After a nice bus ride, I arrived at the factory. For some reason they wanted to see some picture ID with name before they let us in, but after that, it was a very nice tour. They let us taste the glue (remember in 1st grade?), and gave us all samples to take home. I asked about the raw materials part, which we hadn't seen, but could hear (lots of machine noises, and occasional unintelligble animal squeals), and was told that only employees were allowed in there.
Disappointed only slightly, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, found an exit, and headed towards where the loading dock must be. I *really* wanted to watch those horses go, just sort of a thing I have. Instead of horses, though, I found more tour busses lined up. The empty ones were leaving, and the arriving buses quickly disgorged their (all male, strangely enough) tour groups, along with armed guards. This made no sense to me, especially the fact that nobody looked happy to be there, except the guards. Also, it struck me that all the visitors were caucasian.
Staying out of the midst of things, I was passing the dumpsters when a chute overhead dropped down and unloaded bunches of flat, colorful, plastic cards into the dumpster. A few of them missed and floated over to me. They were driving permits, credit cards, etc. Let's see, Elmer O'Toole, Elmer Fudd, Jay Elmer Smythe, Elmer Carracas...
Suddenly I felt ill. Especially when I recalled the bitter-sweet taste of the glue in the factory. Had I eaten today, I would have lost it. I snatched the sample of Elmer's All-Purpose White Glue from my pocket, apologized to it, and started to thorw it as far as I could. Then I realized that at least 1 death could be avenged; I emptied the glue into a nearby, idle forklift's fuel tank.
I ran. As hard as I could, I ran. After several miles, the throbbing under my right ribs became too much to ignore, and I collapsed into a nearby hedge next to another industrial park. After a nap, still panting and sore, I crept through the hedge, looking for somewhere to hide until I sorted things out. I glanced up at the line of trucks departing the loading dock, and read "Dave's Jams & Jellies". When I came to my senses, I was another mile away, and had stuck all my ID in the hatband of a sleeping wino in a nearby truck park. Then it struck me. Even without ID, I wasn't safe. Many plants in the area manufactured generics!
I made my decision, taking deep breaths to keep from passing out. I would have to go underground.
Go to next chapter.
Last updated: 1 Jul 1994
Copyright 1989, 1990, 1994 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.
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