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avevale_intelligencerI actually dreamed this, just before waking this morning.
There was a joke hovering on the edges of my memory as I entered the mall, nodding to Steve the security guard, who told me to be lucky. I have no idea why he says things like that, but I nodded in well-simulated comprehension and stepped on to the escalator, still puzzling over the joke. I'd read it somewhere. A man walks into a pub with a duck under his arm...? No.
Liliana, slight, pre-Raphaelite and gorgeous, was waiting outside the shop for me to undo the metal shutter, because I am a Big Strong Man, it says here, and Big Strong Men do things like that. So I bent down to undo the padlock, hoping like hell my back wouldn't go out again—I like it when Liliana laughs, but that time was an exception, even though she apologised afterwards—and flung up the shutter with a suitably Karloffian gesture. She produced her keys and unlocked the glass doors, and we entered our place of work.
The twilight staff had been busy, unpacking and shelving last night's delivery, and some of it was even in the right places. As Liliana started moving boxes and jars and bottles, Nick and Asher and Taz appeared on the escalator, and I went down towards the back office to fire up the computer. A man walks into a psychiatrist's office with a duck on his head...? No, that wasn't it.
As I passed down the shop I saw that the first consignment of honey had arrived, and I snagged a two-litre can to put on my staff shelf in the back office. It was worth a try, even if Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula would make me put it back. We were supposed to wait till actual customers had had their pick before taking stuff ourselves, but sometimes, if he was in a good mood, Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula would be lenient. A priest, a rabbi and a duck walk into a library...? No, that was ridiculous. There was a duck involved, though, I was sure of it.
The back office smelled slightly stale, as places with no windows do. I switched on the air conditioning and put my bag down on the desk and my honey on my shelf, checking meanwhile that the cleaners hadn't unplugged the computer or anything vital to plug in their vacuum. There were three permanently empty sockets, but it wasn't unknown to come in and find that they hadn't been good enough.
No, all was well. I fired up the computer and sat down behind the desk, as Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula shambled in. (Nobody else called him that, and I kept the nickname to myself. The man was my employer, after all, and the man who had started this business.) He was small and weedy, and looked like nothing so much as one of those cartoons of hippies, where all you see is a nose poking out of a mop of hair. His accent was impenetrable and unidentifiable. He glanced at the honey on my shelf, looked at me and wagged his finger in mock reproof, and then went through into his own office. I breathed out. Maybe it wasn't a duck. Maybe it was a turkey. No, I couldn't think of any turkey jokes that didn't involve Americans.
I clicked on an icon, and the software began to launch, as Liliana came through.
“We're open,” she said. “Half a dozen customers waiting outside already.”
“It's good to be popular,” I said, loading the save file from last night. The screen filled with little buildings, and blocky little figures walking about, some carrying things. All were wearing royal blue, the same colour as the can on my shelf.
“Any attacks since last night?” she said, leaning over my shoulder to watch the screen.
I checked the borders. “No, all secure. I thought I might build another pig farm.”
She frowned. “We don't want another wheat shortage.”
“We're fine. Look, tons of it in the storehouse.”
“I'd go for a couple more beehives instead. Maybe another brewery. We could put it to making mead.”
Mead. I licked my lips. “All right.” I looked up at her. “Does any of this ever seem strange to you?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “ But then I have some of the bread, or the milk, or the honey--” she glanced over at my shelf “--and I think, where else can you get food like this nowadays that isn't packed full of chemicals to make it taste like real food used to?”
“Growth hormones. Antibiotics. Probiotics. Flavourings. Preservatives. I know what you mean.”
“The honey they make comes from flowers. We know that. The cows and sheep and pigs are fed on wheat. The bread's made from wheat. No chemicals involved. None needed.”
And just like that, the joke popped into my head.
--Doctor, doctor, my uncle thinks he's a chicken.
--Well, bring him to me and I'll cure him.
--I would, only we need the eggs.
“It's an unmessed-up world in there,” Liliana said, straightening up. “I sometimes wish--” She broke off. “The next upgrade's due tonight. Chicken farm and weaver's shack. Don't forget to leave the computer on overnight to download it.”
“Means no delivery for tomorrow.”
“We'll cope. Besides, we need the eggs.”
There was a joke hovering on the edges of my memory as I entered the mall, nodding to Steve the security guard, who told me to be lucky. I have no idea why he says things like that, but I nodded in well-simulated comprehension and stepped on to the escalator, still puzzling over the joke. I'd read it somewhere. A man walks into a pub with a duck under his arm...? No.
Liliana, slight, pre-Raphaelite and gorgeous, was waiting outside the shop for me to undo the metal shutter, because I am a Big Strong Man, it says here, and Big Strong Men do things like that. So I bent down to undo the padlock, hoping like hell my back wouldn't go out again—I like it when Liliana laughs, but that time was an exception, even though she apologised afterwards—and flung up the shutter with a suitably Karloffian gesture. She produced her keys and unlocked the glass doors, and we entered our place of work.
