Evil Corporation Catering

[Two men are shopping in the meat department at a Giant Eagle. They are big and burly. Upon seeing one another, they both brighten.]

Blake: Hey, Dameon, is that you?

Dameon:Blake? Hot damn! What are you doing here?

Blake: Eh, I just got the grill out, decided to pick up some of the good stuff!

Dameon: I hear ya. I can't wait to break mine in. The wife got me the—

Blake: The GrillMaster Z12?

Dameon: Ha, the one!

Blake: Holy Pete, she's a keeper! You'll have to have me over!

Dameon: Yeah, man. It's been a long while. Too long. Are you still catering for Anarchy Inc.?

Blake: Eh, the bosses were getting all weird. You know, for an evil corporation built to cause anarchy they sure are suspiciously bureaucratic.

Dameon: I hear ya.

Blake: Weren't you working that little shop in the Volcano Lounge? I heard they got raided the other day.

Dameon: Hot damn. I have to tell you this. Where's a—[looks around for somewhere to sit]there, that bench over there. [both men sit facing one another] O.K., so that raid you heard about? I was there when it happened, man.

Blake: Holy Pete.

Dameon: Yeah. I looked death right in the eye as it asked me for a scoop of potatoes.

Blake: You're kidding.

Dameon: Nope. So, I was doing like I always do, making sure the line was running smoothly, checking on the back-ups, and all the food was in order, right? They were having this Thanksgiving Day dinner that Dr. Destroyer was putting on, in light of the recent stock crash success. We were getting time an a half, and I knew the food would be a hit. Feasts are my specialty, and minions don't really expect much, right?

Blake: You're the best of 'em, Dameon. [fist bump]

Dameon: Alright, so my guy at the potatoes, a big Scandinavian who could crush serious heads (he makes the lightest fondue you'll ever eat)...

Blake: Sergei?

Dameon: You know him.

Blake: He's been on my crew once or twice. Good worker. Great cook. He's mean with a Mac. 11.

Dameon: Yeah, anyhow, he decides it's time for a quick cigarette. Everything's in order, so I fill in for him. And that's when he walks through the line. Effing Secret Agent 0.

Blake: No shit.

Dameon: None. He looks at me with his steel gray eyes and says, in a cool, clean British accent, 'hold the gravy.'

Blake: Ha. Vegetarian?

Dameon: I donno. I'm just sitting there thinking, here's an obviously British man in a shoddy uniform, right? In the middle of a convention with thugs and world class criminals who are all decidedly not British. How did he get this far? Don't they have some kind of ticket checker or something? It's an evil corporation we're talking about here. Inside of a volcano. There ought to be a short guest list, and a really big, mean bouncer. Right?

Blake: Of course.

Dameon: So I'm scooping potatoes, wondering if I should just let him slide, when my head chef, Grencko, realizes what I'd been thinking all along. This is Agent 0. There's no make-up on him, no prosthetics, it's like seeing a movie star and thinking it's just their dopple-ganger. So Grencko pulls his trusty Luger and like that, pow, he's on the ground, and I'm covered in blood.

Blake: No shit.

Dameon: My body kept the blood from misting the potatoes.

Blake: Phew.

Dameon: But I look up, and there's the silenced pistol sitting in Agent 0's hand, and it's pointed at my belly, and in his eyes I see nothing. Not a damn thing. He just popped Grencko, a family man who's only vices where being a small arms dealer and part time assassin, and there's nothing but steel in his eyes. Right then I knew if I reached for my Colt 45—

Blake: You still have that old thing?

Dameon: Yeah—dammit, where was I?

Blake: Gun. Belly. Steel eyes.

Dameon: Oh, O.K. I knew that if I reached for my gun he would kill me too, without a blink. And then the guy at the corn station, and the guy at the cider station. Complementary cider, and yet I knew Agent 0 would ice him. So I threw my hands up and acted like a pedestrian.

Blake: Eh, what could you do?

Dameon: Not much. I got under the table, and told my crew to run like hell.

Blake: They all make it?

Dameon: Most of them. Lost Yango to the lava because some jack-ass hit the self-destruct button.

Blake: I remember Yango.

Dameon: Yeah. It's a occupational hazard and all, but I just didn't think it would ever happen to me.

Blake: I hear ya. Well, that's nuts.

Dameon: Yeah.

Blake: So...

Dameon: Hey well, it was good seeing you.

Blake: Yeah, man, you too. It's been too long. Give me a call sometime. You have my number?

Dameon: No, no, here.[they swap numbers] Alright. I'm obviously out of work for the moment, so if you find some work and you want to...

Blake: Yeah, yeah, sure. Me and Sheila have been working on a new addition to the family, so anything helps.

Dameon: Really? Boy or girl?

Blake: Don't know yet. She's obviously rooting for a girl.

Dameon: Oi, don't they always.

Blake: Ha, yeah. It's good to see you. I'll give you a ring, I hear Captain Chaotic is in need of good food service for his new underground lair he's working on.

Dameon: Great, great, yeah. I'll see you soon man.

[both men walk opposite directions awkwardly]