Homebrew - a NaNoWriMo Novel - Day 2

Yup, posting a bit early as I've already gotten 2,082 words towards Chapter One. I'll be working on it throughout the rest of the day, so it may change a bit.

Flying with Turkeys!

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
-Confucius

March 27, 2011

"... and so it is incumbent upon each member of this team to ensure total quality of the project by using this empowerment to focus upon eliminating all defects in each module prior to including the module in the project." droned Benjamin Davidson, manager of QC. Ellen Connoly had a hard time staying awake during QC meetings. Even with two cups of Rashid's extra-strong coffee in her, Ellen felt her eyes slowly closing. "...Furthermore... Ms. Connoly! If you find this subject not to your liking, perhaps you'd rather come up here and take up a new one!" Ellen, eyes now wide open, bolted upright in the chair, looking around at all her co-workers. Some were even stifling laughter! By the heat on her cheeks, she knew she was clearly blushing.
"Um... No Mr. Davidson. I'm sorry." Ellen temporized, "I just didn't get a good night's sleep last night. Please, excuse me." 'I need this job, she thought, bitterly, and here I am looking like I don't care about it. What a perfect way to blow it.' She reached over to the nearest pitcher and poured the remainder of the lukewarm coffee into her mug and took a deep swallow. 'Ugh. Well, the taste alone should keep me awake through the rest of the meeting.'

* * *

“Ellen? Ellen! Wake up, Ellen! We’d appreciate it if you would be so kind as to attend the meeting mentally as well as physically. Since it’s YOUR project we are discussing, you MIGHT want to pay attention. You may even have something of value to input.”
She groaned silently, hearing the snickers from her fellow project workers as she opened her eyes and shifted in the chair to look at her boss, Benjamin Hamilton Davidson, although ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Davidson’ was the approved mode of address. Mr. Davidson stared back at her, eyes glaring with the red glint of an angry boar. ‘Ellen, girl, you’ve gone and put your foot right square in it, this time,’ she thought!

* * *

The QC meeting finally ended. Ellen stood, stretched and began to file out of the room along with the other workers. As she reached the door, she was brought to a halt as Davidson said, "Ellen. Could you please stay here for a minute?" Ellen let Barb Serman and Rashid Kumaj should past her, heading out the door.
"You wanted to talk about something, Mr. Hawkens," Ellen asked?
"Close the door, please, Ellen," Hawkens replied. He waited until Ellen turned back to the table before saying anything more. "Please, sit down. I'd like to discuss some issues with you that have recently come to my attention."

* * *

Ellen struggled up the staircase leading to her apartment, the box containing her personal possessions fighting to slip from her hands and the day’s mail threatening to fall from her purse. When she reached the door she chose to put both down, needing a respite to still her shakey hand before she could unlock the door.
Once inside, she abandoned the box by the door and flopped onto the couch with such force the frame groaned. ‘Stupid furniture,’ she thought. ‘I’ve had enough bad news today. I don’t need to deal with reporting a broken couch to the complex manager.’
Sighing, she leaned into the corner and pulled one leg up, not quite laying down, yet not sitting upright.
“I might as well deal with the rest of it now,” she muttered to the empty room and pulled out the mass of bills and junk mail. “I’ll need to know just how long my savings will stretch. Gawd! What if I can’t find work before it runs out! I’m NOT moving back in with Mom and Dad!” She sorted out the junk mail from the bills, making two neat piles, yet one envelope, nine by twelve inches and feeling stiff as if it contained a brochure, gave no clue as to which pile it belonged. The return address stated it came from something called “UN-OPS”, based out of Las Cruces, New Mexico; that was no help. And the way it was stated, her address made her feel they’d gained her address from the mailing list from the Association for Computing Machinery. She hadn’t been an active member for almost a year now, ever since she went to work on her current assignment, well, last assignment after today.
“Whoever sent this just wasted their money, but I never could resist a mystery,” she told the room as she opened the envelope. The expected brochure slid out, pulling a form letter out with it. She put the brochure aside and concentrated on the letter. It opened average enough.
“Dear Ms. Connoly,

It has come to our attention that you are an eager young programming professional. We’d like to invite you to consider applying for an opportunity of a lifetime!”

‘Hmmm…’ she thought, ‘it’s a head-hunting letter. Still, just who is UN-OPS and what do they mean by ‘opportunity of a lifetime’? I think I might just apply. After all, it’s not as if I’m tied to a current project.’
She scanned further down… “That’s strange,” she said, “There’s no clue just who UN-OPS is. Wait a minute. I can apply online. Thank goodness for the Internet. Who knows, I might be called for an interview; I wouldn’t mind blowing out of Minneapolis for New Mexico. Minnesota’s so dreary this time of year.”
She headed for her home office which she’d set up in the second bedroom.

