OUT OF ORDER
"She’s back," I whispered in the tight cockpit as my eyes followed the blinking lights. I tenderly pulled the third lever from the right, squeezed the yellow button, and pushed the crushed ice pedal down. Bits of ice dropped into an empty cup outside, and my heart trembled. "This has to be her," I told myself, leaning my ear closer to the cold inner wall of the cockpit and hoping to hear any sound from outside. Two girls giggled while quietly whispering something I could not make out. As I lingered on her giggle, sharing her invisible smile, lights in the cockpit began to flicker once again. I did not have a chance to savour our unspoken intimacy: I could neither caress the cool gleaming surface of the lever nor had a moment to softly brush my hand on the beaming yellow button. Other buttons blipped incessantly and levers began to move up and down, demanding to be pressed and pulled.
And then, I was back to the usual course of my shift until it ended: second lever, blue button, and ice pedal; second lever, red button, and ice pedal; second lever, blue button, and ice pedal...
I had just moved to the city for university and seeing how expensive the city was, I had begun searching for a job. For a whole month, I walked around downtown, dropping off resumes at pizza restaurants and hanging at cafes to see if they needed help. I gave out 35 resumes and never heard back.
The day before school was to start, while walking down the street to another hip coffee shop, I noticed a yellow page posted on the street lamp. It read, "LOOKING FOR MEN UNDER 5'5 WHO CAN SIT IN THE SAME CHAIR FOR LONGER THAN 12 HOURS and WORK ALONE. PAY IS TWICE THE MINIMUM WAGE. CONFIDENTIALITY AGREEMENT REQUIRED."
The yellow paper had bits hanging at the end with a telephone number written down. Two of them had already been ripped by others, leaving eight behind. I carefully tore one for myself and then ripped the whole page off the lamppost, leaving some tape and paper behind. I crushed the page between my hands and slipped it into my pocket. I didn't want anyone else to know about the job.
I dialled the number on the phone and after ringing three times, a man picked up.
"Hello, this is Williams Recruiting. How may I help you?" he asked in an inviting tone.
"Uhm, I am calling about the job ad I saw on a lamppost. Could I get some more information?"
"Sir, could you please tell me more about the ad. We are a talent recruitment office. We post numerous ads in numerous publications all around the city," said the man casually.
"Sorry, yes, I should have explained better. It’s the ad that says looking for man under five fe —"
"Oh, I see," he interrupted me. "Do you fit all the requirements, sir? This is very important for the employer. If you do not fit all the requirements, you will not be granted an interview. Unfortunately, you will not be even allowed on the premises."
Well, these guys are not fooling around, I thought, even more enthralled by the opportunity.
"I can assure you that I fulfill all the conditions for an interview. I am a man and I am 5'4. I can sit for a long time and I always enjoyed working alone. Confidentiality agreement is not a problem," I replied in a calm voice, emphasizing the last three words.
"It is a relief to hear that. We already had a few candidates trying to trick us about their height. What a shame, people assume we are not professionals. But we provide our clients with the best service. Of course, we measure every single candidate's height," he concluded, as if measuring the height of potential employees was a regular, expected practice.
The man gave me an address for the interview. Although not sure, I reckoned it was somewhere in Chinatown. The street name sounded familiar, similar to the one where I ate hand-pulled Chinese noodles a couple of times at a cheap restaurant. He told me to be there the next day at eleven o'clock, better if I arrived fifteen minutes early.
Next morning, I woke up even earlier than usual, dressed up in my best clothes, fixed my hair, and took the street car to Chinatown. I got off the streetcar several blocks north of where the interview would take place, and bought a banh mi at the Vietnamese shop. I got a large, spicy lemongrass tofu sandwich, and perched on the concrete steps. After a few bites, my stomach resisted breakfast and to run away from the bittersweet anguish of the unknown, I wandered around Chinatown, watching young couples and friends slurp their hot noodles in rundown Chinese restaurants. Without even noticing, I moseyed my way into a kitchen supply store and found myself mindlessly walking between aisles stocked with cheap colanders and cutlery imported from China. An old Chinese man wearing a red Coca Cola cap approached me and asked for the time. I looked at my watch to let him know, only to realize that I did not realize how quickly time had passed – it was twenty to eleven.
