Working Hard or Hardly Working

Working Hard or Hardly Working

”Lester, this here’s the new feller from upstate,” the sheriff said, introducing him to the foreman.
“How do, sir?” he asked, offering his hand.
“Shit,” Lester said, taking his hand and giving it a rigorous, quick shake with calloused hands. “They grow em tinier each year don’t they?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nevermind his size, Lester. He’s as good a headbasher as any, won’t no reds give us no grief here, what with an edumacated man to tell us how to find ‘em now,” the sheriff said.
Lester looked him up and down, spat and then eyeballed him some more.
“You got a name, son?”
“William.”
“Well Will I am, you ever hit a girl?”
“No.”
“Shit. Fat lot of good you’ll do me.”
William cleared his throat, hooked his thumbs to his belt and stood as straight and tall as his 5 foot 3 frame would allow. This left him considerably short of both Lester and the sheriff, but he wasn’t minding that any. Not really. Most of the time.
“I’m here to look out for communist subversion,” he said, the quiver of shame at his height hidden well from his voice, “and that’s what I’m going to do. Rest assured however, that if I find this union business to be on the level, the strike will be allowed to continue.”
Lester spat again.
“You got a mouth on you, but if I heard you right, you’re saying you’re not going to tell my workers to get back to work.”
“If they are within their legal rights to strike, no I won’t. But if they aren’t, then it’s a different matter entirely.”
“Shit son, we called on the authorities already. That makes it illegal, don’t it?”
“No.”
“Cousin, might I have a word with you in private?” Lester asked the sheriff.
“If you’ll excuse us, we’ll confer momentarily,” the sheriff said and the two went a few steps away, their heads huddled right close to one another. Whispers, frantic, angry whispers, and then they returned.
“My cousin informs me that you are correct in saying that workers have a right to strike,” Lester said, rubbing his chin. “But we’re all on the same page here, ain’t we? So long as there’s no work going on, there’s no gears of profit grinding, if you catch my meaning.”
William raised an eyebrow.
“One might imagine that this is precisely the purpose of a strike, to stop these gears as a means of getting the powers that be to listen.”
“Right, right. And uhh, apropos of profits, what kind of salary do they pay you up there?”
“A satisfactory amount.”
“Right, right. How’s yer pension fund?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Calm down son, I’m just being friendly. Wondering if local entrepreneurs might be allowed to offer small contributions to such funds, all-friendly like.”
William sighed.
“You’re trying to bribe me.”
“Heaven forbid,” said the sheriff and did the sign of the cross before poking his cousin with his elbow. “Straight as an arrow, ain’t he?”
“Never you mind them nasty words, then. Let’s go talk to the girls, see if you’ll find out all about their communist subversions.”
Lester seemed resigned to his impartiality, pulled out a ring of keys from his overall’s pockets and opened a gate that led the three of them inside the compound. All was silent once the creaky hinges were shut. No smoke or water vapour rose from the chimney. They walked across the gravel yard to the cafeteria building, and the doors to this Lester opened but did not enter.
“I’ll stay outside if it’s all the same to ye,” he said. “They don’t want to see my face in there.”
“I’m sure we’ll be right as rain,” the sheriff assured him and the two public officials entered. For a moment the brightness of outdoors left him William blind to what was inside, but as his eyes adjusted he was shocked. They were everywhere. At every bench, in every seat. Some on walkways, some on scaffolding, and even more just on the walls, just standing on the walls like bugs do, with no seeming effort.
The building was full of ant-women, their chitinous bodies shining as light hit them, their human bits dressed in various states of work clothing, some in full coveralls, others with leather aprons, some with only sweat-drenched tank-tops, many carrying hardhats about though few if any wearing them right at this moment.
One such woman stepped forward, a redhead. She was shorter than him, they all were, and she came close, too close for comfort, her anteanne poking his hair. She gave a mean glare to the sheriff, who took his hat off and smiled nervously from behind it, but said nothing to her and she said nothing to him, then poked at William some more.
“Good day,” William said.
“So what’re you then? Some kinda lawyer?” the ant asked.
“No ma’am, I’m with the…”
“With the fat sonnova bitch that tried to bust Betsy-Lou-Betsy-Lee for making fermented sugar drinks in the privacy of her own domicile, that’s who you’re with! Don’t you go skulking nowhere ‘sheriff’ Root, we’s gonna have words with you concerning a little something called the 21st amendment.”
As she said, the sheriff had been skulking further back, toward the glowing rectangle of daylight where the door to the cafeteria was still open. Was there danger here?
“Ah, I was just, stretching my legs,” the sheriff defended himself.
