The city was as quiet as it always was at five in the morning. The Finance guys had been at work for an hour already, watching markets open up on the other side of the country, and the barristas were just rolling out of bed for six o'clock opening times; everybody else was still asleep. It made for an easy commute. One of the perks of being a garbage man.
I was late because my alarm clock hadn't gone off. At some point while I was sick, I ended up turning it off, because I was having trouble sleeping, and then when I was feeling better I hadn't remembered to turn it back on. So I drove in on Thursday morning feeling stressed out because I'd burned through my sick time being sick, of all things, and I really couldn't afford another day off. I expected my super to take a look at me, an hour late and disheveled, and tell me to go home.
I needn't have worried. There weren't any trucks out when I got there; everyone was milling around in the garage looking pissed off and confused. The dispatchers were out from behind their desks, looking just as irritated as the drivers. I slipped through the crowd and into the locker room, where I pulled my coveralls on as quickly as I could. Whatever was going had given me a precious little bit of cover, and I was determined not to waste it.
Terrence, my partner, was standing with a cluster of black dudes over near the coffee machine. I decided that pushing my way into that little discussion circle maybe wasn't my best move, so I looked around for someone else to ask what the hell was going on. Harry Quinn was standing off by himself, smoking a big fat cigar under the 'no smoking' sign. I sidled up to him.
"Hey Harry," I said, "I'm late, what'd I miss?"
Harry didn't even look at me; his eyes were scanning the other drivers and dispatchers, like he was doing mental arithmetic.
"Those nutcases up in City Hall put out some statement about how they don't believe in money," said Harry. "It's posted on the door over there, if you want to read it."
Nutcases? I'd heard Harry say a lot of things about City Hall, the Mayor, et cetera, but mostly the words he used were "blood suckers" and "corrupt bastards." I walked over toward the door Harry had indicated with his chin. There was a plastic notice-holder stuck to it, like the kind you see on for-sale signs in front of houses, full of regular-sized sheets of paper. Each bundle was five pages thick and stapled together; there were a couple left.
I grabbed one and started reading. It was really dense stuff about seizing the means of production and workers uniting. It was difficult enough to plough through that it took me a couple of pages to realize that it just didn't make any sense.
"Harry," I said, wandering back over, "What the hell is this?"
Harry looked at me past the tip of his cigar. "It's the future, kid," he said. "Apparently."
"I... " I waved the... the manifesto around a bit, helplessly. "Listen, Harry, I've been out sick almost a week, could you bring me up to speed on what the hell is going on?" He was back to counting people.
"So what, you ain't seen the news or nothing?" There was the edge of a mean little smile on Harry's flabby face.
"I'm telling you, man, I was sick. I was just watching TV for the whole week, in between puking."
Harry looked around me to see something; I turned just in time to see the crowd of black dudes that Terrence had been talking to break up. They all went around and started talking to other groups. I started to realize what was going on.
"Harry, are we striking?"
"Monday," said Harry, "On Monday, there was one of those big peace rally things? All them hippies and weirdos having one of their big marches." That was nothing unusual in this city. I nodded. "So, this one turned out to be bigger'n usual. I don't know if they planned it to be bigger or what, but it was all about police brutality and the police state and crap like that."
"Okay." That was certainly a subject on which I was more in sympathy than usual with my hippie brethren.
"So the march goes down Market, and it runs into a bunch of union guys waving signs about how they aren't getting paid enough overtime for digging that new tunnel..."
"Over on Stockton."
"Right. So they all end up joining up, and they walk up to City Hall and fill up that plaza thing out there in front of it?"
I nodded along to let him know I was listening. A cluster of Chinese guys I hadn't even noticed had done the same thing as the Black guys had: split up, moved around the crowd. I looked around and saw the Phillipino group and the Pan-Central-American contingent doing similar things.
"Wait, you're not saying..."
Harry nodded. "The Mayor goes out and gives this speech about how he sympathizes with them, and how police brutality gives the city a bad name, and..."
"And says a lot of stuff but doesn't promise anything in particular."
"You got it. But he says something, I ain't even sure what, that manages to piss off the Police."
"Oh shit."
"Right. So the cops were out in their riot gear, standing around being, you know, there, but not like cracking any skulls or anything, and..."
"And they just left?"
"Yeah. Spontaneous demonstration, they called it; afterward they got together and voted an official strike. Illegal as fuck, apparently, but... anyway, There's a picture on the internet of this big pile of riot shields and helmets where they just left 'em lying there."
"So, what..."
"So the protest fucks and the construction fucks stormed City Hall, is what. Declared a People's Republic or some shit."
"Really."
He reached out and tapped the sheaf of paper in my hand. "They put that out last night, sent it around to all the departments." He blew a big cloud of smoke up at the ceiling. "We been just, you know, waiting it out, figuring that whoever ended up in charge they'd want the trash to keep getting taken out."
I nodded. It was one of the things that appealed to me about this job: No matter what was going on in the world, the trash had to go out.
"So what are we doing now?"
"You read the last page yet?" He grinned. I flipped the manifesto around to the last page, which concluded with a paragraph about how the institution of money was being done away with in favor of a system of vouchers good for food and housing.
"Fuck this," I said. "What're we doing?"
