Rivethead - Ben Hamper [63]
Evidently, GM was finally sniffin’ the wind. Americans didn't give a shit about how fast and how many units you could zoom out the back door. They just wanted a vehicle that didn't begin to disintegrate the moment it rolled off the showroom floor. If they couldn't find something that held together here, there was always the option of purchasing one of those generic-lookin’ imports that got about 500 miles per gallon and stuck together as firm as Stonehenge.
Quality represented buyers. Buyers meant sales. Sales meant fat tummies and a fat solid bonus. Quality would loosen those bony fingers off the purse strings. Quality could change the tune and serenade a buyer out of a buck. For living proof, all one had to do was glimpse over at Lee Iacocca, the born-again pom-pom boy of Quality High who was currently splattering himself all over medialand with galvanic jabber along the lines of “WE BUILD THEM RIGHT OR WE ALL EAT DOGFOOD!” We gotcha, Lee. Quality was the answer to the illin’.
The GM Truck & Bus plant began fiddling with various Quality-minded plots as a means to enthuse the work force. These concepts ranged from the “Build It Like You Owned It” guilt trip to the voodoo scare tactics of “Here Come the Japs to Foreclose Your Mortgage” to the gimmicky “Reward the Good Rodent With a Key Chain” theory. Some of these game plans were so utterly farcical, one would have been tempted to guffaw if it weren't for the fact that it was your brain that these follies were bein’ foisted upon.
Case in point: the management at the Truck Plant decided what the Quality concept really needed was a mascot. Conceived in a moment of sheer visionary enlightenment, the plan was to dress up the mascot as a large cat. Fittingly, this rat-in-cat's clothing was to be called Quality Cat. Somewhere along the line, an even more brilliant mind upstairs decided that Quality Cat was sort of a dull title. Therefore, a contest was organized in an attempt to give the Quality Cat a more vital name.
Hundreds of crafty welders, screw jockeys and assorted shoprats immediately began clunking their heads in an effort to christen the hallowed cat. Management announced that they would reward the most creative of these entries with a week's use of a company truck. Hot damn! The eventual winner of the contest was a worker who stumbled upon the inspired moniker Howie Makem. Sadly, my intriguing entry, Wanda Kwit, finished way the hell down the list somewhere right between Roger's Pussy and Tuna Meowt.
Howie Makem was to become the messianic embodiment of the Company's new Quality drive. A livin’, breathin’ propaganda vessel assigned to spur on the troops. Go ahead and laugh, I know I did. Just for a moment, imagine the probing skull session that took place in some high-level think tank the day Howie was first brought to mention.
“You know, slogans on coffee cups just ain't gettin’ it, Bill.”
“You're absolutely right, Ted. We need something more dynamic. More upbeat.”
“Hey, why don't we give the men their own kitty cat!”
“Kitty cat? Hmmm, I like it! A large kitty cat! Ted, you're a genius!”
Howie Makem stood five feet nine. He had light brown fur, long synthetic whiskers and a head the size of a Datsun. He wore a long red cape emblazoned with the letter Q for Quality. A very magical cat, Howie walked everywhere on his hind paws. Cruelly, Howie was not entrusted with a dick.
Howie would make the rounds poking his floppy whiskers in and out of each department. A “Howie sighting” was always cause for great fanfare. The workers would scream and holler and jump up and down on their workbenches whenever