady read! There was no theater showing men lounging through the day which I thought was odd. But it didn’t keep me from cashing the checks. It’s also better than working the tourist traps where ladies dress up in mermaid costumes and swim in a tank for tips. What can I say, wage labor stinks. Like dead fish at low tide at an off season beach resort.”
“You know what I think,” said Sunny. “I think I’ve been naked the last two hours and the rest of you ought to join me and let’s get down. No more pussy footing, unless that’s your thing. And the odds are, it isn’t. But no one will judge.”
“Well,” said Richard, “I do have some research waiting…”
“Damn your research,” said Rain. “It all means nothing without the human element. Skin to skin contact is important for physical and mental health. That’s the human element. The problem sometimes is people think too damned much.”
The clown was already rubbing his body against Frankie and Sunny started rubbing her bare feet through his wavy clown hair, a plush red carpet of lust untamed, driving him wild.
Richard took off his coat and pants, which he was folding neatly.
There was a knock at the door.
Rain walked to the door, saying, “Better be good!” and whipped it open. Outside was a man in a black suit and hat. He held up a badge in a leather case. “FBI agent Danger. Mitch Danger. I need to talk to you.”
“Buzz off, I hate cops,” Rain said.
Danger pulled a gun. Rain stepped back and let him in, walking in front of him, hands up. She looked angry.
They entered a living room filled with three naked people and a clown.
“I can explain this,” said Richard. “Logically.”
“Hi,” said Sunny. “My name is Sunny. I love role-play.”
“Every one of us plays his or her role,” said Danger, “Good or ill.”
“Oh, goodie!” Sunny said.
“No. No goodies, ma’am,” said Danger.
“Mitch,” said Richard. “How you’ve changed. You are literally a black hat. A villain.”
“I am the best of both worlds my dear old chum,” said Danger, “A double agent. Always was. Traveling in both worlds. It gives me the freedom to be the man I wish to be at any given opportunity.”
“Opportunist,” Rain said.
“I’ve been tailing you for years. I was infiltrating you and the AI department at the college years ago. I know your work. Your accident where you lost your wife Heather. I am sorry about that. But you are to blame.”
“Whatever happened to your girlfriend Mimi?” asked Richard.
“Making plates at Leavenworth,” said Danger. “The traitor. Wouldn’t name names. Prison. Prison, were she belongs.”
“The Gulag,” said Richard. “She wasn’t even a member of the party. She was trying to get close to you. Misplaced love.”
“And that is not an endeavor without its share of risk,” said Danger. “My name is Danger. I hide nothing I don’t mean to.”
Danger pulled a magazine from the inside of his jacket and threw it at the couch. “Look at it. A scientist. In a dirty magazine.”
“Cool,” said Sunny. “An old style nudist magazine. I want to read the cartoons.”
“Cartoons always add a certain something to a publication,” said Frankie. “People like them.”
“Smut!” said Danger. “Challenging the prevailing mores regarding decorum! Already embarrassing your country by fraternizing and spreading communist ideology, but casual nudity? You go too far. This is beyond communism. This is Free Communism.”
“Yes,” said Richard, “It is.”
“There are things you’ve heard about the FBI,” said Danger. “They are all true. Cointelpro. Surveillance society. Vote rigging. Assassination. Propaganda. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a liberal. A classic liberal. I supported the war in Vietnam, I support Business, Manifest Destiny. I’m a true American. A Democrat. Just look at that smut. Just look.”
Sunny leafed through the old magazine, Modern Nudist, as the others gathered ‘round.