Without preamble the man with the clipboard turns to Dani and points with his free hand to illustrate his statement.
"Go through the door to your right, marked 'Interviews' and proceed down the hallway to interview cubicle 3, which will be the second door on your right. Your caseworker will meet you there. Please do not wander about."
With that the employee hurries off on other business, leaving Dani standing there.
"But I like wandering about," Dani mock-whines to no one in particular. She then raises her arms up over her head and, after a leisurely stretch, heads in the general direction of the door marked 'Interviews', pausing at various desks along the way to see what various C&I workers are doing. "You didn't see a guy with a hat come through here, did you?" she asks one worker between chews of cinnamon gum. "Wears a hat? Looks like, I don't know, like the Australian Marlboro Man? Do you happen to know what cubicle he's in?"
Depending on whether they are on the telephone, working at their desks, or whatever, Dani gets responses ranging from a hand waved in her general direction making shooing motions to "No, now go away," to "Can't you see I'm busy?" to "Az isten bassza meg a bu"do"s ru"csko"s kurva anya'dat!"1 (this last snarled by a young caucasian woman who looks far to frail to have such things come out of her mouth, even if Dani doesn't quite know what she said).
Blissfully unable to understand Hungarian profanity, Dani nonetheless gets the gist of the message and decides to leave the C&I workers to their duties for now. Finally passing through the 'Interviews' door, Dani dawdles in the hallway for a few seconds to see if she can overhear any juicy snippets of conversation in cubicles one and two before winding her way over to cubicle three...
The hallway is amazingly silent after the bustle of the C&I offices, and has all the acoustical properties of the waiting room (that is to say, none). As she approaches the door to cubicle #3 Dani notes that the elusive muzak is (or was until she started paying attention) playing "A Forest" by The Cure.
"I have got to get the soundtrack to this place," Dani
mutters, tentatively rapping her knuckles against the cubicle door -- once,
twice, thrice.
The interviewee enters with a curious but somewhat wary look that suggests she's really not used to being talked to in that way.
The cubicle would seem to suggest that Dani's interviewer has the same attitudes about music that she does - most prominent is a poster on one wall from the Clash - "Anarchy in the UK" with the handwritten postscript, "And anywhere else but not here - I need my bloody paycheck."
The interviewer's desk consists of four items - the first is a laptop emblazoned with an attractive skull and crossbones motif ("It's a Good Thing...", the second is a cup, presumably of coffee, with "Shut the Fuck Up!" as its witty slogan, and the other two are large black army boots connected to the rest of the interviewer himself.
As for said interviewer, he is not what you would expect of a civil servant, or for that matter, anything you would modify with the adjective "civil." Tall and lanky in frame, it seems someone had forced him at gunpoint to put on his C&I uniform, and his only form of resistance available was to do a half-assed job of it. They couldn't do anything, however, about the piercings placed in practically every available slot, or for that matter, the comtempt clearly displayed in his countenance.
"So, why have you decided to waste my valuable time?"
Visibly relaxing at the sight of the Clash poster and then at the sight of the heavily pierced interviewer himself, Dani approaches the desk with a half-smile, ignoring the man's look of contempt long enough to take a seat opposite him.
"Actually, Nigel," she begins in an awful parody of a working-class British accent, "can I call you Nigel? Right, well, my name's Dani and I'm from BUNS. That's Brits United against Nancy Spungen. We collect money to preserve Sid's good name and make sure the Sex Pistols don't lose their place in history. How about donating a few pounds?"
Three seconds later, the girl blows a big cinammon gum bubble, lets it pop, then breaks into a full smile, dropping the faux-Cockney accent in favor of her boring old American twang. "And when you're done with that, you can process me, tall, dark and pierced like a pin-cushion. The name's St. Claire. Dani St. Claire. I'm new here."
Her friendly smile and body language suggest casual flirtation.
