People of Metal part 2

[jack_babalon]

The Department of Human Resources at MeriTech's Home Office Brach

"So we've been reviewing your case Mister Dema... Demam ... um... i'm sorry but i'm not sure how to..." Wayne Diggler the HR case manager for Meritech employees A through Me, had never come across a name as unique as...

"Dem-o-mor-tis" Mr.Demomortis annouciates slowly in a voice reserved for speaking to either an especially slow child or an especially intelligent house pet.

Mr.Deegle says nothing to this but just nods at Mr.Demomortis with a look of brooding panic. However Mr. Deegle always had this look. This was due to the fact that his eyes were spaced just slightly too far apart under a receding brow and seemed to be literally bulging out of their sockets. It gave his face the vague appearance of a talking fish.

"It is the name of my Blood Clan" Demomortis offers.

"I see" Deegle says adjusting his glasses in a manner that clearly implied that he did not. He scans the personnel file on Damian Jones Demomortis. He was surprisingly impressed: An MBA from Emory, a list of eyebrow raising references, five years with the company, excellent performance reviews from his supervisors, a series of Employee of the Month awards, plus Deegle could count the sick days Mr. Demomortis took with one hand and still have change. Very impressed indeed, but only one question bothered Deegle: Who was this man in front of him.

Damian J Demomortis leaned back in his chair with his finger tips forming a bridge in front of his chin. As per the Meritech Employee Handbook (2007 revised edition), he had on a collared button up shirt (White: clean, ironed and startched Deegle noticed), a solid crimson tie hung down to a pair of Khaki work slacks that ran down to a pair of well polished black leather shoes. It all served only to heighten the visual impact of the metal studded denim vest he wore over the outfit that bore several patches with names like "SEXFIST", "NAPALM DEATH" & "CANNIBAL CORPSE", the largest was on the back and offered the image of a reanimated corpse, dressed in a 19th century British Colonial military uniform, carrying a Union Jack and charging forward into some unseen battle. Mr. Demomortis also wore what Deegle could only assume was "KISS" make up, his face powdered white around Demomortis' thick patriarch's beard and his eyes had two black lightning bolts that came down in slashes.

"Well according to our records you've had an exemplary record here at Meritech..."

"Thank you"

"...the only thing is well... and you have to understand it's nothing personal, but your um... accesorizing of your outfits have been called 'distracting'..."

"'Distracting!" Demomortis grumbled a few octaves lower than a professional wrestler...

"Please try to understand..."

"Maybe you should try to understand that this is who I am!" Demomortis rose up and sunk two fists knuckledown into the surface of Deegles desk. "This is my lifestyle preference! Who are you or anyone else at Meritech to tell me what it is I should or shouldn't believe in..."

"But..."

"May I remind you Sir of Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, that clearly prohibits employment discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin..."

"We are not dis..."

"But you are. You're discriminating against my religious beliefs and denying me my freedom of religious expression..."

"What religion?"

"My Religion!"

"Being a Headbanger is not a religion, Mr. Deegle!"

"We prefer the term "People of Metal" thank you very much"

High Noon. Tight close ups of eyes shoot back and forth: KISS - Talking Fish -KISS - Talking Fish - KISS...

Finally Mr. Deegle spins around in a circle in his swivel chair, releases a pregnant sigh and comes back to face Demomortis.

"Look, work with me here huh?"
"Never!"

"You know I used to be a Head... a Person of Metal"

"Really" Demomortis sits back down with a bemused smirk buried under his beard somewhere.

"Really" Deegle repeats defensively.

"Who's your favorite band then?".

"Only the most rockingest band in the world... EUROPE!"

"Who?"

"Y'know... The Final Countdown"

"Kinda.."

"What do you mean 'Kinda'" now it was Deegle's turn to bolt out of his seat, oblivious to having just knocked over a styrofoam cup of cold coffee across the scattered papers along his desk, his fingers begin frantically air-keyboarding: "Da-da-da, da-da-da-DAA, da-da-da, Da-da-da-da-da--daaaaa..
Whoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo/We're leaving together/But still it's farewell
And maybe we'll come back
To earth.... who can tell?"

Deegle climbs up on his swivel chair now and clumsily stands on the desk leaning in front of Demomortis using the mouse on his computer as a makeshift microphone.

"I guess there is no one to blame" he croons to Demomortis who repeats the line incredulously, Deegle continues his brown penny loafers stomping carelessly all over his reports and spreadsheets.

"We're leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?"
Now Demomortis stands up and leans into the mouse-microphone.

"IT'S THE FINAL COUNT DOWN!!!"
Both begin thrashing their heads vigourously, Demomortis' long hair is tied back so it flays like a unmanned water hose while Deegle's comb over does it's best to keep up.

"Venus and still we stand tall
Cause maybe they've seen us and welcome us all
With so many light years to go and things to be found I'm sure that we'll all miss her soIt's the final countdown...
The final countdown...
It's the final countdown..."

"FINAL" Deegle

"FINAL" Demomortis

"FINAL COUNTDO-OW-WOW-OHHN!"

"What the hell is going on in here!" Ms. Branerbaum, the Assistant Manager to the HR department demands, bursting into the room with a charge. Deegle tries to get off the desk but only trips on his mouse-microphone and crashes into Demomortis.

"Have you gone insane Deegle! Whaddya tryin' to do get us all sued... and you, Alice Cooper! The results just came in. You didn't pass your drug screen..."

"But i'm Rastafarian..." Demomortis protests untangling himself from Deegle's limbs.

"You said you were a 'Person of Metal'" Deegle says trying to work his foot from out of the back of the wire of the mouse.

"I'm a Rastafarian Person of Metal..."

"Whatever you are... you're fired!" Mrs. Branderbaum fires back, "Get the hell out of here before I have security throw you out. Deegle I want to see you in my office in five minutes!" She slams the door and stumbles out.
Demomortis and Deegle stand there looking around, not knowing quite what to say to one another

"Well..." Deegle

"Yeah" Demomortis

Rubbing of the back of the head, awkward shuffling of feet, stares anywhere but each other.

"So uhhh look my bands playing this Friday over at the Earl... you should come check us out... i'll getcha on the guest list..." Demomortis offers.

"That'd be... that'd be... awesome!" Deegle says realizing it's been over twenty years, two marriages, three chidren, one mortage and five car payments since he muttered the word. "Look i'm terribly sorry about all this."

"Ahh fuck it... whaddyagonnado, huh?"

"Yeaaahhh guess so"

They resume rubbing back of head, awkward shuffling. Finally Demomortis nods, walks to the door and looks back on Deegle.

"Friday then?"

"Defintely"

Demomortis shoots him the pinky and index finger devil horns known to all People of Metal throughout the world in a farewell salutation. Deegle raises his fist, sticks up the pinky, then the index finger and finally twists his wrist around and holds it up proudly! Both men nod to one another, brothers of the sacred bond of Rocking Out and The Air Guitar. Demomortis leaves. Deegle stands there with the Devil Sign Fist still proudly lifted. Then he walks over to the mirror, straightens his tie, recombs his comb over and heads out to Ms. Branerbaum's office.