Abbey Hill Literary 4th Quarter: Second Place Winner
TEMPORARY BLINDNESS
by Jodi L. Piland
The sun set in the east that night. East was the direction Connie was driving when the hazy, orange orb assaulted her eyes through the rear view mirror. “Damn sun,” she cursed, the second time that day. With four suitcases and sad memories, she drove towards an uncertain future, and away from the life she’d known back in Parker’s Point, Wisconsin.
When Connie awoke that morning, she never imagined the day that awaited her would go so dreadfully wrong. “Bunny Trail Chocolates” had been a wonderful place to work. The owner, Mr. McGillicutty, wore coveralls and carried a tool box, and everyday was heard by someone to say, “If a man expects to be successful he’s got to know his work, and how can he do that if he ain’t in it up to his elbows.” Rather than sitting behind a desk, Mr. McGillicutty preferred to be an active part of his beloved company.
“Knives need sharpened?” he’d ask Phil who opened the burlap bags of raw cocoa. “That step stool need tightening?” he’d ask Harvey who made sure the chocolate was perfectly tempered, and used the stools to see into the enormous vats. “I gave them moulds a good coat of oil, so them bunnies should slide out like butter,” he’d tell Mildred. “Connie, that conveyor running too fast for you, dear? How ‘bout you, Roy? Need that tape dispenser refilled.” Connie was responsible for the bunny eyes, the final touch, before Roy slid the finished chocolate into individual boxes, and then packed the boxes into cartons for delivery.
Decades ago, Mr. McGillicutty built “Bunny Trail Chocolates” from the ground up. His motto, “Machines have their place, but the workers make each bunny delicious.” With the exception of the mixing equipment, and the slow moving conveyor that brought the eyeless bunnies past Connie at a leisurely pace, mostly everything in Mr. McGillicutty’s factory was done by hand.
At one end of the conveyor, Mildred removed the comical rabbits from their moulds, and placed them on the belt. Like all Mr. McGillicutty’s employees, Mildred had been there so long she performed her job with contented proficiency. As a matter of fact, Mildred’s timing was so exact that each bunny passed by Connie at perfectly spaced intervals, giving her plenty of time to squeeze on the white and blue eyes. For the white part of the eyes, she used two large horse worming syringes Mr. McGillicutty got from old Doc Weaver. And for the blue pupils she used two human-sized syringes. Those too came from the doc. “Simple tools and a caring hand, you have those two things and you can build the pyramids,” Mr. McGillicutty would say.
The factory was a long brick building with windows lining the east and west sides. In the morning, Connie sat on the east side of the conveyor with her back to the rising sun. Later in the day, she pushed the large, red mushroom button bringing the moving line of bunnies to a jerking halt, whereupon she’d move her stool to the west side of the conveyor. This ensured everyone could enjoy the daylight, and Connie never worked with the sun in her eyes, though she could do it with her eyes closed.
The bunny design had not changed the entire time Mr. McGillicutty owned “Bunny Trail Chocolates.” The ears were gigantically disproportionate to the face and squatty, little torso, which meant the eyes were actually located on the lower third of its body. Despite their comical absurdity, the bunnies were loved by all, and every Easter enough orders came in to keep the small crew working year round.
In spite of maintaining a modestly priced product, enough gradual profit was earned to allow Mr. McGillicutty a nest egg, so that on his 70th birthday he and Mrs. McGillicutty could retire to Ft. Lauderdale. Sadly, before that day arrived, Betty passed away. Because Mr. McGillicutty had no desire to wile away his remaining days on a beach, alone, he held onto “Bunny Trail Chocolates” until that day when he too drew his last breath.
Almost immediately, it was evident the new owner, Mr. Karbunkel, viewed all of his employees as so much obsolete property, the way he walked through the factory, his eyes stopping briefly on inefficiencies that, for years, had been offset by loyal employees and an owner not motivated by money.
At first it was just small changes that were hardly worth complaining about, vending machine choices and scentless soap in the rest rooms, things of that nature. Then one day, Connie arrived at work to discover everyone but she had been replaced by machines, all of which had to be serviced by the newly hired maintenance staff. Mr. Karbunkel came to work dressed in a suit and tie, and was never seen carrying anything heavier than a ball point pen.
