BobWrites

The telephone rang at the editor’s desk.

“Get Horatio Jackson over here for an interview right away,” boomed an imperious voice. “I want to set the record straight.”

“I don’t take orders from unknown callers,” objected the editor.

“I said right away.” The caller gave his address and abruptly hung up.



Horatio approached the anteroom desk. “I’m here to conduct an interview.”

“Yes Mr. Jackson, we’re expecting you. You may go right in.”

“May I ask your name?” Horatio’s note pad and pen were at the ready.

“Just call me Pete.”

“And the name of the man who called for the interview?”

“Mr. Joshua Lord. Please address him as Mr. Lord.”



Inside the office Horatio had to squint. Bright spotlights aimed their beams at the imposing figure seated behind an oversized mahogany desk. His craggy face was largely hidden by his full beard and locks of silver hair which covered his ears and much of his forehead. His eyes were a steely blue which seemed to penetrate to Horatio's core. He was dressed in a dark gray business suit, a light gray shirt and a silvery tie.

“I’ve lost patience with all these inaccurate Creation Myths. It’s time to tell the real story. I want you to write it down,” began Mr. Lord.

“Are you sure I’m the right man for the job?” asked Horatio.

“You’ll do. If I’m pleased with the results, I’ll grant you further interviews and clear up other ridiculous notions.”

“Very good sir. To begin, I’d like to ask...”

“ Be quiet! Today I’m going to tell you the true story of Creation!”



“In the beginning there was Pure Thought. And Pure Thought realized that there was nothing to think about. So Pure Thought created Memory, Imagination, Faith and Reason, in that order.”

“I thought you came first.”

“No. I came in with Faith. There was no point to my existence before that. Stop interrupting and just keep writing!

Pure Thought still didn’t have enough to think about, so I decided to create a Material World with lots of interacting events.

And so I did. I began with a speck of matter of incredibly dense mass. I exploded it, at the same time creating Space, Time and the laws of Physics and Chemistry. I created 6 dimensions of space and 6 possible directions of time.”

Horatio shook his head. “Why 6? Mankind only experiences three dimensions of space and one direction of time.”

“Six is a perfect number. Would you expect me to use an imperfect number?”

“What makes it perfect?”

“Don’t you remember your number theory? Perfect numbers and the sum of their factors are the same. The factors of six are 3, 2 and 1. That adds to six. That’s perfect!”

“I still don’t understand, and neither will my readers.”

“It’s not important. There are things in heaven and earth Horatio that are not dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“It seems to me I’ve heard that before. Didn’t Shakespeare write that?”

“And who do you think wrote Shakespeare?”

Horatio just nodded and kept scribbling.

“Anyway, the physical universe kept us occupied for several billion years, but then we began to feel that we were growing stale, so I decided to create Life in the physical world.”

“How did you do that?”

“It was simple. Some chemical reactions release free energy. This enables other reactions which absorb free energy. Growth and reproduction emerged from this. Next, mutations were needed to spur evolution, and mutations are simply copying mistakes. Last, the mutated forms needed to be able to grow and reproduce. Some were able to.”

" So you created evolution!" exclaimed Horatio.

"Of course I did. I had neither the time nor inclination to sweat the small stuff.

After that things got simpler. Single cells developed into colonies in which the cells differentiated, and creatures filled every niche where energy exchange could occur.

Eventually I permitted Man to evolve. What a pain that turned out to be. I guess Oscar Wilde was on to something when he said ‘I think that God in creating Man somewhat overestimated his ability.’”



“OK, the interview is over. You now know the true story of Creation.”

“Wait! What about Man’s immortal soul; what about abortion, what about stem cells, what about separation of church and state?” Jackson stood up, unable to control his agitation. “And what about Truth, Justice, Morality, Beauty...”

“If I like the way you handle the Creation story, I’ll call you in for another interview. Don’t try to contact me. When I'm ready, I'll contact you.

Remember, I work in mysterious ways.”






It was now two days since he had turned in his story. So far the editor hadn’t said a word about it. He was just sitting on it.

“Jackson!” boomed the editor. “Get in here!”

Jackson jumped from his chair and hurried to the editor’s office.

