FuNnY OfFiCe: The Carpool of Wrath

Every office occasionally runs some kind of little contest, and when I heard of the first annual "Acme Vacation" contest, I entered with pleasure.I was even more pleased two weeks later when I heard that my entry was one of the prize-winning draws.

"Congratulations!" the letter read. "You have been selected as one of four official winners in Acme's 'Florida Getaway Contest.' Enjoy the sunshine and balmy breezes from the deck of your waterfront cottage. You'll enjoy four days and three nights of eco-tourism and adventure."

However, the letter added that I would have to carpool with the three other contest winners to take care of the legal formalities. I assumed we'd be going to see Mr. Acme's lawyer.

On the day of the meeting, I was instructed to go to the executive floor and wait in one of the offices with my fellow prize winners. There was a large desk facing the entry and behind it sat a middle-aged secretary whose withering glance told me that I was a pitiful sucker.

"Hello. I'm one of the contest winners. Is this where we're supposed to meet?"

"It is. You're the last one. Sign this form."

My eye was drawn to an anorexic teenager brooding in the corner. He was unsmiling, all in black, and had filed his teeth down to points. He looked like a crackhead, but since we were going to be spending the afternoon together, I made an effort to draw him out.

"Are you going to be carpooling with us?"

The boy stared at me and replied in a jumping voice: "Fear me, mortal! Hereafter you will know it as The Carpool of Wrath."

I was taken aback. I leaned across the office desk toward the secretary and whispered: "What's wrong with him?"

"His name is Lenny. Too many computer games, I guess. He thinks he's a vampire."

"Really?"

"Really. He doesn't meet my eyes when I talk to him. Just stares at my neck. Five minutes ago I asked him if I'd grown another pair of eyes there, but he keeps on doing it. When he gets mad, he hisses like a cat."

I was speechless.

She tapped the desk with her pencil. "You may as well know about the rest of them, as well. See that old woman over there? That's Miss Jeannie, Mr. Acme's great-aunt. Her daughter brought her to visit Mr. Acme's office today, but she has errands, so you'll be taking Miss Jeannie home before going to the meeting

"Be careful -- don't let her get to you. Don't cuss her out."

I glanced over at the white-haired grandmother in her prim cotton dress and hat, and sputtered: "That sweet old lady? Why would anyone want to cuss her out?"

"You'll want to strangle her within 15 minutes. She says whatever comes into her head." She pinched her lips together and shot the old woman a green glance.

I was shocked at this unkindness, and made a mental note to be especially attentive to the old lady to make up for it.

"Who's the child she's holding?"

"That's Miss Jeannie's great-granddaughter. Her name is Charlotte. Pray she doesn't notice you."

A man and a woman were chatting on a sofa. The man was a solidly-built, middle-aged fellow and the woman was a shapely young girl who had long since outgrown her blouse and skirt.

"Who are those two?"

"That's Jim McCracken from Shipping. He just divorced his wife over that girl he's talking to, but I hear his old lady walked away with the bag. The girl is Ashley-somebody from the office secretarial pool. I don't know her last name. She doesn't use one."

"Who's driving?"

"Mr. McCracken. The one thing he held onto was that nice new car, so it should be a comfortable ride. If not a pleasant one."

I wondered what she meant, but was already afraid to ask for an explanation.

Since I was the last arrival, we were soon on our way down to the garage. Mr. McCracken's car was a beautiful brand-new Lincoln Towncar with custom trim and spacious leather seats. The very sight of it seemed to warm his heart; he rubbed his hand lovingly over the finish and chuckled "Yesss. Take that, Delores."

All of the women piled into the backseat, I'm sure because none of us wanted to sit beside Lenny. He was making strange conjuring motions with his hands and chanting under his breath.

Mr. McCracken tossed a map into the back of the car. "All right, we're off. Will one of you read that map and tell me which turnoffs we need to get to the I-75 junction? I don't have a GPS unit yet."

No one paid any attention. Ashley was sitting by the far window, absently gnawing one long fingernail. I was wedged in the middle, between little Charlotte and Miss Jeannie.

Both of them were staring at me. I was afraid to speak or to move.

To my relief, little Charlotte turned her big blue eyes to the road ahead. "Gammy, where are we going? How long will it take us to get there?"

These innocent questions seemed to break Lenny's unfinished spell. "SIlence, imp! I am the Midnight Stalker. Fear my wrath!"

Little Charlotte turned to Miss Jeannie. "Who's that ugly boy in the front seat, Gammy? Is he a crackhead? I don't like him."

Miss Jeannie patted her head indulgently. "Darling, we don't say unkind things about others, even if they are true. Maybe he got hit in the head when he was a little child."

Little Charlotte digested this. "Hey, ugly boy, did you -- "

Mr. McCracken broke in suddenly: "Wasn't that the I-75 interchange? Who's got the map back there?"

"Charlotte, baby, why don't we play the Monkey Game? The first one to talk is a monkey."

"Can I at least count the cars?"

"You may count the cars. But if you talk, you're a monkey."

Charlotte nodded, and the atmosphere was pregnant with our unspoken relief as she lapsed into silence. However, Miss Jeannie was still in a talkative mood.

She turned to me and patted my hand in a confiding, motherly way. "No ring, dear? What a shame. You look like just what my great-nephew needs. He likes fat women. You know he's divorced, don't you? It's not good for a man like him to be alone."

I felt my mouth falling open and tried in vain to block out the hideous mental image of Mr. Acme, at my front door.

"Of course, you're not a young woman, but your weight is in your favor. I'll tell you what. You give me your phone number, and I'll have him call you some weekend. How would you like that?"

My mouth moved, but no words came out.

Lenny unexpectedly rescued me. He broke the awkward silence by informing us that we were all now in his power, and that he would crush us like insects.

