Short Story: Excellence Community Regal College Liberty-biberty University
(Inspired by the fretful, stressed out dream I had.)
Angel was required to wear the sunglasses.
They weren't hers.
This had been explained several times, although no one had explained whose they were or why Angel had to wear them.
There was a large greasy smudge over the left lens.
Angel had tried to clean it once.
“Don't,” Daria had said.
Angel lowered the cloth.
“They aren't yours.”
“I know.”
“You can't alter college property.”
“I was just cleaning them.”
“Exactly.”
So Angel wore the sunglasses.
Community College University looked magnificent through the smudge.
It looked magnificent without it, too, provided you didn't look closely.
The main building had enormous white columns rising three stories toward a carved pediment bearing the college motto:
KNOWLEGE • SERVICE • eXCELLENCE
We are better twogether!
The E in EXCELLENCE had fallen off sometime during the winter. Knowledge was misspelled. The college’s name was misspelled on the college vans. Maintenance spent a lot of time washing them. No one changed it. Head of Maintenance polished the E in his office. He wouldn’t be fired. He’d be complimented. His wife was next to be dean. He’d fix the elevator for her.
Angel had once leaned against one of the columns while waiting for a meeting and her elbow went through it.
Paper mâché.
Facilities had patched the hole with printer paper and white paint.
Today Angel was working in the Barnes & Noble Library, which was simultaneously a bookstore, library, computer lab, records office, and something called the Center for Community Excellence.
She was building a spreadsheet.
She had nearly finished it when someone called her upstairs.
When she returned, several columns had disappeared.
Not the paper-mâché columns.
The spreadsheet columns.
Names were gone. Dates were gone. Half the formulas had been replaced with zeros.
Angel stared at the screen through the smudge.
She knew what had happened.
She also knew she was not supposed to say what had happened.
Computers became temperamental when accused. Screens blacked and blued out.
“Angel!”
An elderly woman stood at the counter.
“I need my information.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Where is it?”
Angel searched.
It wasn't there.
The woman became angry.
Angel searched again.
The elderly woman was certain her dalima was Angel’s fault.
Then another older woman appeared, reached beneath a stack of papers, and pulled out exactly what the first woman wanted.
“There!” the first woman said. “Why couldn't I just buy it and take it?”
The second woman laughed. They smiled and laughed together.
Angel smiled because she was apparently participating in some humorous performance again.
Later, from the second floor, she looked down through the railing and saw the elderly woman talking with the wife of a member of the Board of Trustees.
Mrs. Messie.
Angel knew the name.
The harmless confused old woman wasn't confused.
Angel felt the small drop in her stomach.
Still, Mrs. Messie had left several personal things behind: keys, papers, and a VHS tape.
Angel collected them.
She didn't know whether she should hold them in the library or take them to Security.
She went looking for Security.
Security had been everywhere that morning.
One officer had asked why Angel was using the employee entrance.
Another had asked why she had been standing near the employee entrance.
A third had asked whether she had authorization to carry a cardboard box.
A fourth came in on his day off to use the bathroom and leave Angel a note.
:WE ARE WITCHING YOU:
Misspelled. Again. Confusing. Again.
Angel tried to explain it to Daria and so she said, rolling her eyes, “he likes you that is why he teases you.”
“which he?”
“All of them.”
Now there wasn't a security officer anywhere.
Angel went to the Communications Desk.
The Communications Desk was gone.
In its place stood a wooden hut filled with brochures.
COMMUNICATION BEGINS HERE!
Mrs. Messie had knocked most of the brochures onto the floor.
Someone else had put up a rental service.
Another person left a happy birthday invite with a QR code for more information.
Angel stepped over them.
She still had the keys and VHS tape.
She decided to test the tape.
She felt compelled by good faith again and again. It was annoying.
There was a small room downstairs with a television and VCR. Angel inserted the cassette.
The picture appeared.
It was beautiful.
