Chapter 7
4:00AM...
Clink...clinkety clink...
Edd Frass dug through his refrigerator for a late night (or in this case) early morning snack. Nearly everything inside was nearing its expiration date...including the baking soda.
Clink, clinkety clink went the jars and bottles as Frass moved them around.
Fortunately, he had something to watch on TV while he ate. He always did. He had taped last night's local news broadcast. Although Frass was a man who cared little about anyone but himself, he liked to keep a keen eye on what was going on in the world. Lucky for him, the old VCR still dutifully taped broadcast after broadcast in case Frass had to "work" late. "Working late" to Frass mainly meant pecking away at his calculator, totaling up his "profits". "Profits" to Frass meant expenses for the factory he chose not to pay for (such as safety equipment, building maintenance, benefits for his employees, etc).
Frass made himself a lumpy, yellow-tinted mayonnaise and summer sausage sandwich and rewound the tape. Basic news stories were read as Frass chewed the yellowed sandwich with even yellower, tartar-stained teeth.
There was something about gas prices, a political debate, the weather report, the sports scores and the typical "fluff" story at the end. Frass expected it. It was usually about an animal. The other day it was about some dog who visited kids at the library. Yesterday, it was a duck that had wandered its way into a JCPenney's store. "A mall security guard got the duck out before it 'quacked up!'" the anchorwoman quipped.
Crack!
Frass bit into one of those hard, white things one sometimes finds in summer sausage. Like always, he just gulped it down and continued his open-mouthed chewing.
For today's "fluff" story, there was an animal featured all right, but not the kind Frass had expected. A bespectacled newsman in an unapologetically 1970's plaid suit read from a paper as the inset graphic showed a smiling, green face.
"And in local news," the Newsman announced. "International Muppet superstar Kermit the Frog is searching for someone called 'The Best Neighbor'." The Newsman paused as he squinted from behind his glasses at a report. "The late children's entertainer Fred Rogers has left the guarding of his entire estate (of his television neighborhood, that is) to an unknown person. Before his passing, Mister Rogers looked for a guardian to his television neighborhood while the artifacts were not on display at the Smithsonian Institute. According to Mr. Frog, Rogers made his decision, but the return address on the chosen entry is too smeared to read. here is a portion of a public announcement which is currently running on the local station KMUP."
A portion of the announcement then played. As it did, Frass gagged on his sandwich. As Kermit narrated what he was about to do to help Mister Rogers, Frass coughed heavily, heaving half-chewed mayonnaise, summer sausage bits and bread on the rug.
"If you have a child who made an entry and live in the Hensonville area, please contact the Muppet Boarding House in Hensonville." The Newsman flung the page away and noticed another page sitting on his desk. "This just in, the chosen guardian of Mister Roger's Neighborhood may also have sent in their entry from a selected area in New York City. Mr. Frog will be making a specific search tomorrow morning in the Big Apple."
Just then, the Newsman gave a cry of anguish as an apple the size of a couch fell on him.
Frass's face, now red from choking, gave one more gag. He could finally breathe, but his face remained red. It stayed red as veins in his neck popped. He stood up, pausing only to wipe his gooey fingers on his pants before waddling to the phone.
He knew what he had to do.
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It was a night just like any other. In his sleep he still couldn't escape the vision of those mixing machines. He dreamed about pouring container after container of those things in the dog food mix. That grinding, squishing, clicking sound haunted the entire scene.
Even in REM sleep, he somehow knew that in about 45 minutes, he would have to get up, get dressed and make that short, but horrible walk to that place he detested...but had to go to anyway.
As he dreamed about pouring the fifth container into the vat, a piercing ring made him pause. What was wrong? Was it the factory malfunctioning? Did Frass buy a new whistle?
The ring blasted again like a rusty old school bell. Max awoke and realized he was trying to get out of bed...or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
Max couldn't afford a bed. He slept on an old, inflatable air mattress repaired by duct tape in at least a dozen places. It wasn't even an air mattress designed for sleeping on. It was really a pool toy Max had found at a garage sale 10 years ago.
Max stumbled toward the wall. Along the way, he dodged his only two pieces of furniture. One was an end table with a small black and white television on it from around 1987. This too was a garage sale find. Its channel selector was always on "3". It had to be. It was the only channel he got, thanks to the second UHF knob and the makeshift antenna made from coat hangers, a curtain rod and aluminum foil. If Max was lucky, he could get a news broadcast that wasn't completely snowy.
The second piece of furniture in the room was Max's only chair: a lopsided, metal folding chair with the padding completely flattened.