“Professor Gassack is speaking to the Very Flat Earth Society at 2:00 this afternoon. Cover it!"

Intimidated, Jackson decided this was not the time to question the editor. His watch showed 1:15. He had just enough time to eat on the run and make it to the meeting.

Jackson had been a cub reporter for three months now. His first assignments had been covering small fires, traffic accidents and following-up on crank phone calls.

His interview with Mr. Lord had been not only the highlight of his career, but also of his young life.


The lecture hall was new and sparkling. The auditorium contained fourteen rows of seats. The speakers' lectern was spotlit from above and featured a console of modern multimedia controls.

Horatio arrived breathless at 1:58. Six other persons were in the audience. Horatio recognized two of them as reporters from other news media.

He was pleased to discover that one was Helen Highflower, a pretty energetic young striver from the Weekly Tattler.

Horatio smiled and sat down next to her. "This should be fun," he whispered to her.

"Wake me if I snore," she smiled back.

As Horatio prepared his notepad and pen, an ancient lady doddered across the floor to the microphone.

"Welcome to you all. I'm sure Professor Gassack needs no introduction. He is currently President of the Very Flat Earth Society, and has an extensive and impeccable resume in our long fight for the truth. So without further delay - Professor Gassack."

Horatio applauded and was embarrassed to find that he was alone in doing so.

The Professor was a short, rotund late-middle aged man with a smile that seemed etched permanently on his benign face. His blue eyes darted continually at individuals in the audience as though imploring their continued attention. He wore a baggy gray tweed suit about two sizes too large. Unhappily, his voice was an unvarying monotone.



"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm here today to describe for you an impending crisis. As we are all aware, the conspiracy to portray our earth as a round sphere has now continued for over 800 years, despite our overwhelming proof to the contrary. As we know, the earth is largely a circular flat disc with the North Pole at its center. Around the perimeter is the Antarctic Wall - a sheet of ice of unmeasured thickness and height. This glacial wall is what holds the oceans in-bounds, preventing them from pouring off the edge of the world.

The current threat is that of global warming. As the world temperature rises and the ice wall melts faster than it can be reformed, we face a three stage disaster.

In stage one, the melting wall will cause ocean levels to rise, flooding low lying coastal land. The major port cities of the world will all be lost and the world's land mass can be expected to shrink by about thirty percent.

During the second stage, the wall will be breached and ocean water will pour over the edge, leaving only the deep ocean trenches to hold the vestiges of the now seventy percent of the earth's surface. We estimate that only 14.3 % of ocean water will remain. Of course, inland lakes will initially be unaffected.

The third stage will bring an arid environment where the cycles of evaporation and rainfall will be insufficient to support large croplands. Only a small fraction of the earth's current biomass will be supportable.

We here at the Very Flat Earth Society are currently planning how to deal with this three-pronged catastrophe. Our first steps will involve how we may raise public awareness. You members of the press bear an especial responsibility, to communicate the dangers we all face to the public at large.

In addition, we, a not-for-profit organization, need help with our fundraising efforts. I have prepared handouts for you and hope you will treat our efforts with the seriousness they merit.

Are there any questions?"

Horatio looked at Helen who had made no notes whatever. She was shaking her head as though in disbelief. She raised hand with the first question.

"The earth is round professor. How can you say it is flat?"

The Professor now assumed an avuncular demeanor.

"Ah child, you're one of the brain-washed masses. May I suggest that you Google our sister organization, 'The Flat Earth Society.' There you can find plenty of on-line evidence for the truth. In addition, I suggest that you visit our bookshop in the lobby, where you can find many volumes to help in your enlightenment.

May I have the next question please."

At first noone stirred. Then Helen again raised her hand. "Professor, haven't you seen the satellite photos of the earth showing it clearly to be a sphere?"

The Professor smiled indulgently. "Faked pictures my dear - all part of the conspiracy.

Any more questions? If not, you will find the handouts in the back. Thank you all."

Horatio turned to Helen. "Lets have some coffee." She nodded in agreement.


As they sat together in the Coffee Shop, Horatio began, "I have no idea what tone to take in my story. Do I mock the poor old boy or play the whole thing straight? What about you?"

Helen shrugged. "The whole thing is whacky and I'm going to report it as whacky."