"Royt," replies the older, well, let's not call him gentleman lest we offend his sensibilities. "Ye sim like a noyce buhd and all that, and b'sides Oy'm a fucking pushovah for a pritty fayce, so aye'm goin te lit ye in a a little sicrit . See on Sid, 'eah," he points to the laptop as we magically turn on the Yank-Limey translator for our studio audience, "I have this funny button with 'Del' written on it. If I push that little Del button your files all go down the crapper and you can go back to Iowa or Kansas or wherever the hell you came from to choose another shithole to visit in your spare time.
Dani's jaw drops, treating "Nigel" to a glimpse of perfect white teeth and pinkish cinammon gum that's lost most of its flavor. A complex tapestry of emotion washes over the teenager's pretty face as she tries to calculate the exact ramifications of a pressed 'Del' button. Hmm. No, it wouldn't be a good thing. No, not at all. She throws the C&I caseworker a nervous "are you serious about this or just kidding me?" smile, her pulse pounding wildly in her ears.
"Now, Miss Saint Claire, since you're obviously too fucking young to truly understand the true beauty of the Sex Pistols, or the cruel irony of a universe that would seize such a genius as Sid Vicious in the prime of his life while guaranteeing talentless shits like David Hasselhoff wildly prosperous careers in acting roles opposite hot birds with big tits in various states of undress (and I would strongly advise against any attempt at solidarity by bringing up the memory of Mr. Kurt Cobain at this time if I were you), I am going to give you one chance to repent your fucking astonishingly stupid display of blasphemy against his memory before I press that delete button.
This brings a vague shrugging gesture from Dani, along the lines of 'oh, but I was just kidding around, it was really nothing.' Seeing that this non-apology doesn't have a snowball's chance in Al Amarja of working, she immediately grows more contrite, nervously brushing a stray strand of hair from her face and then extracting the stale gum from her mouth in a belated show of respect, as if the cubicle had suddenly become a classroom or a church.
"You're right," she begins, slipping the gum into its wrapper and crumpling it into her pocket before dropping her gaze to the floor so she doesn't have to look the C&I worker in the eye. "The Pistols were totally before my time. Sid died before I was even born. Honestly, I don't even know that much about them, I just love their music... especially 'God Save the Queen' and 'Pretty Vacant'... um... and oh, I really like that movie with Gary Oldman, 'cause silly me, I'm a sucker for those doomed love stories with two people in the title, 'Sid and Nancy,' 'Bonnie and Clyde,' you know, 'Thelma and Louise,' even 'Turner and Hooch.' Uh... oh, and Courtney Love has a small role in 'Sid and Nancy,' and you probably know that but I thought I'd bring it up because you mentioned Kurt Cobain, who I swear on a stack of bibles I thought was not only a genius but like the actual Second Coming and I even told Sister Catherine that and she got *so* mad at me! I was saying penance for weeks and... um, not that I'm trying to... to gain solidarity or... or make you like me or anything... even though I totally think you're right about Hasselhoff, the Germans have to be psychotic to like a fat-ass no-talent dinosaur like that and I hear there's even this 'Hasselhoff-is-the-Antichrist' web page on the Internet somewhere but I haven't seen it because the computers at my old school wouldn't show any pages with the word 'Antichrist' because the nuns thought it was blasphemous or bad for moral fiber or something."
Here, young Dani pauses her stream-of-consciousness apology long enough to look up and meet "Nigel's" gaze.
"Am I rambling? I *am* rambling, aren't I? Sorry, it's just... well... you told me to come in and I liked your accent and your taste in music and I thought I'd... I don't know... be funny or something. I didn't mean to offend you and I'm sorry if I did. Okay? Is that...? Are we...? You're not going to delete my file, are you?" she clumsily finishes, hoping she doesn't look quite as stupid as she sounds.
The man, apparently named Vince Blackwood now that Dani gets a good look at his name tag, allows a small smile to appear. "Royt. I think we can forgo that unpleasantness" [dramatic pause] "for the time being. But I hope you have learned a lesson today young lady. Different people take different things seriously, and it's usually the smart thing to do to figure out what it is before tromping all over it in golf shoes. Especially on Al Amarja."
Dani nods her head! Point taken!
