One of the side effects of Michael's work, apart from declining cognitive ability, was an impulsive desire to talk to someone like Jason. The desire was so impulsive because there was no one else to talk to and because Jason's bench was next to Michael's. Michael resisted it, wary not to antagonize Tony any further, but there was just so much he could do with his plastic bits. He glued them and threw them into a dirty cardboard box. Then he glued them and instead of throwing them away, arranged them in straight neat lines. Finally, he focused his attention on maintaining exactly the same spaces in between them. When the time came to organize them in more sophisticated shapes, like ovals and arrows, he knew he had to open his mouth to someone or risked going nuts.
Jason was pacing around his bench like a little puppy. From a distance, he looked like someone who lost something of value. Michael thought he could help. The moment Tony was gone on tea duty, Michael came up to him and offered his assistance.
- Did you see my permanent marker by any chance? – Jason enquired without looking.
- Nope – Michael lied immediately – what did it look like? – He asked like an imbecile.
- It looked like a permanent black marker – Jason riposted with sharpness Michael did not quite expect. – I had it somewhere here.
- Do you need it? – Michael continued his charade.
- Not really – Jason admitted thoughtfully.
- Someone wrote "#America is full of shit" in the toilet with a permanent marker, if that helps. – Michael put his hands in his pockets to look more relaxed. He could feel the marker with his right hand. It was quite uncomfortable feeling and he considered giving it back.
- This place is full of idiots. – Jason reflected with disappointment - America is full of shit. And where have you got your IPhone from? China?
- Actually, yes – Michael noticed almost apologetically.
- So what are you saying? – Jason got irritated.
- I am not saying anything – Michael declined to say.
- Well, you're clearly saying something – Jason kept digging.
- Iam just saying – Michael steered to conversation back to nowhere.
He had a tendency to behave like an idiot and enjoyed it a great deal. There was a heavy burden of expectations placed upon intelligent people, he reckoned, as it was only natural to demand from them something more than ordinary. Idiots, on the other hand, were free to make even the most ridiculous claims, populate the most uninhabitable places and penetrate the most impenetrable institutions, with no harm for their reputation. They were also mostly immune to critical assessment. Michael considered himself to be an intelligent idiot, which was a loosely defined category he created for his own amusement and felt competent enough to belong to without anyone noticing. Deep in his heart, Michael wanted someone to notice, hoping it would be another intelligent idiot. Then there would be two of them, a tendency that could lead to escalatory dominance in the world dominated by idiots. But Jason did not notice, because Michael like a goddamn idiot put his permanent marker in his pocket and only had himself to blame.
- If I find out who stole my marker I will report him to the office! – Jason announced. He was pretty serious about it.
- Maybe one of them? – Michael suggested the bullies on the other side of the walkway. The marker started burning his hand like a red hot poker.
- They would never do that. – Jason replied quickly. He scanned his bench and all the boxes he had underneath it, as well as a small racking unit where he kept all necessary bits and pieces.
- Why? – asked Michael.
- They never come here. That's why. Besides, they know I own the biggest collection of plastic light sabers outside official merchandise centers. – Jason was much more likable without his best friend around than Michael could have thought so. – I would simply cut their heads off – he continued affably.
- With a plastic lightsaber – Michael wanted to make sure.
- Can't bring one in. Against company's policy. – Jason had a good excuse.
- Health and Safety – Michael noticed. - I understand - They stood for a moment in silence looking for some pleasant commonality. Michael was glad he couldn't find one.
- So what is your syndrome? – Jason asked.
- I haven't got one - Michael replied, surprised by the question.
- It's ok, you do not have to lie, we are friends here. - Jason reassured him calmly.
- I think I am all right – Michael reassured just as calmly.
- Everyone has got a syndrome – Jason reminded patiently.
- I am normal. – Michael defended himself with a slight sense of guilt.
- Nobody is normal – Jason disagreed. – Nobody!
- You mean ... nobody? Nobody here? Or nobody at all?
- Yes, nobody! – Jason clarified his official position.
- Well – Michael shrugged his shoulders – I am normal. There is nothing wrong with me.
- Well – Jason looked into Michael's eyes with a smirk of defiance. – You would not be here if you were normal. Would you?
Jason had a point and Michael knew that. Would a normal person strive to work for a business encouraging its own workforce not to be ashamed? It was an uncomfortable question and Michael preferred not to answer. There were other uncomfortable questions he preferred not to answer too, like, for example, why they always sack you? Why did you lose every single job in your life? Why can't you hold on to any job? Why can't you be like other people? Why you are such an intelligent idiot? Why did you take the marker? What if they ask everyone to give samples of their handwriting? What if the CIA monitors Twitter? Those were important questions Michael preferred to leave alone, especially the last one, which scared the living soul out of him.
- So what is your syndrome? – Jason repeated his question. Michael pressed right against the wall, had to concentrate for a moment.
