Across the aisle

I work for a large company... an influential conglomerate of swagger and wealth. This company in question owns the stock i carry in the delivery truck as i service the town of Sitka with soda pop, bread, and other nutritionless snacks. The icon is red, white and blue, patriotic as sin, but premarily blue. Its symbol has stamped the august faces of Bo Jackson, Michael Jordan, New Kids on the Block and most recently Alex ("Pay-Rod") Rodriguez. Like all multi-billion dollar companies who work to keep the small guys small and the fair market free, there is a rival. This pitted company has signed Paula Abdul, Elton John, Santa Claus himself and a bunch of polar bears in their marketing scheme.

When i first began work, the fellow training me flipped the rival with stories of deceit and corruption. He claimed afterhours our product display would be scrambled or front faced with their conspecific product... all by an unseen hand, the Coca-Cola man. Working alongside these guys every day in groceries and stations, he would tutor me never to speak to them. Under the silent understanding, morality, any exchange could be deemed treason and perhaps down the road, perjury. I nodded my head and quietly pondered his words. I felt it would be more to my advantage not to acknowledge his symptons of madness.

A few days later he put in his notice and i moved up, asked for a raise and tra-la-la. This week i've been working on the microcosm of corporate chivalry across the aisle. I began by pointing out that although Pepsi and Coca-Cola are both full of shit, corn syrup, flavorings and the like, the latter is a hell of a lot better. Later we laughed about the sad truth we supply the city's youth with liquid crack in the form of countless energy drinks and coffees. Little elementary addicts we laughed, ha-ha-ha.

Later that week i left my lights on in the parking lot as i drug a few carts into the grocery. Within minutes i had killed the battery and this monstrosity of a truck was parked inert, hazards flashing, blocking the entrance like the Lazarus stone. The manager started to chew on my head, her gaze burning into me seeking out the twenty-something irresponsibilities and blunderings. Then in the distance, a large red truck rolling, fake painted condensation on her side and bubbles of carbonation. To the rescue with red and black cables procured, i was saved like Joe Lieberman by the Republicans for so many years. A gallant blurring of lines; a truly bipartisan experience...