Five minutes later, I was standing in front of the building. There was no entrance other than stairs leading underground. I checked my appearance through the reflection on the tinted glass door and fixed the collar of my shirt. There were four different buzzers and none of them claimed to be Williams Recruiting. But this was clearly the building with no other entrance in sight. I hesitantly tried my luck, and pressed the first buzzer.
"Who is this?" An old woman inquired with a heavy Chinese accent.
"I am looking for Williams Recruiting," I answered timidly.
"Who?"
"Wil-liams Rec-rui-ting," I repeated with protracted pauses in between.
"Oh, Wllms!" She exclaimed as if she found a long lost family heirloom in a forgotten, dusty old chest. "Second buzzer top."
I thanked her and pressed the second button. Few seconds passed, and then, a few more. I pressed it again. This time someone immediately answered.
"Hi, who is this?" Asked a woman. She sounded only few years older than me.
"I am here for a job interview. It is for an ad on a lamp pole. The ad said you were looking for a man under five fe —" Mechanical ring of the buzzer split my word in two and the door cracked open.
"Please take the stairs down one level."
I walked in and found the light switch in the dark, but it did not work. Blindly guiding myself with the help of my extended arms, I sought flat surfaces to lead me down. Finally, after losing my step for a moment, I reached the railing of the staircase. It was cold.
When I stepped on the floor of the lower level, I freed myself from the winding staircase and took a deep breath. A door opened and white fluorescent rays pierced my eyes. A tall, chubby man dressed in a cheap suit came out and asked for my ID. I handed it to him. He suddenly disappeared behind the door and left me in the dark. Thirty or so seconds later, he came back.
"Thank you, they are verifying your ID. Meanwhile, please take off your shoes and rest your back on the wall. Now, please stand straight," he commanded in a composed voice. "Okay, you are good to go. You can put on your shoes and follow me."
I turned around and spotted a thick red line on the wall, a few inches above my eye line. Aha, I thought, he checked my height. They were not messing around after all.
Slowly my eyes adjusted to the light as I followed the man into the lit space. To my surprise, the office consisted of a single desk and a few inexpensive office chairs. A young beautiful woman, a few years older than me, sat behind the desk and kept herself busy filling some forms. She had to be the woman who answered the buzzer. She was wearing a dark red dress that matched her dark red lipstick.
"Hi, welcome to Williams Recruiting, I am Emma," she said, her big blue eyes glistening. "Thank you for arriving ten minutes early. It takes some time to verify identification. Please have a seat, and you will be called when they are ready for your interview."
I sat on one of the three plastic chairs in the office. Emma never looked up, and continued to fill forms. I looked around the office to kill some time. There wasn't much to see. A cheap metal Williams Recruiting logo with curling ends hung on the wall behind the desk and two floor lamps illuminated it to portray a more elegant look. Next to the chairs on my left, there was a luscious, fake plastic plant which I failed to name. In the far right, adjacent to the blank wall across the desk, a plastic water dispenser completed the bleak furniture. And that was it. The barren office looked like it was set up as a front for something shady.
Thankfully, the door between the desk and the water cooler creaked open and saved me from the miserable, fidgety wait. A slim, middle-aged man wearing black thick-framed glasses appeared behind the door.
"We are ready for you. Please, come in," he invited me. His lanky arm extended towards the door, he politely guided me. "My name is Adam. I am a psychologist. I will ask you a few questions, and if we agree on some issues I will proceed to administer a test. Sounds good?"
I nodded while shadowing Adam into the room. There was a small table with two chairs on both ends. A naked lightbulb hung above the table, reminding me of cliche interrogation scenes in Hollywood movies. He pulled a small green notebook and a fountain pen from his jacket pocket as he dragged the chair backwards and sat down. I sat on the other end of the table.
"As I said, I will ask a few questions," Adam said. Noticing my pale blank face, he quickly reassured, "Nothing to worry about, these are simple questions that will help me learn more about you."
"Of course," I said and relaxed my arms on the table. Slightly relieved, already sensing sweat cooling on my back, I leaned back on the chair.
"Do you have any prior work experience?"
"To be honest, I don’t have any real work experience. I had couple short-term jobs during high school, but nothing you would call experience," I smiled, a little despondent.