* * *

April 23, 2011

J'Shawn Williams cruised down K Street, heading for work at the mall. It was a boring job, but it paid for the car and his schooling. Sometimes he wondered if he should have gone after the Master's degree; so many of the courses were bogus, taught by professors who still hadn't figured out that Socialism didn't work. Ah well, he'd finished the last exam of his last semester, it was a sunny day and the radio was tuned to a new all-Rap station. He cranked the volume and dropped the windows to let some of the Bass rhythm blast out to the street. Pounding the wheel to the beat of the music, he slipped into the turn lane, waited for the oncoming traffic to thin and darted into the vast expanse of the mall parking lot. He headed around to the back where the employees had their parking spaces.
Bwoop! Bwoop! J'Shawn's eyes darted to the rearview in dismay. Damn, he thought, It's Carruthers! He's gonna bust my ass for playing too real. This is the third time this week! He cut the radio, pulled over and waited. Sure enough, the rearview showed Gene Carruthers getting out of the mall security truck. J'Shawn watched as he stepped out, hitched up his gun belt, reached in for his nightstick and shoved it in the proper loop, placed his billed cap squarely on his head, seated it, and then tilted it slightly forward and grabbed his ticket case. Closing the door, Carruthers reached up with one hand, tilted his head and radioed in to the guard office. Only Gene Carruthers could make such a production out of exiting a car, thought J'Shawn, and watching him makes it all the more believable that Carruthers was a cop wannabe. By this time, Carruthers had reached J'Shawn's door. J'Shawn looked out and up at the security guard, pasting a bored but somewhat innocent look on his face.
"If it isn't Mr. Williams," drawled Carruthers. "Y'know, GEE-SHAWN, we have rules against noise pollution on mall property. You can't just go around spilling all that crap out the window at such a high volume, pretty as you please. Besides, no honest-to-God, hard-working real American would listen to such noise. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a ticket." He smirked down at J'Shawn as he said the last line.
"No, Gene, you can't," J'Shawn snapped. "You haven't shown me any evidence that my music exceeded the limits set in mall regulations and you know as well as I do that I've gone to the expense of installing a system that specifically won't reach or exceed those limits. So just stuff that ticket right back in it's case." He glared up at the guard in defiance. However, Carruthers continued to smirk down at him. Uh-Oh! J'Shawn thought, Something's changed or he'd be flipping me off and waving me on my way, by now.
"You should keep up on the mall's rules and regulations. Several regulations were changed in today's Mall Council meeting."
"That's today! It was scheduled for next week!"
"Seems that several of the council members will be going out of town next week. It's vacation time, don't you know... It is now a mall regulation that the measured sound from a vehicle's music system cannot reach higher than 80 decibels when measured from ten feet away from the vehicle. An' I just measured you at 82 db! I gotcha! Here's your ticket!”
As J'Shawn started to drive away, he heard Carruthers call after him, “Oh. Yeah. I forgot! Have a nice day, Gee-Shawn!”
“Crap,” muttered J'Shawn, “This is my third violation in less than a month. That means I’ve got to go before the mall’s Disciplinary Committee. They could take away my parking permit, which means I’d have to take a bus to work!” He pulled into an available parking slot and got out of his car, locking it, and hurried into the mall.

* * *

"Afternoon, Ms. Dennehey," he called, "Sorry I'm running a bit behind schedule, but Carruthers pulled me over on my way in." J'Shawn donned his apron and hat and began pulling chilled dough and fresh vegetables from the cooler. This was the best part of the shift, prepping the toppings for the assembly line.
"J'Shawn? Oh good. You're here," Alison Dennehey replied. "Before you get deep into work, there's some things we need to go over. That can wait."
"Okay." he said, and stepped into the tiny office behind her. She waved him to the small chair as she sat in her own behind the desk.
"J'Shawn. This is hard for me, so I'll just come right out with it." Ms. Dennehey glanced down, shuffled some papers and looked back up. "I'm afraid Sunrise Pie by the Slice has hit a rough spot and I'm forced to make some cuts in staffing. I had thought to reduce some hours but upon review there's just no way I can make it work, save cutting personnel. As Assistant Manager, your wages are the highest of all employees; by cutting you, I can meet my goals with just one elimination."
"Hunh?" his stomach hollowed. "You're firing me? You can't be firing me; I'm the hardest worker you have. Besides, none of the others can work the early shifts. This just doesn't make sense," J'Shawn pleaded.
She hung her head. "Look, I realize times are tight…"
J'Shawn interrupted her, "No. Don't lie to me. I also do your books and make the daily deposits. And at the last mall meeting, they said that this place, Sunrise Pie by the Slice, was one of the most profitable eateries in the food court. There's got to be another reason." He saw her flush. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Yes," she admitted, "I knew I couldn't hide it from you. It's the other store owners. I've had complaints. No, nothing in writing, but if I don't let you go, things will get worse. The association is already talking about raising my fees… perhaps even force me to take all deliveries only during a narrow window of time. J'Shawn, I can't afford to keep you."
"So what about me? I've put in five years here and I've always been a hard worker. I need this job, Ms. Dennehey! I've got bills that must be paid!"
Alison dropped her eyes and shuffled the papers once again. "I can help there, somewhat. Yes, they're forcing me into a corner, but it's still my business, all mine." She met his eyes again. "It's not much, but I can pay you for the rest of this month, all your accrued vacation and sick pay and I've even managed to scrape together one month's severance. I've got the check right here."