Working Man's Pay- Part 1

Joe Deiner, Asyl- 2019 AD

Dumping the old place was the best move I ever made thought Joe Deiner as he stared out the bus window. Dad's dream was my golden trap. Asyl had been going downhill ever since World War Two. By the time his Dad died and stuck him with the old Asyl Locker Plant and Butcher Shop in 2004 most people bought their meat at Coborn's or Wal*Mart in Montevideo. The regular farmers had all been swallowed up by the feedlots that contracted with Armour or IBP to process their livestock. Hed learned to get by on doing custom work for the organic livestock crowd, processing deer for hunters and selling some grocery staples in the shop's front room. His family sausage recipes had still won awards at the county fair in Monte- while there'd been one. He and Alice did OK, but it was never again like the old days. There had been no real future for years, when the LOOZ declaration sealed Asyl's, and Joe's, fate. The LOOZ declaration was a windfall for Joe and Alice. He could escape, and put his meat cutting skills to good use in an AgriCorp job in Austin, she could work in the AgriCorp daycare and twelveyear-old Britney could go to the big AgriCorp grade school. No more would they have to watch cable and dream of escaping from the sticks. The day their Relocation bus rolled through the Montevideo checkpoint was the day their new life truly had begun. As good as the change felt, the ride to Austin still took several hours- plenty of time for Joe to daydream about the events that had led to their liberation. Joe had seen a lot of change in his 42 years. When he was a kid Asyl had had two cafes, a hardware store, two full-service gas stations, two grain elevators, a grocery store next to the locker plant, a drug store, a library, a weekly paper, a bank, a Legion hall, and a K through 12 school. The school had started fading first, going from K-12 to 5-6 in the '90s, then closing completely in 2005. He'd ended up going to the new combined high school way out in the country; All the towns around had been so jealous of each other that none would allow the new school to be built in any of the others. By 2013 all those businesses were gone but the Locker, a cardtrol gas station, and the Legion. Asyl had become a trap- and with the whole country's economy in the toilet, where could they go anyway? About the only business that had prospered, to the consternation of normal people, had been the Asyl Village Folk Arts School. They kept holding classes without interruption, and brought in big crowds for the annual Fall Arts Crawl- until it was canceled. They'd also brought lots of foreigners and hippietypes to live in Asyl, which was OK with Joe since those ended up being most of his customers. They had funny ideas about local self-sufficiency though. They got their wish- let's see how well they do on their own while I'm sitting pretty in Austin! A few days after the President's LOOZ announcement, Joe had been sitting at the bar in the Legion with a couple of the remaining guys, talking about what would happen next. Here's ta 'Murcan ingenuity! declared Sven Olafson, raising his glass of beer. 'Nuff strugglin' in this shithole town! Onnard! Olaf was hoping to move to St. Paul to work at the river docks. Amen ta that! seconded Joe. They all agreed as how it was about time this place got closed down, stupid looser town. They turned to look as the door opened. A short, balding man in an expensive suit walked in, looked around, and headed toward the trio.

