No Questions Asked
2009; Colorado State University; Volume: 36; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/col.2009.0045
ISSN2325-730X
Autores Tópico(s)Business Law and Ethics
Resumo46 A t work, they put up these signs. Someone in upper-level management lost a digital camera somewhere in the factory , and of course it’s gotta be stolen. So they put up these signs that say, “Return the camera to your supervisor, no questions asked.” Who it was that lost it was one of those guys from headquarters. They come in every once in a while wanting to make a brochure of the company and they want us to be all smiles, installing the cupholders and screwing on the wheel bolts. Everyone knows the company’s going down, so they’re really pushing that American worker, you-and-me type of thing. Anyways, I’ve seen the camera. Somebody left it on top of the toilet paper holder in the john. I go and get the thing and I bring it to my supervisor, Terry. Here’s the point of the whole story: I give Terry the camera and he says, “Where the hell’d you get this, Nick?” Terry’s got a seat next to mine at Madden’s and I take him home when he’s too drunk to drive and more or less keep his ass married and employed, and Terry should know better , but that’s not even the point. I say to him, “No questions asked,” because no questions asked, right? He won’t drop it though, and finally I say some shit I probably shouldn’t’ve, and ten minutes later I’m out on my ass. The point of the story is, there’s always a fucking question. For a while I just sit out in the parking lot in the bed of my truck, smoking a cigarette and thinking about how I’m going to tell the story to Melissa. I’m trying to think about it, but what I can’t get over is how every single day for the last ten years of my life, all I could think about was getting the hell out of that factory, and now that I’m out, all I want is to get back in. The parking lot is full of cars but empty of people and it makes you feel lonely as hell even when you consider the alternative . I decide to tell Melissa that I stole the camera. It’s easier just to be the bastard. The decision makes me feel a little laura winther no questions asked CRSP09 fiction.indd 46 1/30/2009 12:45:46 PM 47 Winther stronger, so I get in my truck and shoot out of the lot, trying to squeal my tires like I mean it, like good riddance, but the seagulls don’t even bother to lift off the lampposts. A block from my house I’ve got the story in my head, rolling it over and over until the lie makes itself into a real memory. I decide to stop at Madden’s, just for a minute, to try to soften the blow. The best and worst thing about Madden’s is that it’s the same no matter what time of day you go there. Best, because you can come and go and it’s like you never left. You could probably pick up a conversation right where you left off. At Madden’s, no one even sits in your seat at the bar. Worst, though, because all the same assholes are there night after night, and it’s not the kind of place you should be after getting canned. One thing I’ve figured out is you should be careful where you are when you hit bottom, because there’re all kinds of people just looking for a little bit of weakness, like a virus waiting for a patch of broken skin. This is the kind of night where I end up breaking a guy’s nose or getting my nose broken. For a while, Ralph brings me two-dollar drafts, one right after another, and when he thinks I’ve had enough, he looks me straight in the eye and tells me he blew the keg, and then he goes and pours a pint of the same...
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