Connie was given a uniform and the job title of “Confectionary Facial Coordinator.” Now that she had the fancy title she was expected to stand, not sit, and stopping the conveyor for anything short of an emergency was completely unacceptable. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the conveyor speed was increased by 13.7% which, when broken down, worked out to allow for one confectionary facial positioning every 1.7 seconds. Finally, she was told that from now on she had to stand on two yellow footprints adhered to the floor. After a brief assessment, the new “Director of Resources and Spending” said that facing east allowed for better confectionary facial placement, which, in the long run, positively impacted profits. It occurred to Connie to complain, but that morning the factory was alive with activity.
That day was the unveiling of the newly named “Chocobunny Dreams” candy factory, and Mr. Karbunkel’s public relations person warned that the new sign and user-friendly website was not enough advertisement. A charitable event with press coverage was needed to give exposure to the new and trendy company, and what better place for positive PR than Parker’s Point Elementary School.
That entire morning, while squinting against the relentless glare of the sun, Connie struggled with her new ergonomically-designed, eye-placement tools. They were hard to operate and nearly impossible to wield at a speed compatible with the fast moving conveyor. It wasn’t until the last rays of morning sunlight crested the top of the windows that she saw her egregious mistake staring back ludicrously at her. Someone changed the bunny design, but who, and when? Instead of the same old bunny with long and oversized ears, this new bunny now had thin, sleek ears which it pulled back across its shoulder like a pinup model striking a come hither pose. Positioning the eyes the way Connie always did was now not only an error in location from a technical aspect, it was positively pornographic. Panicked, she slapped the red mushroom button, but it was too late. Precisely at that moment, Mr. Karbunkel was unveiling the first 2000 newly designed bunnies produced that very morning by “Chocobunny Dreams.”
Connie was frantically gathering up the male bunnies from the conveyor when Mr. Karbunkel burst through the door. “You!” he said, drawing a bead on her. The bunnies slipped from her cradled arms. “You’re fired! And I’ll see to it you never work in this town again!”
Mr. Karbunkel was a vindictive man with connections to every one of Parker’s Point’s business owners. Connie was left with no choice. She had to move away, to a place where no one knew about her or the embarrassing episode.
The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Connie reached the Peoria Pancake Palace, just off exit 5. She took a seat at the counter and ordered soup with crackers. The water was free. Two stools away, a stern looking man took a seat. He placed his cap on the stool next to him.
The waitress placed a coffee cup in front of him and filled it from a practiced height. “Wha’d’ya say, Melvin?” her hand on her hip.
“Ahhhh,” he grumbled. ”Got this … you know-,”
“Problem?” she said sympathetically.
“Yeah, came up with a new-,” He snapped his fingers.
“Cookie?” said the waitress.
“Yeah, chocolate with strawberry filling, delicious, but can’t get the filling inside the-,” He poked the air with his finger.
“Inside the cookie?” she said.
The man nodded. “Yeah - tried cuttin’m in half, tried bakin’ the filling inside, tried one of them-,” He made a squeezing motion with his hands.
“Pastry bag?”
“Yeah, but the tip’s too big – filling sprayed everywhere. I’m desperate. The first order for this new recipe’s been placed. If I don’t get this figured out and quick my best customer’ll go somewhere else.”
“Sounds serious,” said the waitress.
“Serious enough. Got a steady job for anyone who can come up with a solution.”
“Well - good luck darlin’.” The waitress patted his hand and went about her business.
Connie took the syringes from her coat pocket. “Sir?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
(Ms. Piland chose not to provide biographical information)
JUDGE’S COMMENTS:
This story cleverly satirizes the undervaluing of creative talent (and individual workers) in business, as well as the hazards of so-called “efficiency.” The author finds many opportunities for humor (both in language and the plot itself), and the comic timing is excellent. The sharp and effective dialogue at the story’s end makes me wish that more of “Temporary Blindness” had been told to us in-scene, rather than in summary, with more action and less exposition. This story responded to prompt 4