Good evening, Mr Olafson, he said in his smarmy used car salesman's voice, slapping Sven on the shoulder. I take it that you're sharing your wise plans with your friends? Sven stood up, practically drooling. Oh ja, Mister Erhart sir! Let me buy you a drink! Ed raised a hand and shook his head. No, at least allow me to treat you fine gentlemen. Barkeep, a Coors for me and a round of whatever these fellows are having. Ed Erhart slid onto a stool with practiced ease. Before he'd become a company exec, let alone Administrator of Midwestern LOOZes for AgriCorp, he had been a seed salesman, and had spent many evenings at this very bar. He sipped his beer and smacked with enjoyment, saying, God, but I've missed the simple pleasures. Executive life takes over everything. Have you fellows all made your plans then? Steve Thomas admitted that he had, but Joe shook his head. Joe, Joe, a go-getter like you has to have a plan, he oozed. I remember your Dad. No grass grew under his feet. What would he say? I really don't know, sir, but he did like to think things through. A wise habit in a man of action. Can I give you something to think about? Fire away, Administrator. Ed, call me Ed, Joe. Ed. Good. Now you're a skilled meat worker, right Joe? Know your way around a carcass? I should guess so. Right. AgriCorp can use people like you in our meat packing plants. When I tried to apply before they said I was too old, and over-qualified. Erhart frowned. Those days are gone! It's a new world! he declared, brightening and punching Joe's shoulder. They have to put you wherever I say, on whatever terms we decide! Joe sat up straight and looked in Ed's eyes. What can you offer? The whole package. Job, housing, school for Britney, a solid job for Alice. Let's talk details. Later that evening Joe walked in and told Alice that they were rescued. The bus comes in two weeks. Let's start packing. Here's what we can take. A few days later, while Joe was straightening up the little that remained in the shop, Asyl's Mayor, Jody Neihaus, walked in. I hear that you're leaving us, Joe. she said. Ja, I guess I'm justa rat, he said, 'Cause this sure is a sinking ship. Not necessarily Joe. We're a community. You've been part of it all your life. We can make a go of it, but it would go better with your skills aboard. Joe snorted and thumped the counter that he was wiping down. And what? Cut filet mignon for you and your artsy-fart hippie friends? No, Mayor, I have to take this chance for Brittneys sake. She doesn't need to rot in this dying town, especially now that it's about to be buried. This is our chance. Your Dad would be ashamed, Joe. He never backed off from a challenge. If he had, after he got back

from 'Nam, you wouldn't be here. Nor did his Dad, nor his... What do you know about brave, Mayor? I remember your prissy self from High School, ya know. Jody stared coldly at him. You. Know. What. I. Know. Joe. Joe blushed, looked down and mumbled, Ja, I-- ja. Sorry. I forgot. He raised his head and whispered, But we're still going. OK. Go, then. she waved as if shooing flies and shook her head in disgust. I won't tell you what to do, but that world will eat you alive, and you know it. A few days later, they were on the bus, which was picking people up all along a route from Fargo to Austin. Many were farm families, utterly dispossessed by the AgriCorp consolidation of their farms. The bus proceeded mostly parallel to the Minnesota River, passing empty farms and towns. The roads were rough and potholed, with many bridges temporary replacements. Some fields seemed to be thriving, while others were parched, flooded or wind-flattened in no real pattern. The bus was mostly quiet as its cargo contemplated the ends of their old lives, and the hopeful beginnings of new ones. In a few hours they reached Austin, Minnesota, once famous as the headquarters of Hormel and the birthplace of Spam, and now a regional hub of AgriCorp's meat packing arm. Workers were building a high razor-wire-topped hurricane fence around the city, with checkpoint gates for the highway- you couldn't be too careful where food security was involved. A week didn't go by without Homeland Security announcing that they'd foiled another plot by either foreign terrorists or domestic agitators. When the bus pulled up to the high school with several others, everyone was herded into the gym. Uniformed guards stood alongside all the huge room's doors. A bored-looking gray-haired woman with an electronic clipboard called out repeatedly, One representative from each family to the check-in lines at the right. All others to the waiting area on the left. One representative... On the left were long tables with snacks and drinks, and a couple of children's play areas. Joe joined the line A-H. When his turn came, he presented his paperwork to the equally bored-looking clerk half his age. She looked up his name on a screen, then pulled four stuffed colored folders from large bins. These are your assignment packets. Do not lose them, she explained. She pointed at the cover of the first. The blue is your work assignment- Plant Seven, Kill Floor. But I'm a skilled worker, Joe protested. I was told that I'd be in Meat Cutting. She looked up incredulously. Were you ever in the military? Just the Guard, in Afghanistan. Then you should know that recruiters will tell you anything to get you to sign. If you do well, and the Company needs you for something else, you'll move up. Maybe. She looked past him: Next! The other three packets were Alice's work assignment, their housing assignment and Brittney's school assignment. He found Alice, and they went over the paperwork together. All residents for Family House Five please meet me at the west door for transport! a handsome