They both laughed and Horatio thought how much he liked her smile.

As they continued to talk he began to wonder how forward he should be in undertaking her seduction. He didn't want to scare her off, but he wanted her to know that he found her desirable. He needn't have been concerned. As they finished their coffee Helen suggested, "Let's go to my place."

"Great!" Horatio responded.

"I seem to do my best writing after sex," she continued.

"Sounds like it's worth a try," agreed Horatio.




"Jackson!" The editor's voice echoed through the city room.

"Yes Sir." Up jumped Jackson and hurried into the editor's office.

"Your story about Mr. Lord needs a rewrite," the editor stated. "You've played it too straight. He's obviously a nut and you've written the story as if he actually is God."

"Yes Sir. The problem is I think he might be."

"Are you going off the deep end Horatio?" demanded the editor.

"I hope not Sir. I don't think so."

"Well, rewrite from a more skeptical point of view!"

"I…I wouldn't dare sir," stammered Horatio. "He was very clear about how I was to handle the story."

The editor glared at Horatio. "Go back and interview him again. Convince yourself whether he's a nut or some practical joker."

Horatio shook his head. "He instructed me not to try to contact him. He said he'd contact me again if he liked my handling of the story."

"OK. Here's what we'll do," began the editor. "Let the story stand as it is. It's too well written to lose it. Write a brief introductory paragraph explaining how it was assigned to you. Then add a closing paragraph saying I was skeptical and sent you to interview several scientists to verify the science. Invite the readers to decide for themselves. The problem is many readers will decide you're a nut."

"How many scientists sir?"

"At least two. Use your judgement," ordered the editor.

Later, at Helen's apartment, Horatio explained his dilemma. "I know it sounds crazy but I think Mr. Lord might be genuine. He's trusted me with his story and he's promised me more interviews if he likes the job I do with Creation. On the other hand my editor says I should treat him as a crackpot, and if I want to keep my job I've got to follow orders."

"Oh Horatio! You're so gullible," she mocked, squeezing his bare shoulders. "Your editor has it right. Mr. Lord - the guy's a fake."

Horatio shook his head. "That's what I thought at first. But he was absolutely convincing. And I've since found that his science is right on.

Their conversation ended for a while as they busied themselves with one another. When conversation resumed Helen began, "Your paper signs your paycheck. If you want to be a reporter, you'd better do whatever they want."

Horatio and Helen had been seeing one another about twice a week for the past several weeks. Helen would phone him whenever she had a story to write. After sex, Helen would bound to her laptop and begin typing furiously. When finished she would return to bed and she and Horatio would begin their pillow talk. After sex again Helen would return to her laptop and edit her story. Horatio would relax and doze off. He found he had no desire to write after sex.

A week later his story of his interview with Mr. Lord was printed. The public treated it with an inattentive yawn. But Helen liked the story and that pleased Horatio greatly. His editor was silent about it. Horatio despaired of any further contact with Mr. Lord.







Horatio was alone in the City Room. It was 4 A.M. The morning edition was on the presses. Horatio was finishing a story about a heavily advertised new drug which had just failed its
Phase III testing phase.

His telephone rang. How much louder it seemed when surrounded by the silence of the empty City Room. It was Elaine, his kid sister, who was in her junior year away at college.

"Hi Horatio. I tried to get you earlier at home. It just now occurred to me that I might find you at work."

"Hi sis, what's up?"

"I think I have a great scoop for you, Horatio. Can you drop everything and come up here right away?" 'Up here' meant up-state Vermont.

"Of course not," objected Horatio. "What's the scoop?"

"Three of the kids in my Archeology course and I decided to go on a dig. Just for practice - so we'd be ahead of the others when we all go to the salt flats this summer. We practiced at a nearby gravel pit - and we found something."

"What does your professor say about it?"

"We haven't told him yet. We still have some bones to dig out. I thought you might like to be here when we surprise him tomorrow. If you have an exclusive maybe you'll get a promotion."

"Fat chance," chuckled Horatio. "Tell you what. I'll talk to the boss in the morning. If he'll O.K. it, I'll come tomorrow. Either way, I'll let you know."

"Great! Love you."