"That’s fine. I will be honest with you too. We are not looking for any prior experience. This job is one of a kind. No work experience can prepare someone for it. Not because it is anything intellectually demanding or physically exhausting. It is just, as I said, one of a kind. It is a first for me too," he paused for a couple seconds, and continued, "So I assume you are studying."
Adam and I talked for a long time. He asked me questions about my childhood, my parents, and moved on to more specific questions like if I feared dark confined spaces, why I liked working alone, and what I thought when I first saw the job ad. Between questions he pushed his glasses up his nose and sometimes slightly moved his chair closer to the table. Right when I thought we had concluded the interview, he leaned in and asked a final question.
“This question might seem off topic, but I assure you it’s not. Have you ever, maybe as a child, wanted to be a pilot or an astronaut?
“Uhm,” I said and wavered for a moment. “Yes, actually I did. I wanted to be a pilot in the air force until I realized I was too short.”
My embarrassed look sparked a cunning smile on his face. That’s when he felt confident that I was a good fit for the part and suggested we move onto the next phase. "So now, we can head to the next room." Once again his extended arm led the way. "We have a prototype designed to test your reflexes, agility, and comfort in the workspace."
I followed him through the door into another small dark room. A single chair stood in the middle, caught between welded metal bars that looked like the protective cage of a racing car. Hanging down from the bars, there were shiny levers and several buttons attached to wires. I walked around the heavy metal structure, squeezing my body through the narrow space between the walls and the thick black bars, and tried to make sense of what this thing was. Seeing my confusion, Adam began explaining.
"Here, we have a prototype identical to the workspace. We call it the ‘cockpit’ since it looks both like a race car and an airplane cockpit. If you can sit down, I will run some tests. It shouldn't take longer than five minutes. Please press buttons as they light up and pull levers when they shake. As you can see, just under your feet, there are also two pedals. Keep your feet on them and push whichever vibrates." Without giving me a chance to ask more questions, Adam left the room and disappeared behind the door.
I made my way between two bulky bars, first crouching and then climbing inside with my hands holding on the upper bar. I settled myself in the chair, moving my butt around to find a comfortable pose, and right then, buttons began to light up. I hit the yellow one, pulled a shaking lever, and felt vibrations under my left foot. The room radiated green, blue, and red with each button lighting up. A little mesmerized by the blinking lights and trembling sensations running through my limbs, I didn't even notice Adam opening the door and coming in.
"Wow," he exclaimed with a fascinated smile, "that was the best reflex response so far. Seeing how comfortable you were, I ran the test for longer. Instead of five, we went for ten minutes."
I felt a surge of confidence running through my body as receding impressions of shaking levers vibrated in my hands.
“That felt amazing,” I beamed, bringing my hands together and rubbing them to wash away residual sensations. “I felt like time stopped in the machine. The lights and all the shaking – they were hypnotizing.”
We sat down at the table in the interview room once again, and after clearing his throat, Adam revealed what this job was about.
"We will do a background check on you, but as long as we don't run into any problems with that, I can assure you that you got the job. Those were explosive reflexes. Very good. Very good," he commended me, looking down on his notes. "I assume you are intrigued by what this job is," he paused and carefully observed me to verify his hypothesis like a good scientist. Seeing my smile widened, he continued, "this is a very unique opportunity. You will be operating a machine, but as importantly, you will also be taking part in a secret operation. This is why we ask you to sign an NDA." He pushed a paper towards me with a pen on top of it. "This is the agreement. You can read it for yourself."
I slowly read the agreement. According to the capitalized text in section 1,2,3 and 4, I could not talk to anyone about the interview, my job and my pay. Basically, I was to say nothing to no one. The job had to stay as a secret in my heart. I signed the agreement and nonchalantly passed it back to Adam.
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he continued, "three years ago, at the World Soft Drink Convention, the Coca-Cola Company announced a new vision, a novel technology to serve soft drinks. With the help of IBM, they proposed an artificial intelligence machine to serve all of their drinks from one single fountain dispenser. The machine was to be called CRUSH1000 and placed at all movie theatres across North America." He looked up at my face to see if I was following. He noticed my furled eyebrows and tried a different take. "So, to explain it from the customer's point of view, you would pay for a drink at the counter, get your cup, go to CRUSH1000, and pick between 32 different soft drink products that are either served with ice or crushed ice. You could also mix different drinks in one cup." He took a pause once again, and seeing me nodding along, pushed the chair back and got up.
