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Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Ink Inc. Part Four   Two weeks later Terry was up to his elbows in pig shit. Terry’s enthusiasm, generated by his lust for revenge, had an unplanned effect. His cheerful energy had actually landed him an interview, and subsequently, a shovel job. Terry had intended to be an annoying stalker wannabe who failed to gain employment. All he'd wanted was information. When they offered the bottom rung minimum wage shit job, Terry was too stunned to turn it down. Now, as the manure man, he didn’t even sound strange for asking a gazillion questions. The existing staff chalked up his inquisitiveness to his baffling thirst for zoological knowledge. He’d been given a guided tour of the facilities, an access card, and two pairs of dark tan overalls. As a part time night shift cleaner, his life alternated in bad smells: decomposing garbage by day, animal shit by night, repeat in perpetuity. In three weeks time, Terry became a fixture at the zoo. Between his demeanor and his position he even earned a nickname: Scoop. The pigs were energetic little bastards. Until Terry learned of way to calm them down, there'd be no way to carry out the big operation. That is, until he learned about dietary adjustments, a politically correct term used by the staff. It meant drugging animals via their diets to keep them nice and sedate. It kept the more violent species from declaring mutiny. Now he had a method to zap their peppy piggy power. The zoo had transport vehicles, which solved yet another dilemma. The last problem was security and surveillance. The challenges melted away, one by one, as Terry formulated the scenario in his mind, refining it until no devious craftmanship could improve it any further. Finally, on a warm May evening, Terry finished shoveling shit and made an extra visit to the pigs’ sleeping pen. He fed them laced treats, careful to make sure each pig got one each. Off he went to the staff office, where he clocked out for the evening. Finally, he stopped in at security before he left. “Hey Earl, the pigpen camera is buzzing. Dunno what’s wrong with it.” “I’ll let Leandra know tomorrow. She can call a repair tech. I can’t see anything on it. Looks like it got covered in mud or shit. No big surprise, knowing them little bacon factories. G’night, Scoop.” “Night, Earl. See you later.” He walked home, unaffected by the gnats and flies following him around like a frenetic aura. Everything was ready. Time for an inventory. Tattoo gun? Check. Blue ink? Plenty. Stolen transport keys? In his pocket. Mallet? Present and accounted for. If any of the pigs got frisky, Terry could thump it one square and put it back under for a few. Finally, stencils. Lots and lots of carefully made stencils of corporate logos, one each for every one of the primary sponsors of the tattoo lottery. Last but not least, whiskey. Never know when that might come in handy. Terry accessed the zoo and snuck to the pigpen without incident. The night crews that manned security or looked after animal emergencies were all finished with their rounds, and were by now gathered in a circle playing poker by the peacock lookout. The oinkers were laid out sleeping. Some were so peaceful they looked dead. (Terry checked, all were breathing deeply.) Terry hoisted up a heavy little pork chop onto a hay pile outside of the pen. With scotch tape he attached a SUBWAY stencil to the pig’s torso and started inking the outline. When the needle pierced hide, the pig twitched but didn’t wake. It seemed okay. Twenty minutes later, the pig was bleeding from the completed logo outline. Terry moved him to an empty pen to rest. He went back for another. At four A.M Terry finished tattooing his final outline, this one the Ameriprise Financial logo, which looked like an asterisk. He had two dozen bleeding pigs, many of them beginning to bleat and stir, angry about the sore patches on their hides, ignorant of the hideous violation that had been branded with ink upon each of them. Before they got too riled up, Terry needed to get them on a truck. After that? Well, then came the difficult part. 4:38 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm 
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