"Love you kid."



It was a seven hour drive. Horatio hated every minute of it. He was four years out of college, and it all seemed like baby stuff to him. He was pleased to see Elaine, and was amused by her excitement. It was another twenty minute drive to the gravel pit. Horatio's fatigue was beginning to make him grumpy.

"Here it is," exclaimed Elaine. There on a makeshift table was an incomplete skeleton of some strangely shaped creature. "We still have some pieces to dig."

Elaine's three comrades huddled silently around a small white protuberance in the pit, carefully, with camel hair brushes, gently teasing away the muck and dirt from their treasure. They took great pains with their every motion.

After a few minutes, the sound of a car's engine broke the stillness and Professor Oletarf pulled into sight.

"Over here Professor," called Elaine at the table.

"No need my dear," said the Professor. "There's no way archeological artifacts could turn up here."

"Seeing is believing, Professor," cooed Elaine.

"Here's the last piece," called Edward, approaching the table and handing it to the Professor.

The professor held it in both hands, stared briefly, and then turned it over. He brushed away a few last bits of clinging clay and said, "It's inscribed. It says 'Made in China.' You brought me all the way out here for this?"

The four students were crestfallen as the professor laughed merrily. "Next time bring the first bone to me directly."

Horatio spent the entire drive back to the city thinking about how he would explain this scoop to the editor.





Horatio arrived early at the stadium. Today was the last game of the regular season. The playoffs for the championship would begin in two weeks. Over the last month hectic renovations went on behind the scenes to make the stadium ship-shape for national T V. A new giant electronic scoreboard was being installed to replace the old manual three level arrangement which Henry and Frank had operated for the last twenty years. Neither was too happy about it. Nor were they happy about all the electrical cabling and wooden scaffolding left lying about which they had to hop over to get from place to place inside the scoreboard.

Horatio had been assigned to cover the game because Biff Reynolds, the paper's sports reporter was covering a Tiger Woods golf tournament in Florida. Lucky Biff, he always got the cushy assignments.

Horatio entered the Press Box. Three of the sports reporters were already there. Two more were next door with Evan Blabstone, the Public Address Announcer in his private booth. There they were enjoying drinks from the inevitable bottle of Scotch which Evan never permitted himself to be without. The reporters all knew about Evan's heavy drinking, but so far the management had only heard vague rumors of it. Anyway, it didn't seem to affect Evan's getting the job done.

On the counter at which Evan sat were one empty scotch bottle and another almost full, with three half filled tumblers in front of the men.

Evan was a heavy set man in his fifties with a perennially flushed face, giving evidence of the copious amounts of alcohol he continually imbibed. Evan thought a lot of himself and loved to tell how lucky the stadium was to have him as their announcer.

The stadium filled and the game began. Horatio found it an unexciting one-sided affair. The home team was having its way, to the lusty cheers of the crowd, who had evidently bet heavily and stood to win their bets. As the Home team scored again and again prodigious amounts of alcohol celebrated their performance. Henry and Frank were kept hopping as the score kept rising.

Horatio had his head down as he busily wrote his description of the last score, when he was interrupted by some unusual screeching from the crowd. He looked up. Across from him the scoreboard was belching black smoke through its many openings. Flames could be seen raging behind the smoke.

Evan had staggered to his feet, and live microphone in hand began yelling "Fire! Oh my god, fire!" At this the crowd began jumping to its feet. Those nearest the ends of the aisles were already beginning to run for the exits.

Without thinking, Horatio bounded to his feet and slammed open the door to the announcer's booth. With his left hand he grabbed the microphone and with his right he pushed the stupefied Evan into his chair.

Then in a calm, commanding and reassuring voice Horatio addressed the crowd. "There's no problem folks. The safest place in the stadium is in your seats. It's only a local fire in the scoreboard. Be calm. Sit down. Be calm."

Horatio sounded absolutely self-assured and confident. The crowd noise abated quickly and an unusual quiet pervaded the stadium. Horatio had averted a panic.

Then, at the entrance to the booth, two security guards and the Stadium Manager appeared. Evan had not had the time or presence of mind to hide his scotch.