She couldn't see what it was about.
The smudge on the glasses.
Something with trees.
Maybe children.
Maybe birds.
It didn't matter. The tape worked.
A young man appeared beside her with curly hair and a big smile and a radiant complexion.
“That's Mrs. Messie's.”
“Yes.”
“Those are her keys too.”
“Yes.”
“I know Mrs. Messie.”
“Wonderful.”
“I know everything about Mrs. Messie.”
Mrs. Messie arrived.
The boy immediately handed her the keys.
“I found these.”
“Oh, you wonderful boy!”
“And your tape.”
Angel opened her mouth.
“I found that too.”
Angel closed her mouth.
She opened it again.
“The tape works. I checked it. Daria said the theater sound might be hit or miss, though.”
Daria appeared in the doorway.
“The sound is perfect.”
Angel turned.
“You said—”
“There's absolutely nothing wrong with our sound system.”
Daria smiled at Mrs. Messie.
“What you're doing is glorious.. The college is perfect. Everything is wonderful.”
Glorious.
Mrs. Messie and Daria left together.
Daria looked back at Angel.
The sunglasses slid down Angel's nose.
She pushed them up.
The smudge remained exactly where it was.
Daria looked better through the smudge.
Angel had been told she was going to be fired since December.
That’s normal. They can fire us all, Rejoyce had said. She was the 3rd hand of Communications, but they had named her REJoyce, because rerejoyce was repetitive.
They had named Angel Angel, but ironically, that had been here real name.
By March she had begun wondering when she would be fired. She’d been written up twice. Once she was told about the other was handled without telling her directly. They let her see it and then walked away. The complaints from community members existed in a box on the Dean’s desk. “To use in case of emergensy.” They were written with empty spaces so he could add the appropriate names. They all knew they began with “Simon says.” Simon was the biggest tattle taler. He also didn’t exist and could not be compelled to step forward in public. But he could text, email, and make phone calls. He frequently talked to the Dean.
She found a security officer beside the gym. He was wearing a yellow jacket. It was his 3rd uniform of the week. The other two had melted like butter.
“Are they actually going to fire me?”
He laughed.
“Oh, they were going to fire you over the holidays.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“So they aren't firing me?”
“They don’t fire people here. They ruin them. You have to ruin someone then Simon Says is played and then they have the Tennis Court Tribunal.”
He smiled.
“They make it hard for you not to quit.”
Angel thought, good faith makes it hard to leave. You aren’t supposed to quit. You’re supposed to be an American. Fight fight fight.
Then his radio crackled.
He walked away.
Angel stood alone in the hallway.
KNOWLEGE • SERVICE • EXCELL NC .
Another e was missing. Or it was turned around to face the wall.
She was sent to the theater.
Then the gym.
Then Security.
Then she was emailed to print something. Then texted she was needed outside. Both were marked urgent.
She printed the document, ran with it. Gave it to the Hand of Marketing. She looked at it.
“I already have it in triplicate. Security gave it to me.” And she handed it back.
Then back to the theater because Mrs. Messie's VHS tape had somehow returned to Angel's hands.
oh no, I don’t want this but i have to return it to her.
Good faith pushed her at her back. Damn it.
The theater was occupied by summer camp. But the Fall Semester was about to start?
Children had covered everything with blankets.
Blankets over the seats.
Blankets across the aisles.
Blankets tied from balcony rails.
Blankets over lighting equipment.
Two children were building a blanket tunnel across the stage.
Another had made a nest beneath the soundboard.
A little girl wearing fairy wings had completely covered the podium.
“Should they be doing that?” Angel asked.
The camp director looked surprised.
“They're exploring.”
A blanket fell over Angel's head.
She removed it.
“Please don't interfere with the campers.”
“Sorry.”
Angel climbed onto the stage.
Someone told her to go to the gym.
At the gym, someone told her Security needed her.
Security told her she was supposed to be onstage.