"But unfortunately, even though Coca-Cola spent hundreds of millions of dollars, neither IBM nor any other computer company could produce such an intricate, intelligent machine. They ran into numerous complications and now, it looks like CRUSH won't be ready for another two years. But a company with the global stature and recognition of Coca-Cola has to stick by its word. And they have a hard deadline for the release. In three weeks, the first CRUSH has to be available in our city. There is a huge marketing campaign with hundreds of celebrities attending the reveal. So, to cut it short, Coca Cola came up with a mechanical version of the original vision and this one needs to be operated by a person. You will be one of the operators. Along you, there will be three other operators working part time. But you will never meet other operators, simply to limit any leak of information, and you can never be at the movie theatre as a customer. Does that sound alright so far?"
I nodded with blank eyes, still trying to comprehend what kind of grand corporate scam this was. He sat back in his chair and leaned in.
"I think you are great for this job. A perfect fit."
This is how I got my covert job three months ago. After three shifts, I had already figured out that second lever, blue button - the most common order - was Coca Cola. Second lever, red button had to be Diet Coke as it was the second most common order. But never seeing CRUSH1000 from outside, never being able to walk into the theatre, I could not figure out what third lever and yellow button meant.
A few weeks into my new work, endlessly pulling down the second lever and hitting the red or blue button, I had sunk into a mindless, repetitive boredom. The voices of nagging kids demanding more Coke, lovers chit chatting about romcoms, nerds vigorously discussing the magnificent powers of superheros were all I heard for weeks until the third lever shook and yellow button lit up for the first time. And I was delighted to discover a new permutation of the machine. Like a boy who just discovered puberty, I got excited to see what other permutations I could bring out of the machine. As I was caught up in further probabilities, thinking about all other possible drinks, I heard a young woman giggling outside. Innocence of a child raced through me with both arms open and I tasted my mother’s sweet, yellow plum jam on my lips. I saw myself, my knees covered in soil and scabs, chasing a ball on wet grass, shaking my hands with the wind. And I knew right then, like struck by lightning, that she was special. Third lever yellow button coupled with the giggle was the mystery of my heart. It was my lover's drink, the most special of them all - the flavour of her unique soul, which flowed from my hands to her lips.
During my shift, I imagined her face, her earrings, and the colour of her hair as new orders came in, rattling the levers. While I poured orders, I filled in the blanks about who she was, what she did, and which movies she liked. My mind conjured holographic images of her, emanating from lit up shiny buttons. I imagined her downcast and moody with blue light on, lying on her bed, reading a sad book while her slender fingers gently slipped into a tissue box to wipe her recently shed tears. I saw her under green light, scratching her head and sipping her bubble tea as she studied for a difficult biology exam. I stared at her luminescent body flirtatiously dancing on the red button to the sound of shaking levers, playfully winking at me and blowing kisses like a thirsty succubus. The whole day, I dreamt of her in every possible, shifting mood. I saw her plump lips, admired her arched thin back, and smelled her colourful florid scent, changing from one moment to another with blinking lights.
A week later, the third lever shook again and the yellow button beamed on my face like morning sun rising on the horizon. The cockpit warmed up and I felt gooey inside. My ear on the cockpit wall, I tried to decipher what she was saying, who she was with. Once again, I spent my day fantasizing.
Going to work after that day was simply to wait for the next time she would order third lever yellow button. Each time the third lever mechanically waved her hand at me and the yellow button shined her smile on me, I didn't want to push them right away. I desperately hoped to extend her stay in front of me, so I could hear her syrupy giggle longer, so I could feel her spectral yet balmy presence outside the cockpit.
With her each order, I had heard her sweet childish giggle. She came to the movies often and always had the same drink: third lever from the right, yellow button, and crushed ice. I knew that I knew her in the heart of my heart. I knew we were meant to be together. She was special - the only person to ever order third lever, yellow button, and crushed ice.
As I left the dark and claustrophobic cockpit at the end of my shift that day, crawling through the rear end, making my way through the narrow tunnel to the building next door, I thought about her and once again imagined what she looked like. Feeling courage gathering in my scraped knees in the cramped tunnel, I made a pact with myself: next time the third lever rattled and the yellow button illuminated my insides, I would not fulfill her order. I had to make a stance and confess my love to her.
