In a Hurry to Stand in Line

March 26, 2005

Dick: Last week, despite the strange behavior of their PDCs, all the Troubleshooters except John-R managed to reach a PLC warehouse where they hope they will be outfitted by the courteous, efficient staff of competent PLC clerks, rather than being forced to endure the petty, incompetent, and surly PLC bureaucrats with whom they are far better acquainted.
John: Will I be joining them shortly, or do I get to spend another night in the penalty box?
Dick: We'll do a quick GM conference. That should get you where you need to be.

GM Conference with John:
Dick: Your PDC chirps an alarm.
John: I check it.
Dick: Your schedule book has a new entry in it. You apparently need to be about 3 miles away in the next 30 minutes for "PLC outfitting." You'll have to travel on foot. I trust you remember that electrical anti-tardiness device you have strapped to you?
John: Jeez, yes. I run with all my agility of 1 to the designated area.
Dick rolls some dice and ignores them.
Dick: You make good time. Soon, you're within sight of the rest of the mission team. Not soon enough, though. You still have a good 100 meters to go when your PDC's alarm goes off. Your ears have just enough time to register the sound before the electrical current begins flowing through you. We'll go back to the rest of the group, now.

Dick: Just as you are about to get in line, you see a troubleshooter you all recognize as John-R from your briefing - even though he officially wasn't there - running toward you. His body is drenched in sweat, and his face is full of fear. He is about 100 meters away.
Tom: Documenting this.
John: I break into a mad dash to get to you. Suddenly, a PDC alarm goes off, and I fall to the ground twitching. Several seconds later, I stand up, run about ten more meters, and then fall down twitching some more.
Dick: Perversity point, John.
Donald (shouting): "On your feet, soldier! Use the meat the Computer gave you, citizen!"
John: I run a few more meters and fall down again, twitching.
Donald (shouting): "You're not dead, citizen! Get up this instant, or I'll change that! Move, move, move!"
John: I crawl a meter or two, twitch a bit, crawl a little farther.
Donald (shouting): "Are you a junior citizen, now, soldier? You have to crawl like a tiny little junior citizen? You make me sick. Stand up, you big baby. Suck it up! You can't give up now. There are still three more essay questions at the bottom of this survey. Move it!"
John: With a huge sigh, I stagger to my feet and toddle toward the warehouse.
George (shaking his head): "He'd never make it as a Vulture."
Donald (shouting): "You're making progress. You're behaving like a 2-yearcycle-old, now. This is what happens when you don't use those muscles - you lose them. Big Donald has a plan that'll make a man out of you."
John: A few desperate and woozy running steps before I fall over again.
Donald (shouting): "I have a plan, alright. It involves beating all the wimp out of you."
John: I whimper.
Donald (shouting): "When I'm done with you, you won't flinch at the sight of a ten-page form that needs to be filled out in quadruplicate without the benefit of carbon paper. Oh no! You'll be hardened, citizen. You'll be tough. It might annoy a bureaucrat or two when you fill out your lavatory time requisition form correctly on only the second try, even though you are practically dancing with need, but none of them will ever try to push you around or call you a wimp."
John: I try crawling for a little more.
George (shaking his head): "In fact, he'd never make it in any part of the Armed Forces.
Donald (shouting): "What are you doing, citizen? Did I stutter? Do you have gum in your ears? I told you to stand up and keep running!"
John: I try it, but the shock hits just as I get my footing.
George (shaking his head): "He probably couldn't even hack it in IntSec."
Alberto takes notes.
George (glancing at Alberto): "Or in the food vats of PLC."
Donald (shouting): "You're weak and pathetic, now, but in just seven days, I can make you a man. You'll be a survey-completing killing machine! But you're not there, yet, citizen. It has to hurt to heal."
Condi (singing to the tune of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"): "You're making us late. The line's getting long. It isn't our fault if you're really not strong. Citizen get off of the floor."
John: I smile weakly at Condi-R and keep on crawling.
Dick: Condi and George, take a Perv point. Donald and John, take two.
Tom (ooc): A Perv point? That sounds like something you don't want your mom to find out you have.
Samuel (ooc): Instead of tracking them with poker chips, would you track them with dirty magazines?