He turns and shakes his head. "Jesus Fucking Christ. I'm beginning to sound like my father, worthless piece o shite.
This brings not only a smile from young Dani, but that special look Catholic schoolgirls reserve for rebels who pierce themselves, wear boots, curse with wild abandon, reject their parents and generally live life on their own terms.
"Now, Miss Saint Claire, since you made a pointed effort to make amends rather than tell me to bugger off and make plans to go to Aruba, I'm going to go out on a fucking limb and guess that you've got some compelling reason for coming to this shithole. I suppose that I don't need to tell you that we're here so that you can tell me what the fuck that reason is."
"The fucking reason," she tries, in an attempt to fit in with Vince (though the f-word sounds just a little strange coming from her lips and the end result is more comical than the casual coolness she was going for) "is my crappy parents have sent me here for boarding school. Apparently, I'm too wild to control or something and Saint Dymphna's is supposed to straighten me out. So I'm like, 'whatever, do your worst.' Next thing I know, I'm on a plane to God-forsaken Al Amarja. Can you believe it?" Here she fishes through her pockets for a fresh stick of gum, doesn't find one, and asks: "You don't have a smoke by any chance, do you, Mr. Blackwood?"
At this, Vince breaks into riotous laughter. "Your bloody parents sent you here to keep you OUT of trouble? Bollocks! I'm sorry," he adds as pulling out a cigarette after tapping the pack on the desk to concentrate the lovely nicotine and proffers one to Dani as if to prove his point by subverting her parents' plan before she gets out of customs, "as I truly fucking sympathize with you, Miss Saint-Claire. I have seen some fucked up burgers in my time here, but this has to win a new bloody record."
She takes the profferred cigarette with a confused expression, cluelessly wondering what "burger" means? Is it some sort of Cockney rhyming slang? It is, isn't it? Maybe it's short for cheeseburger? And cheese rhymes with... bees, knees, trees...
"I am not a tease!" Dani blurts out.
Vince seems a bit nonplussed at this last non-sequitur. "Tease? What the fook are you talking about now? Never mind. But how long are you expecting to stay with our islands fine bloody penguins, anyway?"
Dani opens her mouth to reply, then shuts it again, a bewildered look sweeping over her face as she over-thinks Vince's words, quietly analyzing every single syllable for some secret meaning hidden in rhyme. Finding nothing whatsoever, she lets out an unintelligible, embarrassed sound, vaguely reminiscient of what one might hear from a wounded giraffe dying under the hot African sun. It's fair to say this interview isn't going the way she planned!
"I'm usually not this much of a spaz," she apologizes, stunting her growth by lighting the cigarette and drawing the smoke deep into her lungs. Calming slightly from the nicotine entering her bloodstream, she manages to blow a fairly decent smoke ring, then replies: "To answer your question, I'll be staying for the rest of the school year or until the 'bloody penguins' get sick of me, whichever comes sooner. If I don't get kicked out, I think I get to go home for vacation. And then, theoretically, I come back here and repeat the whole thing until I get Al Amarja's version of a high school diploma. After that, I figure I'll piss off my parents by shacking up with some supercute non-Catholic with no prospects and gleefully living in sin."
"What are 'burgers'?" she then asks. "I totally misunderstood you before. And, uh, just out of curiosity, why is Al Amarja not the place to send your daughter if you want to keep her out of trouble? I mean, really, what kind of trouble could I possibly get into around here?" she smiles, fixing Vince with such an obviously flirtatious look that he can't help but picture her writing 'Mrs. Dani Blackwood' over and over in her school notebook somewhere in the foreseeable future.
Oh, Fucking Christ, Vince thinks to himself. If I were only a bit younger and statutory rape weren't a capital crime...