"Well," said Harry, "As soon as we get done talking, we're going to have a vote. And if the vote goes my way, we're going over to City Hall," he said. "And we're going to take out the trash."
I was late because my alarm clock hadn't gone off. At some point while I was sick, I ended up turning it off, because I was having trouble sleeping, and then when I was feeling better I hadn't remembered to turn it back on. So I drove in on Thursday morning feeling stressed out because I'd burned through my sick time being sick, of all things, and I really couldn't afford another day off. I expected my super to take a look at me, an hour late and disheveled, and tell me to go home.
I needn't have worried. There weren't any trucks out when I got there; everyone was milling around in the garage looking pissed off and confused. The dispatchers were out from behind their desks, looking just as irritated as the drivers. I slipped through the crowd and into the locker room, where I pulled my coveralls on as quickly as I could. Whatever was going had given me a precious little bit of cover, and I was determined not to waste it.
Terrence, my partner, was standing with a cluster of black dudes over near the coffee machine. I decided that pushing my way into that little discussion circle maybe wasn't my best move, so I looked around for someone else to ask what the hell was going on. Harry Quinn was standing off by himself, smoking a big fat cigar under the 'no smoking' sign. I sidled up to him.
"Hey Harry," I said, "I'm late, what'd I miss?"
Harry didn't even look at me; his eyes were scanning the other drivers and dispatchers, like he was doing mental arithmetic.
"Those nutcases up in City Hall put out some statement about how they don't believe in money," said Harry. "It's posted on the door over there, if you want to read it."
Nutcases? I'd heard Harry say a lot of things about City Hall, the Mayor, et cetera, but mostly the words he used were "blood suckers" and "corrupt bastards." I walked over toward the door Harry had indicated with his chin. There was a plastic notice-holder stuck to it, like the kind you see on for-sale signs in front of houses, full of regular-sized sheets of paper. Each bundle was five pages thick and stapled together; there were a couple left.
I grabbed one and started reading. It was really dense stuff about seizing the means of production and workers uniting. It was difficult enough to plough through that it took me a couple of pages to realize that it just didn't make any sense.
"Harry," I said, wandering back over, "What the hell is this?"
Harry looked at me past the tip of his cigar. "It's the future, kid," he said. "Apparently."
"I... " I waved the... the manifesto around a bit, helplessly. "Listen, Harry, I've been out sick almost a week, could you bring me up to speed on what the hell is going on?" He was back to counting people.
"So what, you ain't seen the news or nothing?" There was the edge of a mean little smile on Harry's flabby face.
"I'm telling you, man, I was sick. I was just watching TV for the whole week, in between puking."
Harry looked around me to see something; I turned just in time to see the crowd of black dudes that Terrence had been talking to break up. They all went around and started talking to other groups. I started to realize what was going on.
"Harry, are we striking?"
"Monday," said Harry, "On Monday, there was one of those big peace rally things? All them hippies and weirdos having one of their big marches." That was nothing unusual in this city. I nodded. "So, this one turned out to be bigger'n usual. I don't know if they planned it to be bigger or what, but it was all about police brutality and the police state and crap like that."
"Okay." That was certainly a subject on which I was more in sympathy than usual with my hippie brethren.
"So the march goes down Market, and it runs into a bunch of union guys waving signs about how they aren't getting paid enough overtime for digging that new tunnel..."
"Over on Stockton."
"Right. So they all end up joining up, and they walk up to City Hall and fill up that plaza thing out there in front of it?"
I nodded along to let him know I was listening. A cluster of Chinese guys I hadn't even noticed had done the same thing as the Black guys had: split up, moved around the crowd. I looked around and saw the Phillipino group and the Pan-Central-American contingent doing similar things.
"Wait, you're not saying..."
Harry nodded. "The Mayor goes out and gives this speech about how he sympathizes with them, and how police brutality gives the city a bad name, and..."
"And says a lot of stuff but doesn't promise anything in particular."
"You got it. But he says something, I ain't even sure what, that manages to piss off the Police."
"Oh shit."
"Right. So the cops were out in their riot gear, standing around being, you know, there, but not like cracking any skulls or anything, and..."
"And they just left?"
"Yeah. Spontaneous demonstration, they called it; afterward they got together and voted an official strike. Illegal as fuck, apparently, but... anyway, There's a picture on the internet of this big pile of riot shields and helmets where they just left 'em lying there."
"So, what..."
"So the protest fucks and the construction fucks stormed City Hall, is what. Declared a People's Republic or some shit."
"Really."
He reached out and tapped the sheaf of paper in my hand. "They put that out last night, sent it around to all the departments." He blew a big cloud of smoke up at the ceiling. "We been just, you know, waiting it out, figuring that whoever ended up in charge they'd want the trash to keep getting taken out."
I nodded. It was one of the things that appealed to me about this job: No matter what was going on in the world, the trash had to go out.
"So what are we doing now?"
"You read the last page yet?" He grinned. I flipped the manifesto around to the last page, which concluded with a paragraph about how the institution of money was being done away with in favor of a system of vouchers good for food and housing.
"Fuck this," I said. "What're we doing?"
"Well," said Harry, "As soon as we get done talking, we're going to have a vote. And if the vote goes my way, we're going over to City Hall," he said. "And we're going to take out the trash."
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