Max used to have a small, plywood bookcase years ago. But after moving so many times, the thing had just fallen apart. Max's few books were now in a cardboard box the size of a footstool.
One of his legs was asleep. The ringing urgently beckoned him. He couldn't afford a cell phone on his salary. The only phone he had was an old avocado green rotary phone his grandmother had given him. Max picked up the clunky receiver.
"He--" Max began.
"MAX!" Frass boomed. Max snapped fully awake, nearly dropping the heavy receiver on his foot.
"Yes sir, yes, Mr. Frass--" Max sputtered.
"We got a problem. A
BIG problem. Tell the workers not to come in today."
"Yes sir, right away sir," Max glanced at his seldom-used refrigerator. A xeroxed office phone tree was stuck to it with Scotch tape. "do--do I come in today?"
"No, Max," Frass said grimly. "I want you here in 45 minutes. You and I are going to take a little road trip."
"Yes si--"
"Don't be late!" Frass interrupted.
Max heard Frass hang up. He left the receiver humming in his hand as he leaned against the door frame.
Max flipped on the kitchen light and proceeded to read the numbers off the phone tree.
Practically all of his kitchen items were unused. He only used the refrigerator for bottled water. There were cans of soup in his cupboard, but Max never cooked them. He simply pulled open the lid by the tab, stood over the sink and drank the soup cold from the can as fast as he could. He used the faucet water to coax any stray noodles or broth down the garbage disposal.
Since Max had been working for Frass, he never felt like eating. He forced himself to, even though each bite of a non-Rolaids meal felt like wriggling roaches in his mouth. As a result, most of Max's kitchen cabinets were empty. He had no pots, pans, glasses or silverware. In one drawer was Max's only cooking utensil: a can opener.
His countertops, stove burners, oven and dishwasher were spotless. They had been unused since he moved in a few years ago. The last person to open his oven and dishwasher was his landlord...when Max moved in. Since then, they stayed shut.
As Max dialed the first number with the rotary dialer, he stared at the corner of the kitchen. A sad-looking, scuffed wastebasket sat there. It was half-full of old hand sanitizer bottles and empty soup cans.
On the kitchen wall was the only decor in Max's entire apartment. It was from his grandmother, who was oblivious to how bad Max's job was. This was partially due to her Alzheimer's, partially due to the fact Max hadn't told her much about it.
The decor was a little sign, carefully cross-stitched and in a little wooden frame. Max tried not to read the words on it. Each time he did, it made his stomach sink painfully:
"Home Sweet Home".
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"Everybody ready?" called Kermit. It was very early. 4:30 to be exact.
Kermit was in the doorway to the Muppet Boarding House. He stood out of the way when someone rushed either in or out. As is traditional for many families going on vacation, nearly everyone forgot to pack something, everyone bumped into each other with traditionally excessive luggage as they ran up and down the stairs and everyone battled for the bathroom.
Kermit knew they wouldn't leave until 5:00AM at the earliest. He had planned for the other tradition, too: families are often late to leave for vacation. He told everyone 4:30 was when they had to leave. (He really wanted to be on the road by 5:00). This way, they would actually leave on time. Kermit smiled. It was a good trick.
As he watched his friends run in and out of the house, Kermit was surprised to see a stiff and formal eagle exiting the house.
"Sam? What are you doing here?" asked Kermit. "I thought you were going to talk about Mister Rogers on C-SPAN."
"I did it yesterday," answered Sam. "I finished it already and sent it via web..." he waggled the tip of one wing "...thingy...at the public library. I was able to film it with the help of their audio-visual web camera thingy collection. C-SPAN should be receiving it in a few days, correct?"
"Err..."
"The librarian who helped me mentioned something about sending it by 'E' mail. The 'E' stands for 'eagle', I trust?"
Kermit opened his mouth and just closed it again. he wasn't sure what to tell him.
"And as the eagle flies, I would say C-SPAN should receive my speech in a few days."
Kermit nodded. "O...kay."
"Now what is going on here?" Sam noticed the various pieces of luggage and Muppets being stuffed into the bus. "Am I correct in assuming that these weirdos are packing up and moving away for good? It's about time."
"Uh, no, no..." Kermit relied. A penguin passed by them with a suitcase. "It's just that we've got another area to search to find 'The Best Neighbor'. In fact, you can either come with us or stay at the house. It'll only be an overnight trip."
"I shall accompany you, then." Sam decided.