- I suffer from a ... sense of humor. – He confessed seriously and looked down on the floor, almost ashamed. Jason was not impressed by such a humorless approach.
- You are funny – he admitted with a hint of sarcasm. – Really funny.
Michael sighed heavily. He had no ambitions of becoming the funniest guy in the factory. He expected the competition to be fierce and would rather concede the title to Tony than explain his own jokes. Explaining own jokes was a crime against humanity and Michael had no intentions of taking part in the genocide. In fact, he had no intentions of taking part in anything, which he suspected was related to the fact he also did not have ambitions. He smiled to himself and asked.
- So nobody here is normal?
- It's a madhouse – Jason exclaimed with joy, clapped his hands, and erupted with a spasm of horselaugh. – Did not you read the notice board? If you feel unwell or have problems with your emotions do not be ashamed. – He teased like a maniac.
- So what is his syndrome – Michael casually pointed at their supervisor, an older man whose face collapsed into a permanent state of untroubled disinterest.
- Roger? He has got SAD syndrome – Jason informed with the confidence of a leading neuroscientist.
- Maybe he is sad because he works with you? – Michael suggested. It did not go down well. Jason's face went alarmingly red.
- It got nothing to do with me!!! – He immediately defended himself. – It's a condition which can affect anyone!!! – he proclaimed passionately - It's seasonal!!! – He added quickly. - You know what I mean!!!
- I know what you mean – Michael calmly confirmed and moved away from the controversial topic. - And what about him? – He gently tipped his head over in direction of a stooped, angry-looking man swearing on the other side of the walkway at white aluminum profiles lying idle on his bench.
- Oh, Ashley, - Jason's face brightened up. - He suffers from the mother of all of the syndromes.
- What's that? – Michael asked with curiosity
- He is an idiot – Jason sniggered.
- Nothing wrong with that – Michael played it cool. – It suits some people.
- It certainly suits him, I am telling you. – Jason chortled out.
- Did you tell him to call the line? – Michael enquired without much interest.
- He's already got the papers. – Informed Jason.
Michael thought it was a figure of speech, an innocent reference.
- You mean he is like ...
- ... retarded. – Jason finished the sentence. – They made him a supervisor here.
- They made a retarded man a supervisor? – Michael still did not know if Jason was joking or not.
- You do not believe me? Ask Ron – Jason immediately called Ron who left his messy kingdom and came up running like the place was on fire.
- Has Ashley got the papers?
Ron looked at them with his two eyes aiming in two different directions and after a moment of hesitation produced a clip of interracial porn on his phone. Jason acted as a translator.
- As clear as black and white. – He explained. – Did he have a breakdown when the comet flew over?
Ron blinked his eyes and then produced a picture of the biggest penis in the world. Jason translated.
- They did not know what to do with it.
- Who is "they"? – Michael asked. Ron produced another picture of three penises: one short, one fat and one long.
- The directors – Jason translated – I think they may have got some connection with mental authorities. – He commented.
Ron replied with a pic of a woman having sex with 5 bodybuilders.
- Highly unlikely – Jason readout.
- Is Ashley really retarded – Michael shouted out not sure if Ron did not speak because he was deaf. Ron looked at him, then dived into his phone and showed him a picture of full penetration.
- Hundred percent – Jason translated and thanked Ron for his participation. Ron smiled back in response, glad he could be of any help and went running to his messy kingdom behind the racking full of window frames like the place was on fire. Jason continued.
- So, yes, he is in charge of the sash makers. It's a really good company. They do not discriminate against anyone.
It was another good omen in the long list of already good omens. In a space of barely a few days, Michael went from a position of an agency laborer with no future to a position of a leading candidate for any future supervisory roles. For the first time in his life, he faced a very realistic prospect of progression within the ranks and had his own low IQ score to thank for it. It just could not get any better. Jason noticed Michael's smile and poured some icing on a cake.
- Ask me about Andy, the guy you gonna work with? – He encouraged playfully with a cheeky smile.
- And what about Andy? – Michael asked as he was told. Jason's smile was suddenly gone. He looked at Michael seriously, assessed him top to bottom then glanced left and right, making sure they were all alone. The build-up was quite dramatic. Michael geared up for some highly classified bombshells from the state department.
- Andy has got superpowers. – Jason confessed with a half-muted voice and immediately stepped back pretending to be occupied with aluminum profiles on a trolley Tony had brought to him before shooting off to make tea. Michael raised his eyebrows. Jason stared at him without a word for a minute or two, then glanced behind his shoulder, came up closer, and added in an utterly conspiratorial manner.
- He can also bore you to death!
They stood like that for a moment, examining each other, and then Michael brought the conversation back to earth.
- Is that all?
- I know I know – Jason waved his hand like it all did not matter and went on about his business of sorting aluminum profiles. - I mean, you may be strong enough, I do not know, a lot of people thought there were. We will see, but good luck to you.