The refurbished firehouse that once housed the original Ghostbusters business was under siege by a small army of workmen. The old “No Ghosts” logo, now dilapidated by years of disuse, came crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.
The workmen fought back sneezes as a cloud of dust wafted into the air.
A group of men struggled with a pulley as a new logo was hoisted into place over the main entrance of the building. It looked exactly like the old logo, but now the trapped ghost in the red circle held up two fingers.
Venkman strolled up to the firehouse and gazed at the Ghostbusters’ shiny new symbol. Nice, he thought. Very, very nice.
Inside the firehouse’s reception area, Janine Melnitz, a veteran New Yorker and the Ghostbusters’ first (and only) receptionist/aide, hastily set up her desk. She spread out family photos. A Garfield doll. Bound editions of Cosmopolitan. She hardly noticed Louis as he waddled out with a handful of forms. Louis certainly noticed Janine. Why was it he had never seen how pretty she was? Oh, yeah, now he remembered. The last time he had been in the firehouse, he had been possessed by a demon.
Louis tiptoed up to Janine’s desk, clearing his throat. He sounded like Shirley Temple with a hairball. “Uh, Janine? I’m filling out W-2 forms for the payroll and I need your Social Security number.”
Janine carefully positioned her Garfield doll. “It’s 129-45-8986.”
Louis produced a small pad from his shirt pocket and jotted down the number. “Oh,” he said, wheezing. “That’s a good one. Mine is 322-36-7366.”
Janine gazed up at Louis. You know, she thought, Louis was kind of cute in a Wild Kingdom sort of way. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Three threes and three sixes.”
“Uh-huh,” Louis acknowledged.
“That’s very strong in numerology,” she continued, running a hand through her mousy brown hair. “It means you’re a person with a great appetite for life and a deeply passionate nature.”
Louis blinked, embarrassed. He almost fogged his glasses. “You can tell all that from my Social Security number?”
The sparrowlike Janine leaned forward and smiled. “Oh, yes. Numbers are very revealing. If I knew your phone number, I could tell you a lot more.”
Louis swallowed hard. “My phone number?”
Venkman chose that moment to march into the room. Both Louis and Janine snapped to immediately.
“Louis, how are we doing on that bank loan?” Venkman asked.
Louis cleared his throat. “Oh, I called the bank this morning… but they hung up on me.”
“Try another bank.” Venkman shrugged. “Do I have to do everything around here?”
Venkman looked up as Stantz, Spengler, and Winston walked sheepishly downstairs wearing the Ghostbusters’ uniforms Venkman had commissioned for their new incarnation. The uniforms were designed in a weirded-out, military style in Day-Glo colors, dripping with medals, and topped by ridiculous berets. Venkman took note of the trio’s embarrassed faces and tried to bluff his way through it.
“Incredible!” he oozed. “This is a very good look!”
Winston heaved a heavy sigh. “We look like the Bronxville High School Marching Band.”
Venkman sidled up to the trio. “Will you just trust me on this? It’s all part of the new plan—higher visibility, lower overhead, deeper market penetration, bigger profits Just wait until we open the boutique.”
Stantz blinked. “What boutique?”
Venkman took him by the arm and pointed to the sky outside the firehouse. “The Ghostbusters Gift Boutique,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s a natural. I’ve been working on it all day.”
He whipped a small piece of paper from his pants pocket and began reading. “You’ll love it. Ghostbuster T-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, visors, beach towels, mugs, calendars, stationery, balloons, stickers, Frisbees, paperweights, souvenirs, tote bags, party supplies, motor oil, toys, video games.”
Spengler frowned. “Our primary concern should be the continued integrity of the biosphere. It’s a responsibility shared by all conscious beings.”
Venkman stared at Spengler. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
Stantz turned to Venkman. “Look, Venkman, we don’t have time for this. We’ve got customers waiting—paying customers. You can wear pink diapers and go-go boots if you want. We’re sticking with the old coveralls.” The three Ghostbusters marched back up the stairs. Venkman trotted up behind them.
“Coveralls,” he shouted. “Great! Very imaginative, Ray. They make us look like we should be walking around the airport sprinkling sawdust on puke!”
Stantz shouted down from above. “We’re wearing them. And that’s final!”
Venkman took this in and shouted up, with a smile, “Okay, we’ll wear coveralls—but think boutique!”