Adventures in Crowd Control (Part 3)

The Micebreaker incident had been a learning experience for Howard.  He discovered that some people have no appreciation for innovation.  He also found out that the same person could be a tattletale.

Less than 12 hours after Clyde stormed out of his house, Howard was called in for a one-on-one meeting with the HR manager.  It didn't go well. 

She first gave Howard a lecture on how it was against company policy to utilize Clyde (whom she referred to as an "on-call off-hours resource") for personal business.  Howard wasn't sure exactly how much detail Clyde had divulged but it was enough for her to urge Howard to seek professional help, not only as a condition for his continued employment but also for his mental and emotional well-being.  She gave him the name and number of a local therapist who specialized in treating people who were about to snap.

Howard did not want to get fired and knew he had to act fast.  So on the way to his cubicle, he tossed the piece of paper with the therapist's contact information into a trashcan and then faked a back injury so he could go on permanent disability.

He managed to execute a fall in front of several witnesses that looked plenty painful, mostly because it was.  His zeal in making his accident look authentic left little room for trying to hit the ground ins such a way that he didn't actually hurt himself.  As a result, Howard's impact on the linoleum floor of the break room left him with an assortment of deep bruising, pulled muscles, and pinched nerves.  He might have committed an act but his groans and grimaces in its aftermath were the real deal.

In the months that followed, Howard gradually healed while swearing to doctors, chiropractors, and anyone else who asked that he felt no better.  It was easy enough to believe him.  He looked awful.

Howard had never been all that active but was even less so after his fall.  Most of his physical movement was now confined to tics and spasms he acquired from an allergic reaction to medication he first took for pain and later out of boredom. 

He believed his work as an inventor would resume just as soon as he regained his creative vision, a mental acuity he strove to recapture by watching TV, taking long naps, and gorging himself on any food that could be delivered to his door.

His weight gain had reached the point where his 38" Sansabelt slacks would only zip halfway when he was standing up and barely at all while seated.  His bodily hygiene had declined as he didn't bother showering on days of the week without an "r" in them.

These uneventful days of personal neglect went on until one smelly Wednesday afternoon.   He was lying on the couch, taking a moment to remind himself that if achieving greatness were supposed to be easy, everybody would be doing it and that he must persevere.  Eventually.  Satisfied with his level of commitment, he fell back asleep on the couch with a half-eaten slice of pizza on his chest.

Slumber did not last.  Howard had adapted to shut out the near-constant roar from the nearby freeway as well as the sounds of lawnmowers and the like.  However, this sound was different.  It was a clacking of plastic on plastic that came in short staccato bursts like small-arms fire, and it was very annoying.

Howard grunted and twitched then slowly got up and went outside to have a few choice words with whoever woke him.  It did not take long to find the culprit.  Mr. Lulkaas, Howard's octogenarian next-door neighbor, was using a weed whacker to trim the grass around a nativity scene that had sat in the front yard for over half a year.

Howard knew that Mr. Lulkaas was deaf as a post so he moved into his line of sight to get his attention.  The elderly neighbor was able to read lips so communication was possible.

"Knock it off with the racket, you old coot," was what Howard chose to communicate.

Mr. Lulkaas gave him a puzzled look.  Unfortunately for Howard, much of his recent nervous condition was concentrated in the face.  The resulting symptom made his mouth move a lot more than was necessary to form the words he was saying.  When he spoke, the message came across more or less intact to a listener but to a lip reader, what was received was gibberish.

"You know, you could just put that damn decoration away.  It is a little out of season," Howard added.  This netted another perplexed look from his neighbor so Howard repeated himself while pointing at the nativity scene.

"Ah," said Mr. Lulkaas.  "I believe that the birth of Jesus should bring joy to the world throughout the year."

Howard took a look into the plastic manger that countless birds had used as a toilet and decided that a good way to bring joy to the world would be to have Mr. Lulkaas put to sleep. 

But Howard noticed something else.  Among the cut blades of grass on the lawn was a potato bug that had been neatly sliced in half.  When the weed whacker came in contact with the insect, the spinning nylon cord probably never slowed down.  Its job of clearing a path continued on without a hitch.  It was something to be admired.  And emulated.

He twitched again, winked at Mr Lulkaas a few times (once intentionally and a couple more because he couldn't stop himself), and returned home as fast as his considerable heft would allow.  Howard Witzer had again found his creative vision.  The inventor was back on the job.