The twilight staff had been busy, unpacking and shelving last night's delivery, and some of it was even in the right places. As Liliana started moving boxes and jars and bottles, Nick and Asher and Taz appeared on the escalator, and I went down towards the back office to fire up the computer. A man walks into a psychiatrist's office with a duck on his head...? No, that wasn't it.
As I passed down the shop I saw that the first consignment of honey had arrived, and I snagged a two-litre can to put on my staff shelf in the back office. It was worth a try, even if Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula would make me put it back. We were supposed to wait till actual customers had had their pick before taking stuff ourselves, but sometimes, if he was in a good mood, Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula would be lenient. A priest, a rabbi and a duck walk into a library...? No, that was ridiculous. There was a duck involved, though, I was sure of it.
The back office smelled slightly stale, as places with no windows do. I switched on the air conditioning and put my bag down on the desk and my honey on my shelf, checking meanwhile that the cleaners hadn't unplugged the computer or anything vital to plug in their vacuum. There were three permanently empty sockets, but it wasn't unknown to come in and find that they hadn't been good enough.
No, all was well. I fired up the computer and sat down behind the desk, as Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula shambled in. (Nobody else called him that, and I kept the nickname to myself. The man was my employer, after all, and the man who had started this business.) He was small and weedy, and looked like nothing so much as one of those cartoons of hippies, where all you see is a nose poking out of a mop of hair. His accent was impenetrable and unidentifiable. He glanced at the honey on my shelf, looked at me and wagged his finger in mock reproof, and then went through into his own office. I breathed out. Maybe it wasn't a duck. Maybe it was a turkey. No, I couldn't think of any turkey jokes that didn't involve Americans.
I clicked on an icon, and the software began to launch, as Liliana came through.
“We're open,” she said. “Half a dozen customers waiting outside already.”
“It's good to be popular,” I said, loading the save file from last night. The screen filled with little buildings, and blocky little figures walking about, some carrying things. All were wearing royal blue, the same colour as the can on my shelf.
“Any attacks since last night?” she said, leaning over my shoulder to watch the screen.
I checked the borders. “No, all secure. I thought I might build another pig farm.”
She frowned. “We don't want another wheat shortage.”
“We're fine. Look, tons of it in the storehouse.”
“I'd go for a couple more beehives instead. Maybe another brewery. We could put it to making mead.”
Mead. I licked my lips. “All right.” I looked up at her. “Does any of this ever seem strange to you?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “ But then I have some of the bread, or the milk, or the honey--” she glanced over at my shelf “--and I think, where else can you get food like this nowadays that isn't packed full of chemicals to make it taste like real food used to?”
“Growth hormones. Antibiotics. Probiotics. Flavourings. Preservatives. I know what you mean.”
“The honey they make comes from flowers. We know that. The cows and sheep and pigs are fed on wheat. The bread's made from wheat. No chemicals involved. None needed.”
And just like that, the joke popped into my head.
--Doctor, doctor, my uncle thinks he's a chicken.
--Well, bring him to me and I'll cure him.
--I would, only we need the eggs.
“It's an unmessed-up world in there,” Liliana said, straightening up. “I sometimes wish--” She broke off. “The next upgrade's due tonight. Chicken farm and weaver's shack. Don't forget to leave the computer on overnight to download it.”
“Means no delivery for tomorrow.”
“We'll cope. Besides, we need the eggs.”
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:24 am (UTC)My brain says vaguely that it sounds like a cross between Settlers and Daniel Galouye's "The Counterfeit World" and the film with (?)Jim Carrey. But there's another reference in there that I can't quite pick out, as well. That may just be Your Mind, of course!
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:50 am (UTC)HUGH (starting): I'm sorry. I thought I just saw something dark, vivid and unpleasant.
STEPHEN: It was probably your imagination.
Boom to some extent boom.
It was a nice dream. I don't often get those. Of course, if it was going to be an actual story, something would have to go horribly wrong...
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:53 am (UTC)I didn't know that anyone apart from me had read "Counterfeit World"! (OK, some must have.) Have you seen the film "The Thirteenth Floor" which was based on the book (IMDB credits it as "Simulacron-3", an alternate title)? Not starring Jim Carrey, though (nor anyone like him IMO).
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 02:53 pm (UTC)Those Gollancz SF editions were really useful to pick out, I think I went through every one our library had when I was a teenager.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-26 07:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 11:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 03:27 pm (UTC)>"I nodded in well-simulated comprehension..."
Been there. Done that. Still there. Still doing that.
>"I couldn't think of any turkey jokes that didn't involve Americans..."
Yep, that's where the hot coffee would have taken an unauthorized detour.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-26 07:27 am (UTC)Been there. Done that. Still there. Still doing that."
[NODS] It's an essential skill for those of us working in retail. =:o}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-26 07:28 am (UTC)