young man in a white polo shirt with the AgriCorp logo in red called out as he walked among the tables. Of course, he had a fancy electronic clipboard with an earpiece in one ear. All residents... That's us, said Joe. Let's go. They gathered up their paperwork, found Brittney, and walked out the proper door. Hey folks, I'm Shawn, your Block Captain, said the too-cheerful, Christopher Reed/Jude Law handsome fellow. Let's see your folder- the yellow one. He scanned its cover notes, then offered his hand. Welcome aboard, Deiners. Go right on the bus. Joe has the nagging feeling that he'd seen Shawn somewhere before. Soon the small bus was filled. Enthusiastic Shawn climbed aboard with a taciturn, uniformed older driver. He stood at the front, facing the passengers, and raised his hands for silence. Quiet down, folks. Quiet down. Again, I'm Shawn, your Block Captain. My job is to help you all get sorted out. Any problems, come to me. We're heading to your apartments in Family House Five. It'll take about five minutes. Any questions will be answered during the tour. During the short ride Shawn gave a quick talk about how they were embarking on the Great Experiment, wherein all true Americans would work together to build the Perfect State for the Greater Good, to take them on into a glorious future. Joe thought Ja, it's all doubletalk. I've put up with that before. Just give me a break and I'll take it. Family House Five turned out to be a converted nursing home. Someone asked Shawn what had happened to the people who had lived there before. Oh, don't worry. They've all be taken care of. All the different nursing homes have been consolidated. It's more efficient. Inside the front doors was a large lobby, which extended into a cafeteria space. From that space led three long hallways, a serving window and a few other doors. Just inside the entry door, commanding a view down all three hallways, was a substantial desk and counter with several video screens inset. Shawn pointed out, All numbers from 100 to 190 are down the left hallway, 200-290 down the center, and 300-390 down the right. Couples get one room, families adjoining suites. Now, everybody go find your apartments. The numbers are listed on your packets. We'll meet back here in ten minutes! The Deiners easily found their place, rooms 260 and 262. Each was the size of a smallish motel room, with a bed, dresser, desk and big screen television. Their labeled boxes from Asyl were already piled beside and on the beds. The two rooms connected through the bathroom. Alice was underwhelmed. It's pretty small, she complained. And there's no kitchen. Joe was confident that everything would work out OK. These guys aren't out to screw us over, after all. We'll manage. What else can we do? A few minutes later, back in the cafeteria, Shawn bubbled with enthusiasm as he pointed out the features of the big room. We'll share all meals here, morning, noon and night. The cooks know our schedules and will have all kinds of good things for us. A woman raised a hand. We? Will you be living here too? Well, of course! I can't be Captain of our Block if I don't LIVE on our Block, now can I? Shawn's slightly petulant response gave a name to Joe's niggling feelings. He whispered to Alice, The