Each day I eagerly waited for her as I filled invisible cups with Coca Cola and crushed ice in the dark, silently cut off from the rest of the world. Every footstep I heard swell my heart, only for my heart to be deflated with second lever and blue light.
Twelve long days passed until the third lever shook again, sending bolts of lightning through my right hand to my heart. Then, the yellow button twinkled with her glowing eyes. I knew she was back. I leaned back in my chair as sweat gathered under my arms.
My face sweaty and all worked up, I gazed at the glowing yellow button and saw my golden reflection on it. As I stared at my reflection, it transformed into a beautiful girl’s image. I kept looking at my lover with adoring eyes, trying to remain faithful to my pact with myself, and I saw her image on the button swing her arm at me.. A loud thump echoed through the yellow cockpit and the girl’s image vanished. And then another thump roared inside. With every bang, my chair shook and wires crossed paths, sending out orange sparks. My giggly lover, now grown in size and force, kept slamming on CRUSH1000 as if she was trying to knock down a can of pop stuck in a vending machine. For a second, I thought she knew I was inside. I thought the game was up, that the whole world would soon learn about this corporate scam, and see my face plastered on the front page of newspapers worldwide: SCAM UNCOVERED - COCA COLA OR WILLY WONKA? CORPORATION CAUGHT EXPLOITING LITTLE PEOPLE FOR “SWEET” LABOR!
The slamming ceased and a deep, dark silence settled into the cockpit. I could not hear anything for a while. There was no one in front of me, no sound around me. I looked left and right for clues inside the cockpit about what was going on outside, yet being caged in, I could not discern anything. I grew hopeless. I thought I had lost her, that she would never come back and never order another third lever yellow button.
As I sunk deeper into despair, footsteps grew louder from the right side. I heard her agitated voice stream into the cockpit like warm honey infused with yellow light, "I told you, the machine is not working. I got the same drink many times from this machine. I come here every week."
"Miss," a man said, trying to calm her down, "maybe the machine ran out. Would you like another drink?"
"No! No way! I want my drink. I can't have anything else," she blurted. I barely heard her last words as her words washed out in tears.
I couldn't bear my lover’s pointless suffering anymore. I put my hand on the third lever to pull it down and give her what she wanted, but I stopped when she began to speak again.
"I'm sorry, this is just really emotional for me," she snivelled, trying to hold her tears back. "How can I make a complaint about the machine? Who takes care of it? Is it the Coca Cola Company or the movie theatre?"
"It is the company, miss. If you follow me to the ticket counter, I can give you their customer support information," he kindly suggested and they walked away. I listened to their receding footsteps.
A few minutes passed as I sat in my chair, not knowing what to do. The yellow light timed out and darkness grew darker in the cockpit. I didn't know how to proceed with my shift. If I continued to serve others, they might think third lever yellow button was out of stock and inform the company for a refill. But then, what about the next time she came to the movies? Then, they would know something was up. If I stopped serving all together, then I would get busted right away. I found myself lost and alone in the dark, with no one to ask for advice.
At the end, I got pulled out of my dilemma by the tremors of the second lever and blue light exuding my mood into the cockpit. I fulfilled the order, and for the rest of the day, sitting in a machine like another machine, numb and mindless, I poured everyone else's order to perfection.
Next day, I woke up to my phone ringing.
"Hi, there has been a complaint about CRUSH1000," an older sounding man said with a tense, worried voice.
"Oh, really," I wondered as if I had no clue what was going on.
"Yes, we received a complaint on the phone. I will play the recording to you right now, so nothing like this happens ever again," he said brusquely and pressed a button which made a clicking sound. I heard my lover's voice, this time not behind the cockpit wall, but through a voice recording machine.
"Hi, I used the artificial intelligence soft drink fountain earlier today, the CRUSH1000, and I couldn't get my favourite drink. I thought maybe the machine was out, but then I learned that the machine is continuously fed with drinks through special pipes and it could not run out. I am just really confused. I come to the movies every week and always have the same drink. It's very important for me." There was a long pause, which then turned into weeping. I could hear her chest violently pushing up and down, her lungs hyperventilating. Once she got a hold of herself, coughing and clearing her throat, she continued, "I come to the movies to have this drink. It’s the drink my boyfriend used to buy for me every time we came together. It's been seven months since he died in a car crash and every week I come to remember him, share a drink with him, and relive our memories. Please, please, sort this out. I'll be back next Tuesday."