Horatio switched off the microphone and said to the Stadium Manager in an authoritative voice, "Have the guards check on Henry and Frank and have them keep curious fans away from the scoreboard. And get one of the reporters next door to call 911 for the fire department. I'll stay with the mike in case the crowd needs more calming."

"OK kid," said the Stadium Manager. "Can you stay on the mike for the rest of the game? I don't want to trust it to Evan!"

So it was that when the game resumed, Horatio was the announcer. Throughout his calm voice and understated style was a continuing calming influence.

Henry and Frank it turned out had been able to deal with the fire. A live high voltage cable had been kicked loose when Henry stumbled over it and it had ignited the old wooden scaffolding. Frank then threw a circuit breaker switch which had stopped the electric current.

The real danger had been that of a full scale panic in the crowd and Horatio had averted it. Although he didn't realize it at the time, he had prevented a possible major tragedy. Horatio had become a hero.

Helen, who had been watching the game on TV, recognized Horatio's voice on the public address system. She immediately phoned Horatio's editor to tell him what had happened. She suggested that the editor engage her to do a feature story, including interviews with the scoreboard attendants, Horatio, fans in the crowd and Evan Blabstone., whose career was now surely ended. The editor agreed, little suspecting the intimate circumstances under which Helen planned to interview Horatio.








Horatio was on his way to Manhattan to interview Dr. Urpstein, the famous ostoepathic surgeon whose scandalous mistake had lately been so much in the news.

Dr Urpstein was located on Central Park West. His third floor office had windows facing the park. The office was staffed with two nurses and a receptionist. All three bustled busily, smiling mechanically at him any time he caught their eye. No patients were in the waiting room when Horatio arrived. After about ten minutes, the receptionist showed Horatio into the doctor's office. It smelled strongly of liquor.

Dr. Urpstein, a small man, sat sunken in an overstuffed leather chair, behind a massive teak-wood desk. He blinked blearily at Horatio through heavily bloodshot eyes.

Horatio had seen the type before; the red nose, the veins tracing a confused map, their thin red lines flushing his cheeks.

'Now I understand how it happened,' thought Horatio.

"How did it happen?" he asked.

Dr. Urpstien shrugged. "Could happen to anyone. She was in for a knee replacement. I opened the knee, the intern handed me an elbow replacement and I inserted it. I wondered at the time why I had such unusual difficulties. But I overcame them. I'm a great surgeon. The patient will be fine."

"But I understand she's suing you for fifty million dollars."

"I don't let problems like that bother me son. My insurance company handles all the details."

After leaving Dr. Urpstein Horatio decided to walk downtown along Seventh Avenue as he mulled over his impressions. 'Dr. Urpstien must have astronomical malpractice premiums,' thought Horatio. 'He must have been in an inebriated haze not to notice that he was installing an elbow. Maybe he is, as he said, a great surgeon, to be able to pull it off successfully.'

He was now on his way toward midtown. He had an appointment to meet Elsie Triplight, the doctor's unfortunate patient. He was anxious to hear firsthand what it was like to have an elbow joint in place of a knee.

Elsie lived with her husband Henry in an old brownstone in the Chelsea district. Horatio arrived at about 4:00 PM. The Triplights were in the living room about to enjoy an afternoon pitcher of Martinis. Horatio noticed three martini glasses surrounding the pitcher.

"We've been waiting for you," began Henry, as he started to pour, "I hope Martinis are O.K."

"Perfect." responded Horatio, although he thought them the most vile drink concocted by man.

Elsie was seated on a couch, wearing plaid shorts and a polka-dot blouse. Her left foot was bare. Her recent surgical scar showed purple at the knee. Her right foot was slippered. As Henry set her drink on the table in front of her, Horatio saw Elsie absentmindedly reach out her left foot and slide the narrow stem of a Martini glass between her big toe and second toe. "Cheers," she said, and dexterously lifted the glass to her lips, while not spilling a drop.

"How does it feel?" asked Horatio.

Elsie shrugged. "It's still sore, but the awful pain I used to have is gone."

" I understand you're suing for fifty million dollars," continued Horatio.

"That's right. He's made me into a freak. My elbow-knee is all my friends talk about to me. My life is blighted." At this point Elsie must have had an itch on the back of her neck. Without
thinking, she stretched her left leg and placed her martini on the coffee table. Then she reached her foot behind her head and scratched her neck with her big toe.