kid's a Richard Simmons clone! Quiet back there! Shawn snapped. We're going to be a family, but one of the Family's rules is that when others are talking, especially me, the rest are quiet, OK? OK, Joe grunted. Shawn made a mark on his clipboard. Now, notice the fine security here. That desk will be manned by a guard 24/7. Once we're established, one of you will also be on duty there to watch the monitors. He proudly beamed, There's no kind of trouble that can't be handled from there- fire, family, medical, equipment, or terroristic malcontents. On the right is the kitchen window. Serving times are posted. There'll be snacks until 10:00, and special swerving hours for people who pull odd shifts. We know your work schedules. We know when you need to be where. We know what you need to eat. We all want to be healthy, patriotic citizens, don't we? To the left are the nurse's office, which is staffed at various times, and the door to my office and room. You'll see me wandering the halls to help people day and night. If something or someone doesn't seem right don't hesitate to call on me. I'm 911 on your phone. He wiggled a small cell phone in the air. And I always have mine with me. Non-denominational church is also in this area, Sunday mornings and evenings, with study and discussion groups on Wednesday night. He gave a hard look around the crowd. Unless you're at work, attendance is mandatory. Building a healthy family together takes hard work and focus. The rest of the nights and weekends are yours, with a lot of planned fun extras that I just know you'll LOVE. The same woman who had asked whether Shawn would be living there said, This sounds like Socialism to me! Shawn's enthusiastic smile barely wavered, but took on a hint of the Evil Clown as he answered, It's only Socialism when the government does it- Big Momma takes care of everything. She even kicks out God. This is Fascism, where the corporations provide- suck it up and be a man, 'cause baby's got no momma to run to. God's on our side because we honor Him. He made a note on his clipboard. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. We've got everything- including a keeper. I wonder what's happening in Asyl? Joe had barely left town when the Company remodeling crew showed up at the Locker. They straightened up the shop so that it looked as though it was still in business, then men in sealed hazard suits came in and sprayed everything with a layer of hard, clear plastic. They then left through the back door, bolting a solid metal cover over the door behind them. They went down the line breaking into every shop from the back and erecting fake business displays behind every window. Meanwhile, other crews cleaned and painted every shop front, and erected colorful awnings. These, too, were sealed in impermeable, fireproof plastic, embalming them into mocking eidolons of healthy businesses. The LOOZers would never be allowed to forget what they'd abandoned. Every twenty feet, another crew erected 12-foot poles, securely set in concrete along the curb. To each they then affixed two video screens and speakers, with warning placards: DO NOT TAMPER. EXPLOSIVES WILL DETONATE. SECURITY WILL BE SUMMONED. This crew was accompanied by two Augment cyborg guards, brandishing automatic rifles.

There was no mistaking that Main Street now belonged to AgriCorp. Whatever their doubts, Joe and Alice were determined to make the best of the situation. When their wake-up call came through the ceiling speakers the next morning, the three quickly washed up, dressed, and headed for the cafeteria. Shawn was waiting there, along with breakfast. As each picked up their trays of oatmeal, juice, coffee or tea, and bacon, he urged them onward. Chop, chop, folks. We don't want too be late for our first day! After half an hour's chewed conversation with their new neighbors, several buses pulled up out front. At the plant, Joe learned that automation had come a long way when he saw his work suit. Maybe the kill floor won't be so bad with this he thought. The suit looked a little like a pair of padded, scarlet coveralls with mittens and attached red rubber boots. But with the hood pulled up and snugged, and the visor over his face, Joe was insulated from the outside world. His every movement was amplified by synthetic muscles in the suit's armored padding. Knives, saws and stunners slid from sheathes along his arms at his thought. By himself he could take a hog or steer from on the hoof to rough-dressed in less than three minutes, ready to be swung along for further processing. Within his air-conditioned cocoon, Joe blessed the USA, where a working man could have such a life. Eventually, Joe and Alice became a typical couple for their day. They worked hard, he at the Plant, she at the Company Day Care. Brittney spent a lot of time with group activities, run by Shawn's assistants and people from the school. They had a lot of time alone together, and made love occasionally, out of boredom. They watched the Company Network constantly. They ate Company food, with all its healthy additives. They went to Company church and thought Company thoughts. Joes job got easier and more fun. His suit got upgrades almost every week. Finally he got a model with auditory filters, so he didnt have to listen to the tumult of the killing floor. Alice noticed the difference. You aint so worn out at night these days. She said after supper one evening. Whats up? Och, its my new work suit, he explained. Its a heckava thing. I dont gotta listen to the stock no more. Its quiet in there. I can listen ta music. Anybody needs me, that I can hear. I can even get phone calls! She smiled suggestively. So, if ya aint worn out, whattaya up for? she said. He pushed back from the table. Well, hey. Any other night, ya know. But tonight they got that Americas Phoniest Peeping Toms marathon. We cant miss that! Her smile faded. No, I guess we cant. Maybe after, if were still awake He'd even gotten to like Shawn.