Condi (ooc): If that's the case, Michael Jackson must have been hoarding them since the last time he released a decent album.
George (ooc): Therein lies his mistake. You don't horde Perv points. You spend them. You can't dust for fingerprints if dozens of people have had their hands all over your Perv points.
Dick (ooc): The lipstick might be a sure giveaway, though.
Tom (ooc): Michael Jackson wears lipstick?
Sam (ooc): Duh.
Tom (ooc): Why would any man want to wear makeup?
George (ooc): One who wants to look presidential.
Tom (ooc): You?
George (ooc): Of course not. I was talking about my distinguished opponent.
Tom (ooc): John Kerry?
Dick (ooc): John Kerry, distinguished? I'm sure he meant Al Gore.
Donald (ooc): So, if Gore had won, would he have inherited Clinton's *ahem* Perv points?
George (ooc): Oh, Bill was a wily fellow. I'm sure he spent most, if not all of them.
Condi (ooc): In fact, after he left, they renamed Perv points in honor of him.
Dick (ooc): Clinton points?
Donald (ooc): Bills.
George (ooc): Gives that part of my job a whole new meaning, doesn't it. I'm just seeing a Social Security bill that begins with "I never thought something like this could happen to me."
Dick (ooc): Great. Now I'm not going to be able to keep a straight face the next time we have a bill-signing press ceremony.
George (ooc): At least you can hide behind Bill Frist or something. What's going to happen if I bust out laughing over a new senior drug bill.
Condi (ooc): Is it wrong that that made me think of a skin mag for old men and women published by the companies that make Viagra, Cialis, and Levitra?
Samuel (ooc): Heck. It might be a good way to diagnose the problem - kind of like those color blindness books where not being able to see the number seven proves you're color blind.
Dick (ooc): I really don't want to think about it. Can we get back to the game, now?
George (ooc): Dick, can we please call them Bills?
Dick (ooc): Don't be ridiculous. John, I'll let you pose your arrival.
John: This cycle repeats itself several more times before I arrive, tears in my eyes from all the pain of the electricity and the bruises that cover most of my body.
Dick: Bruises?
John: From my earlier encounter with the INFRAREDs in the transbot.
Dick: Oh yes. I had forgotten about that. Have another point of Perversity.
George (ooc): A Bill. Does it have any lipstick on it?
Dick (ooc): For heaven's sake, George, no.
John: I hold out a hideously sweaty hand to George-R. "I'm John-R-SNO-1, your hygiene officer. Sorry I'm late. Boy oh boy am I ever sorry..."
Tom: "Tardiness is next to Commie-ness, John-R. Are you a Commie?"
John: "Of course not."
Samuel: "A tardy citizen is like a light left on in an empty room for a long time. No, it's like a hundred lights left on in an empty room for a very, very, very long time..."
John: "Um, sorry?"
George: "Your tardiness is unacceptable, citizen, and will be included in my official mission report."
John: "It won't happen again."
Donald: "If we weren't already running late because of your tardiness, I would subject you to a grueling obstacle course and several surveys with essay questions. Your behavior nauseates me, citizen."
John: "Perhaps you should see a docbot for an antacid, citizen."
Condi (to the tune of "Happy Birthday"): "John-R you made us late. John-R you made us late. This mission is so important, but you made us late."
John: "We should get in line, then, right?'
Alberto: I look intently at John-R, narrow my eyes, and then make notes in my loyalty notepad.
Dick: Your PDC chirps.
John: I stare at it in mild horror and answer it.
Dick passes John a note: Your schedule indicates that you're supposed to be finished with outfitting in one hour.
John: How are the lines?
Dick: Getting longer.
John: "Well, we've got a mission. We'd better hurry up. I don't want to be late any more than you do - probably less than you do, in fact."
Tom: I document John-R's mental instability.
John: "Unless you want a tardiness-discouraging gizmo like mine?"
George: I'm convinced. Getting in line.
Condi: The same.
Samuel: Ditto.
Donald: Getting in line.
Alberto: Yes.
Tom: Getting in line, but trying to keep to the shadows.
John: I'm already there. Believe me.
Dick: You're all waiting in line.
John: Sweating every step of the way.

GM - Vice President Cheney
Alberto-R-GZS-1 (Alberto) - Attorney General Alberto Gonzales
Condi-R-ICE-1 (Condi) - Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice
Donald-R-UMI-1 (Donald) - Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld
George-R-BSH-1 (George) - President George W. Bush
John-R-SNO-1 (John) - Secretary of Treasury John Snow
Samuel-R-BMN-1 (Samuel) - Secretary of Energy Samuel Bodman
Tom-R-IDG-1 (Tom) - Former Secretary of Homeland Security Tom Ridge