"I can't wait to get the lawsuit started," she continued.

"I don't think she should sue," interjected Harry.

"Oh you!" exclaimed Elsie in disgust as she got up and marched out to the kitchen.

"Why don't you want to sue?" asked Horatio.

"We had sex last night," explained Henry, lowering his voice to nearly a conspiratorial whisper. "And she was able to position her leg in a way that was never possible before. It was wonderful. I want her to go back and have the other knee done the same way. Elsie doesn't want any part of it. She just wants to sue. If we sue, Dr. Urpstein probably won’t be willing to do the second knee. And with our asking him to do it again we won't have much of a lawsuit."

Horatio laughed.


Later that night, during pillow talk, Horatio told Helen the story. As Horatio ended his tale, Helen bolted upright in the bed and exclaimed, "What a great idea! I've got to have both knees done! Oh Horatio, think of the possibilities."




Horatio was at the gym. Between his many reporting assignments and his frequent dalliances with Helen, his workouts were more infrequent than he would prefer. As he changed into his gym togs Bill and Freddy arrived in the locker room.

Freddy kicked off his loafers and slipped into his gym shoes. Bill opened the locker across from Freddy and hung up his jacket.

"Yo! What you goin' to do t'day?" asked Bill.

" Thighs 'n chest. What about you?"

Bill pulled on his tee-shirt and answered, "I'm doin' bi's and tri's. That's a must."

"How come I never see ya doin' abs?" asked Freddy.

"Like I do crunches twice a week. That's a must."

"OK dude," responded Freddy, "Like I'll see ya inside."

"For sure," responded Bill.

"Our poor abused language," mused Horatio. Just yesterday he was on a train when the conductor declared that at the next station 'The first four cars will not platform."

'Platform has become a verb," thought Horatio. Last week, on the subway, Horatio heard the conductor announce, "Please lean off the doors." As a journalist Horatio wished the language didn't change so rapidly. It seemed all the grammatical rules he had so labored to learn were melting away.

As Horatio entered the Free Weights area Freddy was already facing the mirrored wall, a fifty pound dumbbell in each hand, doggedly doing curls. His face was red and the veins in his neck were pushed out in sharp relief.

Both he and Bill were muscle bound. Their arms at rest didn't hang at their sides, like most of us, with palms facing inward, but rather hung more frontally, their palms facing backward, pushed forward by the enlarged muscles under their arms.

Bill looked at Freddy and said, "Like I mean it's really weird that you got so few tats. Like what's the problem?" Bill was covered in tattoos. His skin resembled a billboard smothered in cartoon graffiti.

"Like I'm not sure I like 'em that much," grunted Freddy, continuing his curls.

"You're really weird dude," said Bill. "Empty skin grosses me out."

Freddy shook his head. "Like I been readin' about lotsa guys changin' their minds about wantin' 'em. Getting rid of 'em is a problem - like expensive and it hurts."

Bill disagreed. "I'll never want to get rid'da mine. I love bein' art."

"Well, like I'm savin' for college. I don't want to put my money into tats."

"You're like weird man." Bill turned 90 degrees so he could admire his biceps in profile. "You got such dorky ideas."

At that moment they heard a shout." Help me! I'm stuck!"

Horatio, Bill and Freddy all went to investigate.

The Super Aqua Massager resembles a squat blue and white sausage. For a mere fifteen dollars you can spend three minutes on your stomach, enclosed in the sausage casing, with only your head protruding, while warm water pulsates in a plastic envelope against your legs, your back and your shoulders.

Arguably this is refreshing, especially if at the end of the three minutes, you can exit the machine and go about your life.

Irwin had always considered himself unlucky and today was a perfect instance. When he pressed the exit button and the top of the casing was supposed to rise and release him, he found the casing was stuck.

As Horatio approached the sausage, two maintenance men were already there, gesticulating energetically, but obviously with no idea as to what they should do.

"Get the Manager," called Irwin.

"I'm the Manager," responded a tall thin middle-aged man striding in vigorously with an obvious air of authority. He was followed closely by a short chubby individual who had to scramble to keep up. "And I'm the Assistant Manager," the second man proclaimed breathlessly.