Angel walked back.
She was very tired.
Part of her continued walking.
That part believed there must eventually be a correct place to stand.
The other part watched.
The other part noticed how everyone smiled when Angel became confused.
It noticed how instructions contradicted one another.
It noticed how mistakes appeared immediately before Angel was expected to explain them.
It noticed how everyone else seemed to know what was happening.
It noticed that the harder Angel tried, the more incompetent she appeared.
Something is wrong.
Angel pushed open a door marked EXIT.
Locked.
She tried another.
Locked.
She went to a window.
It had been painted shut.
She tried another.
Painted shut.
Outside, sunlight fell across the lawn.
She could see the tennis courts.
People were gathering there.
A janitor was putting out yellow signs. Warning. Wet Floor. She put out 6. Then kept mopping.
Angel kept walking.
Gym.
Theater.
Security.
Library.
The sunglasses hurt behind her ears.
The smudge had begun giving her a headache and made her dizzy.
She reached up instinctively to clean it.
“Angel.”
Daria stood behind her.
Angel lowered her hand.
“They aren't yours.”
“I know.”
Daria was wearing a badge with her name misspelled and carrying keys to nothing in particular.
Eventually someone unlocked a door.
It was Simon.
Angel stepped outside.
She stood in the sunlight.
For one wonderful second, nobody told her where to go.
Then the loudspeaker boomed,
“ALL STAFF REPORT TO THE TENNIS COURTS FOR THE WITCH TRIAL.”
Angel looked toward the tennis courts.
Bleachers had been erected.
Mrs. Messie sat in the front row.
Members of the Board sat beneath a banner.
COMMUNITY COLLEGE UNIVERSITY
CELEBRATES JUSTICE
There was no witch.
Everyone knew there was no witch.
That wasn't the point.
The trial was a performance.
And Angel was assigned putting out cookies no one would eat and water bottles people would sip and leave in random places next to water fountains made to accommodate water bottles. And she was assigned cleanup. Janitors can’t work past 5 PM. It was 4:59 PM.
The floors were dry. the Caution! Wet Floors! signs stood.
“Angel!”
Daria waved from the court.
“There are sticks everywhere.”
Daria wasn’t her real boss. Her real boss was the Dean. But he was with Simon.
Then Angel looked down.
There were three sticks.
She picked them up.
“The sound has to be perfect,” Daria said.
“I thought it was perfect.”
Daria stared at her.
“It needs to be perfect.”
Angel carried the sticks toward the trash.
Someone stopped her.
“Those don't go there.”
“Where do they go?”
“Ask Security.”
Angel looked for Security.
Security was gone to stand with the Dean, the President, and the hand of Marketing.
They felt very safe and important.
Security wore the appropriate yellow jackets, smiles, and scowls.
Angel stood beneath the enormous white columns of Community College University.
From here they looked regal.
Ancient.
Permanent.
One had begun peeling near the bottom.
Underneath the white paint was newspaper.
Angel could make out half a grocery advertisement.
CHICKEN BREASTS $2.99/LB
Paper mâché.
The loudspeaker crackled again.
“Angel, report to the theater.”
She looked toward the theater.
Then the tennis courts.
Then the library.
Then the locked doors.
Then the paper-mâché columns.
Angel removed the sunglasses.
“Angel!”
She looked at the smudge.
For the first time all day, she could see clearly.
“Those are college property!”
Angel folded the sunglasses carefully.
She placed them on top of the three sticks.
And walked away.
Behind her, someone shouted that the sound wasn't working and you could hear them perfectly.
It was Daria.
Someone else shouted “You’re terminated! Simon Says!”
Angel kept walking.
She hears the school has a new wing for a degree program that will be obsolete but completely funded in the spring. The first class is January 6. The last class is March 13th. The degrees will be issued at the ceremony in May with the rest of the students who earn theirs over 2 years. No one complains. Tuition if free. No one pays.