“Mhmm. Just take a seat right there and wait until you’re called for,” the antwoman spokesperson said, and there was collective shuffling until an empty seat presented itself. The sheriff sat there and found himself surrounded by much curious poking from many antennae.
“As I was saying,” William started up again, but was interrupted, again.
“Hold your horses. We can see you there, Lester! Don’t you bother hiding!”
William turned around and saw Lester at the doors, observing the situation. He entered with hesitation.
“I don’t want no trouble,” he said.
“You just sit your butt right there.”
More shuffling, another empty spot, and then Lester was among his workers as well. It was only at this point that the spokeswoman turned her full attention to William.
“So! Who are you then?”
“As I was saying, my name is William…”
“Look here Billy, we don’t need any outside interference. This dispute is simple and we’ve got simple demands.”
“Ma’am, what is it that you want?”
“What do we want? We want more sugah, do-do-do-doo-doo~”
“OH HONEY, HONEY!” cried out the great congregation of ants.
“You want… sugar?”
“More sugar, yes.”
“And then you will go back to work?”
“Work-work!” cried out the spokeswoman.
“WORK-WORK!” cried out the congregation.
“I see. This is simply, well it’s just not my business,” William said, rubbing his hair. “Lester? How do you feel about these demands?”
“Damned expensive! Sugar don’t grow on trees you know!”
“You can easily afford it, you cheapskate!”
“CHEAPSKATE! TIGHTWAD! SLAVEDRIVER! TANUKI BREATH SNIFFER!”
William listened to various accusations for a moment and took the opportunity to undo his tie. Really now. Sugar.
“You tell ‘em! You tell ‘em if they don’t go back to work, you’ll arrest ‘em and drag the whole lot before the committee of un-American activity!” Lester cried out from somewhere in the accusing mass of chitin and flesh. The sheriff was no longer visible nor could he be heard, but his hat was being passed around in good cheer and tried on by various ants, none of whom found it compatible with their antennae.
“Is that what you’ll do, Billy? Arrest us?”
“No. No, I don’t think I will.”
“What? You ninny! I knew when I laid eyes on you that you weren’t man enough to do what must be done!”
“Yes, at any rate this matter is simple enough. Pay your workers what they want and be done with it, or don’t, I don’t give a damn, but I have no business here.”
Lester grumbled something, then waves his hand, the only part of him that William could see, and a murmur passed through the ants.
“Yesyesyesyes,” they seemed to be saying, all at once and all by themselves, one to another and in twos and threes, until there was only one yes and the yes was followed by a whistle and a hoot and the stomping of feet, so many feet, more than he could count, and the spokeswoman declared the strike finished and William saw Lester and the sheriff being carried out – the latter without his hat – and the many, many ants began filing out toward the exit in steady trickles, and he just stood here looking at it all.
“You look a little dejected there, buddy,” a new voice said. She looked like another ant to him, but this one didn’t look dirty or grimy or particularly enthusiastic about going back to work. She had dark rings under her eyes and her hair was in the sort of cut you saw flappers wear in the 20’s.
“Tell you the truth, I was hoping to find some communists. You get a reward for finding them, you know.”
“Really? What kind of reward?” she perked up, her antennae twitching a little.
“Oh, a raise, a bonus. Maybe even a medal. It’s very serious business you know, finding communists.”
“Hmm, don’t sound like much of a reward to me. A bounty’d have been more interesting.”
The ant didn’t seem interested anymore and slouched against the table again, playing cat’s cradle with some white strings he hadn’t even seen she had.
“Well I’m sorry if I’m not more interesting,” William said, “but I’m extremely devoted to my work. I’m going to get ahead in life, and if hunting for commies is how I can do that, then that’s what I’m going to do. And it’s clear that there aren’t any in here, so good day to you.”
“Don’t be in such a rush. Sure there’s commies in here.”
“Really?”
The ant gave a conspiratorial wink and pointed her head at a door in the back.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
“A nest for socialist revolutionaries, plotting the redistribution of the nation’s wealth and the like,” she said, and he wasn’t quite certain if she was making fun of him or not, but any lead was worth pursuing, so he walked through the throng of the last few ants heading for the exit and went through the door.
Inside it was dark and a little musty. A scent hung in the air that made him think of bed sheets soaked in fresh sweat. He coughed a little, breathed it in. Yes, definitely a nest. Gossamer covered the walls. Little things like combs and empty cans of Coke hung from thick spiderwebs. He heard the door creak shut behind him, another pair of hinges that needed to be oiled; did no one here have any oil?
He saw the ant. She was holding more webbing in her hands, kneading it.
“One other thing they plot here,” she said, “is seizing the means of reproduction.”