"What's the problem?" asked the Manager.

"I'm stuck! This damn thing won't open! Get me out of here!" shouted Irwin.

"He's stuck," said one of the maintenance men. "We don't know how to get it open."

The Assistant Manager leaned over to Irwin and asked, "How was your massage?"

"To hell with my massage! Get me out of here!"

"Calm down," soothed the Assistant Manager. "We're not going to charge you for your added time in the machine."

Meanwhile, the Manager was on his cell phone speaking with a representative of the Super Aqua Massager. After a few moments he hung up and approached Irwin. "I've just been speaking with the manufacturer," he began hesitatingly. "They normally have two expert maintenance men. One just quit and the other is in Alaska where his daughter is having his first grandchild."

"Great!" piped in the Assistant Manager. "I'm sure we all wish them well!"

"What about me?" groaned Irwin. "I've got lots to do this morning."

The clock on the wall showed 9:15. The Manager told the maintenance men to get a hack-saw blade, slide it into the machine, and saw through whatever obstruction was preventing it from opening. The maintenance men hurried off.

Meanwhile, the Assistant Manager again leaned over to Irwin and said softly, "Don't worry. If you're not out by noon I'm sure the boss will spring for lunch."

"Are you crazy!" exploded Irwin. "I can't stay in here all morning!"

"Relax," implored the Assistant Manager. "If worse comes to worst I'm sure the boss will spring for dinner too."

Now the maintenance men returned with a long hack-saw blade. "This should do the trick," said the Manager, as one of the maintenance men slid the blade into the sausage while the other held it steady.

After about two minutes of sawing, Irwin suddenly yelled, "Hey, you must have sprung a leak. I feel water dripping on me! I'm starting to get soaked!"

"Don't worry," said the Assistant Manager. "We can add as much water as we need."

"Pull the power cord," said one maintenance man to the other. "We can't chance an electrocution."

Irwin was now making strange sounds - something between a growl, a groan and a sob. The Manager and Assistant had gone off to a corner and the Manager was again on his cell-phone, this time to the to the legal firm which represented the gym. "Don't admit any liability, advised the lawyer. "Subtly imply that it's the customer's fault. He must have done something wrong."

"The water's starting to get cold," called Irwin. "Call 911." The Manager thought this sounded like a good idea and called at once. Meanwhile the Assistant Manager bent over to Irwin and asked, "What did you do to get yourself stuck. You know you're not supposed to abuse the equipment."

Finally the Fire Department arrived; six burly men carrying axes and sledge hammers, to the Manager's horror.

Horatio approached Irwin and asked if there was anything he could do to help. "Just keep that idiot Assistant Manager away from me!" moaned Irwin.

"Careful not to hit him," called out the Assistant Manager. After a few minutes conference the firemen decided not to use their tools, but instead to wheel the sausage out and deposit him at a local automotive chop shop. Meanwhile the Manager took his assistant aside and said, "Go along with Irwin to demonstrate our concern with his well-being."

The Assistant Manager, wearing a broad smile, approached Irwin. "Good news! I'm going to get to ride in the fire engine with you to the chop shop."

Irwin simply groaned.

Freddy and Bill accompanied Irwin and his sausage casing in the event their muscles were needed. Horatio went back to his workout. He too had a busy morning planned.

Three days later Horatio was again at the gym. He located the Manager and asked what had happened with Irwin. The Manager looked distressed. "We couldn't get him out till about 3:00 in the afternoon. I've just been on the phone with Irwin's lawyer. He wants to sue us; he wants to sue the manufacturer; he wants to sue the Fire Department; he wants to sue the chop shop, and most of all he wants to sue my Assistant. When I asked if I could speak with him, his lawyer stated he is now often incoherent and is incommunicado until he completes a long course of psychotherapy. Meanwhile this morning I received a bill from the chop shop and a letter from the Fire Department requesting a special donation. I've also received a call from the Super Aqua Massager. They want payment for their chopped up machine."

"Wow!" exclaimed Horatio. "How are you handling all this?"

The Manager shrugged. "No problem. Like any good executive, I've delegated it all to my Assistant."