The recording ended with another mechanical click and I heard the man speak, "as you can see, something seems to have gone astray. Do you remember anything like this?
"No, I can't recall," I said, still playing dumb.
"Ok, we just wanted to make sure. It might have been a prank call or, you never know, just a really agitated person with mental illness."
"Thank you for letting me know," I said, just then realizing that I knew when she would be back at the theatre, when I would feel the trembling third lever and see her image under yellow light. Flailing my arms with excitement, I hung up the phone and fell into a colourful reverie.
Next Tuesday, I wore my best clothes, got a haircut and headed to work. First few hours, there were no signs of my lover, no third lever yellow button. I passed time trying to memorize microbiology terms for my upcoming test, counted how many wires there were in the cockpit, and tapped a beat on my knees until they began to hurt.
While I was stroking my knees to soothe them, slowly and gently running my hands over, I felt the third lever shake and vibrate. The cockpit lit up with yellow light and I froze in my seat. For ten long seconds I waited, unsure of what's next. Then, she began to slam on the machine. She pounded with all of her strength, becoming more violent and forceful with every hit. I couldn’t control myself and slammed the walls of the cockpit back, trying to let her know I was inside. I pounded the cockpit harder and harder like a boxer hopelessly stuck in the corner. She had to be shocked by the banging coming from inside as my slamming brought hers to an end. I heard her loud dashing footsteps, running away from me.
We were done. My small body shrunk in the seat and I couldn’t move myself. All hope seeped out of the cockpit as yellow light slowly faded out and left me in the dark.
She came back with the same guy from last week, who now I supposed was the manager.
"I banged on the machine and it banged back," she warned the manager, her voice quivering.
"Let me see," the manager said and slammed the machine a few times. His hands banged heavier than my delicate lover’s, and the cockpit filled with blasts like trenches under heavy artillery fire. I heard a screw come out of its place, hitting other metal bits, and fall beneath my feet.
I did not respond and sat silently in my seat. Hearing nothing back, my lover cried, "Look, I'm not crazy. It sounded like the machine was banging back at me. I don't know why it's quiet now."
To prove her point, she started to slam the machine again. With every hit, I felt her hand on my cheeks and saw her heartbroken face. I wanted to touch her so badly, to share her tragic misery, that I pounded back on the cockpit wall until my hands turned plum red and bruised. Two pieces of ice, stuck in the dispenser from the last order, slipped out and tumbled on the floor, already melting.
"Miss, this is really weird," the manager whispered as if trying to keep this alien encounter just between the two of them. "Why don't we just take a step back. I think the machine might be broken. We will put a sign on it, and let the company know. In the meantime, I'm happy to offer you a coupon for bottled drinks or snacks from the counter."
She stood quiet, saying nothing, and I heard their footsteps leaving. As they walked away, more cubes of ice came out of the dispenser. All buttons flashed at once, nonsensically lighting up my insides. Yellow merged with blue, red crossed green, and levers violently moved up and down. Pedals under my feet crunched so forcefully that I thought they would fly off their bolts. I could hear crushed ice falling off the filling station, plunging down to the floor, and creating puddles around. The whole cockpit convulsed relentlessly to the cacophony of levers, shaking buttons, and crashing pedals. All shrieking in pain, ripping themselves apart, letting sparks out, smoke rose beneath my feet and filled the cockpit. A snake coiled around my lungs, unhurriedly squeezing all the air out. I couldn’t breathe. All went dark, and with a long, painful hiss, CRUSH1000 came to a complete halt.
Then, I heard running footsteps and the screeching sound of a tape gun. One after another, someone ripped four pieces of adhesive tape and put a sign on the machine which read: OUT OF ORDER! PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH!
As I crawled out of the cockpit into the tunnel, covered in soot and gasping for air, I imagined melted puddles of ice leaking away from CRUSH1000 and mixing with my lover’s abandoned tears on the ground – all under a yellow faint light.
D - 26/7/2022
