Amazon comes to Fritters, Alabama, Part II

Things get out of hand

© 2005 James Duncan Davidson used under a Creative Commons license

[After a dressing down by Amazon executive GRAYSON EMINENCE, the citizens of Fritters, Alabama labor mightily to please him in hopes of becoming the new HQ2, even erecting a golden calf and offering human sacrifice — among the volunteers, ALDERMAN SMITH, who said he would allow himself to be burned to death “if’n mah family kin git them a McMansion.” EMINENCE convenes another meeting of the town elders, who sit in folding chairs as he stalks the dais wearing a midnight blue velour suit and a black cape, which he swishes.]

EMINENCE: Ha! I know now that you will give me anything in your power — and puny as that is, your willingness is enough. It fills me with unseemly pleasure. “I have begun,” as Angelo says in Measure for Measure, “and now I give my sensual race the rein.” Just the other night I enjoyed the favors of one of your daughters — yes, yes, oooh, she was delIGHTful.

[In the audience, MARION PEWTY turns to her husband, SAM PEWTY, and whispers, “I thought he was one o’ them funny-boys.”]

EMINENCE: Now that you have abjected yourselves sufficiently, we will turn to the next part of the test — job interviews of your rabble. Let’s see if they can perform as required.

MAYOR SHONEY: [Leaping to his feet] Let’s hear it for Mr. Eminence! [Sings] For he’s a jolly good —

EMINENCE: Shut up!

[He produces a pistol and shoots MAYOR SHONEY dead. Gasps, screams.]

EMINENCE: It’s alright. I have been informed Mayor Shoney was secretly black!

[Cries of relief, “Oh, well,” &c.]

[Cut to a crumbling, derelict warehouse in Fritters, in which a long table with a white tablecloth has been installed, atop which are many medium-size bottles of Fiji water. In a dark corner EMINENCE hovers, seemingly in mid-air, wrapped in his cape like a flying fox. Two NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENTS — male, thin, in khakis, long-sleeved shirts, and fleece vests — sit on one side of the table. LURLEEN COOP — 40, chunky and buxom, wearing jean shorts, flip-flops and a sleeveless sweatshirt that says DON'T ASK ME 4 SHIT — sits on the other.]

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: Have some water, Ms. Coop.

COOP: Thankee.

[She takes several bottles and drops them into a burlap sack at her feet.]

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: I understand from your CV — and I must say, I’ve never seen one that was hand-written on a placemat before — that you were a housewife for several years and did not have outside employment. That’s fascinating! How did you and your husband manage on one salary?

COOP: Mah wuh?

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: [Panicked] Oh, I’m so sorry —

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 2: Do you mean you were unpartnered, or does your partner identify as a wife, or some other form of spouse?

COOP: Wal, me an’ Willard usedta git checks, raise some taters an’ break inta cars. But he died, so I hadda go clean out storm drains an’ gutters an’ sweep out, lahk when I swept in here when it was runnin’. Oh, an’ prostitution.

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: So you’ve worked in a warehouse before?

COOP: Oh shore. You ain’t gonna make me pee in no bottle, are ye?

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 2: Ha ha, of course we are.

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: I’m sure you’re capable of the work, Ms. Coop, it’s very simple and only demands long hours of hard labor and a slavish dedication to Amazon.

COOP: Ah git mah birthday off?

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: Don’t be ridiculous.

COOP: Don’ be ridicilis yes, or don’ be ridicilis no?

NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENT 1: No.

COOP: Thass it! [Hollers] Awright boys!

[A passel of BUMPKINS and YOKELS storm the warehouse with a Rebel yell, picking off the NONDESCRIPT HIRING AGENTS with squirrel guns. From the darkness AMAZON SECURITY OFFICERS — that is to say, local police officers wearing Amazon uniforms — respond with Sig P226 fire. Many are killed and wounded, but not before EMINENCE is plugged; he emits a thin shriek and collapses into a pile of dust.]

[Cut to a conference room at Amazon headquarters in Seattle. Several AMAZON EXECUTIVES, dressed like various Bond villains, stand glumly with their arms crossed or held behind their backs while JEFF BEZOS writhes naked in a giant bowl of cocaine.]

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE HUGO DRAX: The legal costs alone wipe out whatever financial advantage relocating to Fritters might have offered.

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE ODDJOB: Worse, sir, an insurrection has sprung up across the South. They won’t even allow us into their towns, unless we — unless we —

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE HUGO DRAX: Say it, man!

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE ODDJOB: Unless we allow them to unionize!

BEZOS: [Head lolling like a brain-damaged infant] GGGGgggglllllgllglfffs!

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE DR. NO: There’s no alternative. Call Elon Musk and cut a deal. The next HQ2 will be on Mars — where we will have total control.

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE HUGO DRAX: But no air.

AMAZON EXECUTIVE DRESSED LIKE DR. NO: Let Musk work out the details. It’s not like he’s ever been wrong.

BEZOS: HHhhhhhhhhspppppzxz.