"Burger's just a term we use on Al-Amarja to describe outsiders like yourself. Think of it as a nice fucking way to say 'Bird who has a snowball's chance in Hell of leaving here in one piece.' Which of course more or less brings up your other question. Rather than take all day to provide you with a fucking list of what could happen, let's just say that things on Al-Amarja aren't like anything else, and certainly not like the fucking tourist brochure. I can tell you that now you're actually here. Not that this won't be a great vacation for you - I'd be fucking surprised if it weren't the most exciting time of your otherwise fucking haute-bourgeois existence. If I were you, however, I'd be very careful and try to stick close to people who I knew were my friends, and failing that, try your fellow Burgers in the waiting room. They're probably as fucked as you right now, so strength in numbers and birds of a feather and all that Shite."
He pauses. "Do you at least know somebody on the island?"
"I know Ingar Forn and he's nice in a giant Norweigan shrink-burger kind of way. But I also know you, Mr. Blackwood," Dani points out. "You could show me around. You could even take me out dancing if you want," she tries, summoning all her teenage courage and steeling herself against possible rejection. "I'd love to see what you do for fun here. Or would Mrs. Blackwood not approve?"
"Well, considering that there isn't such a thing as Mrs. Blackwood," (for which Vince is currently very grateful to the higher powers which he doesn't believe in), "I suppose I could now, couldn't I love? Eah." Vince throws out a business card. Below the work number is scribbled another phone number, presumably home.
Dani pockets the card with a beaming smile.
"Now if you should find yourself in a position where I could be useful, or just to experience our colorful fucking local customs, you can give me a ring and I'll do my best to serve. After all, that's what C&I is all about."
"Cool beans," she purrs with another puff on the cigarette and another exhalation of smoke. "Is there some kind of feedback form I can fill out? Or a letter I can write to your supervisor? Maybe I can get C&I to give you a big raise...or...who knows, maybe I can find some other way to reward you for your kindness."
"By the way, it is so incredibly cool you can delete peoples' files. If someone, like, cuts you off in traffic, can you press a few buttons and get them deported?"
"No," Vince replies, "sadly that power passes into other hands once I stamp your passport like so, as much as I might enjoy having certain fuckers deported at any given time," as he duly processes the passport.
Dani looks vaguely disappointed at this inability to screw over everyone on the island, but it doesn't seem to mar her appreciation of Vince himself.
"Just one more thing before you go, love. Technically, people can apply for their majority on Al Amarja when they reach the age of twelve. Just an interesting tidbit I thought you might be interested in."
Interested would be an understatement; the minor Saint Claire practically leaps out of her seat at the news. "I never even thought about that! Yeah, I could do it! I'm a responsible adult... basically. So what would I have to do, where would I have to go?"
"Well, the first thing you'd have to do, love, is to become a citizen of our loverly shithole, I mean island paradise. They do most of that Immigration bullshite over at the Department of Democratic Nationalization in Freedom City, on the other side of the island from the Edge. It's not a fucking easy thing to do, but there must be some motherfucking lawyer, pardon my redundancy, out there you could hire to help you out. Then you have to register for adulthood with the Majority Court in Arms Barrio. That part is still not easy, but simpler and cheaper than the first part.
"Sounds like a major hassle," Dani frets.
"There's also the simple matter of lying, but you could get stuck in a deep pile of shite should someone check your references."
"Lying is good," she opines, "but a girl tries to avoid deep piles of anything whenever possible. I guess I'll just have to see how much green I can get ahold of. Is that the color of Al Amarjan money? Green?"
With one last puff (and just the slightest of coughs as her lungs protest), the brown-eyed teen stubs out her cigarette and gives her C&I worker a dazzling smile. "Thanks for everything, Mr. Blackwood. You've been really good to me and I appreciate that. Even better, you're supercute. I appreciate that even more."
"That's fucking nice of you to say," Vince responds less than completely coolly as he leans forward to shake Dani's hand. "I hope you have a nice fucking stay on Al-Amarja. Door's on your left, love and don't forget to call if you need anything."
"Will do, Mr. Blackwood," Dani promises, shaking the man's hand and flashing a smile that somehow comes off as sweet, mischievous and sexy all at the same time. Then she's turning the knob and stepping back out into the hallway, thinking thoughts that Dr. Laura would surely never approve of...
Dani returns to the waiting room without trouble or incident. It is, at the moment, completely unoccupied.
To Be Continued...