"Well, I was kind of hoping you'd stay and--"
"No, no NO!" Sam argued. "If the house exploded, we can expect that, in fact, I expect it daily," Sam glanced back at the Boarding House as if he were expecting the blast at any moment. "but someone has to defend the unsuspecting, innocent, American motorists against any
weirdness that may befall them due to these hooligans. It is my duty to the people as the symbol of this nation! Let me just--" he shifted his eyes. "get a quick bag packed."
"Well, hurry up, we'll be leaving soon." Kermit called after him.
Finally, luggage (and some penguins) were packed, final instructions were left for Lew and Pops, and the Happiness Hotel bus was finally packed full with Muppets.
Dr. Teeth was about to start the bus when Kermit waved an arm.
"Hold it, Dr. Teeth. There's one last thing."
Kermit paused, waiting for the last tradition to happen. It happened with every family leaving for a trip...right around this time...
"Oh wait, I forgot," said Kermit. "Go ahead and start up the bus, Dr. Teeth. Just ease it slowly out of the driveway." We have to be moving for it to happen. Kermit concluded in afterthought.
A little confused, Dr. Teeth did as Kermit asked.
It's going to happen...Kermit thought...
any second now...someone's going to say it, I know it...c'mon...
The bus crawled to the edge of the driveway...
"I gotta go to the bathroom!"
There it is! Kermit thought. It was inevitable. When a vehicle pulls out of the driveway, someone always has to use the bathroom just one more time.
Robin sheepishly sidled out of Sweetums's arm and tried to ignore the frustrated looks as he hopped back to the Boarding House.
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By 4:30, Max was dressed and had his breakfast and lunch in his pocket. He locked his little apartment and unchained his bicycle out front. It wasn't far to Frass's house, but Max wanted to get there on time. Whether he was on the clock or not, time was money to Frass.
Frass's home was a large, plantation-style house in the middle of town. Many of the rooms were unused and empty. Frass didn't need a big house, but he bought it anyway just to brag about.
Thanks to a gardener (to whom he paid a little less than minimum wage), the lawn and flower beds were well-kept and actually attractive. The house was also pleasant to look at. There were no chips or scratches in the paint, the woodwork was solid and the shingles were nearly brand new. To the average Joe-on-the-street, it was just another fancy house in the ritzy part of town.
To Max it was like the witch's gingerbread house. He felt like a bike-riding Hansel with no bread crumbs.
Max hoped his boss wouldn't growl at him for chaining his bike to the wrought iron fence out front. Huffing from his ride, Max ran up the brick walkway and checked his watch, which was set exactly to the factory's clock. 4:44AM.
Max rang the doorbell and waited. His breath made temporary, foggy circles on the frosted glass. He had never been inside his boss's house...and hoped he never would have to be.
Almost immediately, the door swung open and there he was in that horrible, thunderhead-gray suit from the commercial. He filled the whole door frame, looming like a storm before a tornado.
"You're late!" he growled, huffing cigar smoke and rotten sausage breath at Max. Frass hadn't bothered to brush his teeth.
Max knew it was no good to argue. Instead, Frass reached into his pocket and tossed some keys at Max. A fat finger pointed at the garage, where an unbelievably clean (and unbelievably expensive) jet black
2008 Maybach faced them. Its slanted headlights, intimidating grill and almost antenna-like side mirrors made it look like a furious space creature.
It was a custom job, spent with money Frass himself didn't have yet. It was all right to him. He didn't really need the car. He just bought it so he could brag about it.
"Drive." he ordered Max.
Together, they approached the luxury car. As Frass stuffed himself in the back seat, Max saw his worried reflection in the blacked out back windows before he opened the driver's door. The upholstery, dashboard and steering wheel were blood red. When he shut the door, he felt like he was inside an extremely posh coffin on wheels.
Luckily, Max had practice driving Doc Hopper around. As he turned the key, the engine roared to life like a wild beast. The dashboard lights illuminated eerily in a unified shade of acid green. Ignoring the sudden, fearful tightness in his chest, Max turned around to face his boss, who took up most of the backseat.
"Where do I go?"
Frass's gorilla-like shoulders rose and fell with each vengeful breath.
"Hensonville...and maybe New York for a little 'business trip'. I'll explain on the way."
The bile in Max's sinking stomach gurgled audibly. It was drowned out by the Maybach's snarling engine.
With great regret, Max nudged the accelerator. Within minutes, the car was on the highway. The first rays of dawn bathed everything but the car in a warm friendly light. The Maybach absorbed the sunlight like a black hole as Frass and his nervous driver headed for Hensonville.
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More to come...
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Jim Henson Idea Man
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