I began to eye the car door, wishing I'd paid more attention in math class. If a woman jumps from a southbound car doing 50 miles an hour, how many times will she bounce before coming to a complete stop? For bonus points, how quickly must she recover to avoid being hit by northbound cars?

Mr. McCracken turned his head and addressed the back of the car. "Who has the map? I'm supposed to take the next exit to get back on I-75, right?"

Little Charlotte had apparently grown tired of counting cars. She turned her bright eyes on Ashley, who was perfectly comatose with boredom. She had been staring listlessly at the same fixed point on the back of Lenny's car seat for 20 minutes.

"Gammy, why is that lady's skirt the same size as mine? Why does it have writing on the back?"

Ashley was still lost in a bored reverie. Even the mention of her own name didn't have the power to rouse her. But Miss Jeannie proved more than a match for apathy.

The elderly woman patted the child's head reassuringly. "Precious, Ashley is what grownups call a hooker. Her skirt has writing on the back because a skirt is cheaper than a billboard."

This bolt of lightning finally jolted Ashley from her daydreams. She woke with a start, shrieked, curled her fingers into grappling hooks and turned to claw Miss Jeannie with her formidable nails. Little Charlotte screamed crazily and Miss Jeannie warded off the attack by flailing with her massive purse.

Mr. McCracken yelled: "Hey, calm down back there, you crazy broads! I'll dump you all on the side of the road -- "

During the 15-minute melee that followed Miss Jeannie somehow missed Ashley, but beat me smartly about the head and ears. Ashley's claws ruined my $50 blouse and shaved most of the hair off the right side of my head. When I raised my arms to protect myself from brain damage, the movement caused one of Ashley's slashes to go wide. Her nails grazed Mr. McCracken's neck.

Grazed, and broke the skin.

Lenny chose this critical moment to kick down the closet door and burst out, confirming the office secretary's warnings:

That kid really believed he was a vampire.

"Blood!"

Lenny froze onto Mr. McCracken's neck and sank his pointy teeth in right up to the gums. Mr. McCracken shouted and let go of the wheel. The car instantly jumped the curb and smashed through the rail to the accompaniment of our wails and curses.We landed on the roof of a small dry cleaning business on a street 20 feet below the highway.

And sank in slightly.

I lost consciousness. When I came to, disembodied voices were all around me. Someone in the background with a strong Indian accent was wailing: "They are all drunken people. They are high. I will sue them. I will sue them all!"

An authoritative male voice added: "Look at this one, will you. Ever seen such a crackhead? He's filed his teeth." A tepid hiss was the only sign that Lenny was still conscious.

Another voice answered: "They're crackheads, all right. I bet when we search the car we'll find a dozen pipes." He called to the others: "There's another female in here. She's a hooker -- Hey! Scratch me, will you!"

The first voice sighed and ticked off charges: "Okay...so...drug possession, vice..."

I was blaming myself bitterly for not jumping out of the car when I had the chance. Now I'd be arrested. Sure enough, when I opened my eyes and looked up, the first faces I saw belonged to two disgusted cops who were staring down at us from the highway 20 feet above.

Their expressions told me that my only chance to stay out of jail was to sell everyone else -- an option that by that time seemed not just acceptable, but almost virtuous.

I opened my mouth to yell: They're drug runners, but no sound came out. I tried again -- They kidnapped me, but I passed out again before I could make myself understood.

When I woke up, I was in a jail cell with all of my companions except little Charlotte, who was in protective custody. The rest of us were facing drug, vice, traffic and theft charges, since it seemed that Mr. McCracken had in fact stolen the mangled car from his ex-wife.

However, there was one gleam of hope in this scene of carnage: the city police were businessmen. The cop who came down to get our story made it clear that we should be put under the jail, but --

"If you cretins are able to make bail, we'll release you within 15 minutes. But we have something else called 'premium bail.' If you upgrade to premium bail, the charges can be dropped altogether."

The taste of disaster curled in my mouth like smoke. Sure enough: "We charge $2,500 for regular bail and $7,500 for premium bail."

"Total?" I whimpered, without much hope.

"Per person."

Of course none of us had that kind of money, but Miss Jeannie came to the rescue -- sort of -- by calling her great-nephew's office. She informed us that Mr. Acme had said that none of his idiot employees could drive in a straight line, but had nevertheless offered to loan us the bail money at a below-market interest rate of only 20 percent, if we signed the contract she scratched out on a piece of paper.

We wept bitterly, but signed.

At least, most of us wept. Lenny slumped in the corner and gave the cops the ominous warning that they would "long for death."

"You will, too," Miss Jeannie told one of them as we were leaving. "He won't make bail. You're stuck with him."

At first I was so relieved to be free of my strange companions I hardly gave a thought to the vacation I'd missed. However, a few weeks after returning to the office I learned from the executive secretary that it would actually have been a vacation timeshare presentation for one of Mr. Acme's rental properties in Florida. The cottages did indeed offer "eco-tourism and adventure," because they adjoined the Everglades and were accessible only by a three-hour canoe ride through alligator-infested waters.

The presentation would have pressured us to rent them for $2,500 each.

Since Mr. Acme was getting plenty from us anyway, I had to assume that he was satisfied with the turn of events, but I was troubled, and not just because of the money. The secretary told me that she'd heard that Lenny had somehow escaped from jail.

Or at least that was the rumor. I had a sneaking suspicion that the cops may have just thrown him out.

In any case, I now avoid the department where Lenny once worked for fear I will meet and kill him. Because If I catch that Imp again, it will thereafter be known as the Vampire Whooping. He will Long for Death, for I will Have Him in my Power, and will Crush his Backseat like a Bug. For I am called "The Woman Who Just Lost $7500." Fear my wrath!