Rivethead - Ben Hamper [86]
Another thought began to occur to me. If Howie Makem was allowed to roam the plant as the spiritual ambassador of the Quality Concept, why wasn't equal time being provided a likewise embodied representative of GM's FOREMOST preoccupation—the Quantity Concept? An elusive second self that would lurk among the shadows and pounce upon any worker who dared cause any kind of stoppage in production.
I decided I might like the role. What the hell, the job would allow for plenty of maneuverability and I could work at my own pace. It turned out that Janice had a friend who worked over in the audit area. Through information passed on by this friend, I learned that this was the privy location of Howie Makem's costume. I was doubly excited to hear from Jan's source that Howie actually had a SPARE head stashed away somewhere in the audit room. It was my resolute intention to swipe the spare cat head, paint the eyes a violent red, attach large fangs to its overbite, and carve the word QUOTA on its forehead.
With this accomplished, I, the Quantity Cat, would set out to terrorize all those who were responsible for assembly line downtime. How many times had I heard the woesome lament: “For each minute the line is down, the Company loses another $10,000.” I would fix all that. I would call myself Howie Rakem, Quantity Cat. Howie Rakem would ambush workers at stoplights. Park next to them at drive-ins. Claw their bedroom windows during the sex act. Hiss at them in booths at Mark's Lounge. No man would dare shortchange the coffers knowing that Howie Rakem was on the prowl. To reward my gallant service, I would finally be allowed to go bowling with Chairman Roger.
Sadly, I must report that it never worked out. It wasn't due to a lack of effort. Countless times I made it as far as the very closet where Howie stored his heads, but the goddamn thing was always padlocked. According to Jan's source, this was due to the fact that a few months back some vandals had made off with Howie's legs and torso. All the Quality people were left with was a couple of disembodied cat heads. This helped explain Howie's frequent bouts of absenteeism.
Or did it? Now I was really confused. Just because Howie no longer had a body, what was preventing him from putting on the head and performing his rounds in jeans or coveralls? The way I had it figured, as long as you had a head, you had a Howie. Right? RIGHT?
Nope. Janice explained: “The Quality people feel that the workers won't be able to relate to Howie without the full presentation. In other words, without the paws and tail and the fur—”
“STOP!” I injected hysterically. “Let me guess. You're about to tell me that without the paws and tail and the fur…THE WORKERS WON'T BELIEVE THAT HOWIE IS AN ACTUAL…um…CAT! Don't lie. That's what you were about to say, wasn't it?”
Janice began to shake with laughter. She had a rough time gettin’ it out. “Exactly!” she howled at last.
It was all so silly. I brought home over $400 a week for accomplishing nothing. When everything went just right, I had absolutely no recollection of what had transpired moments before. If all went according to plan, I would be eligible for a tidy retirement plan in the year 2007.
The Quality people had no need to worry. For the life of me, I would believe anything.
“MANDRELL SISTER ORDERS A SUBURBAN!” the headline announced. I had in my hand a fresh copy of our in-plant propaganda sheet, the Truckin’ Tribune. It was September 19, 1985, and I was relaxing at the picnic table near my job, waiting for the line to start rolling.
I continued with the article. I wasn't sure why, but I found the topic mesmerizing. “Today, Flint Truck Assembly will produce a Suburban for well-known singer and performer Louise Mandrell. The unit is loaded, has four-wheel drive and is black and silver with gray inserts. The order originated in Scottsville, Ky.”
I put the paper down and sat there for a moment. Louise Mandrell. Today. Suburban. A warm sensation streamed through me. I picked