It's an old VidPhone. Ancient, ancient technology. Visuals are so pass・
It's a VidPhone.
From my extensive knowledge of cop shows, I'd say she's probably the desk sergeant on duty. For some reason, they're always slightly overweight, and grumpy.
It's a toolbox.
There's a sheet of paper in here.
"This phone: 099-12090".
It's an old VidPhone. Ancient, ancient technology. Visuals are so pass・ The screen and camera are both out of order, I think.
VidPhone. The screen and camera are both out of order.
The label on that shelf says, "Reporting Indecent or Lewd Behavior by Bingo! or B/M Personnel, #31366".
Tuvok?
It's the front desk sergeant.
It's a thin guy wearing red coveralls. He looks like a repairman.
It's a repairman.
It's a, uh, portly fellow, wearing red coveralls. I think he's a repairman.
He's a repairman.
You can really tell a crook by his eyes, and his foul behavior.
The doors are closed.
The panel is closed.
The panel is open, and some wires are hanging out.
Wires. One red, one blue.
"Which wire should I cut, sarge? I can't tell which is which!", "Just cut one of 'em, Jackson! The timer's almost at zero!". Boom! Ah. My favorite scene.
It's a screwdriver. The repairmen must have left it by accident.
It's a screwdriver.
At least they're doing something, even if it's just staring at the panel.
Hehe. Got them fooled good.
She's busy. I should be able to sneak by her now.
It's some kind of requisition form, or work order.
I'd better forge-- Uh, fill out this work order first.
"Fix the damn doors!" Signed, the Commish. There.
It's a long shot, but if I try to cross these wires...
...voila. I'm so good.
I need to distract her...but how?
Let's see...what's the most difficult form to get hold of?
That was so gross. The things I do to save the world... I mean, that smell, that sticky stuff...the way that rat just wouldn't let go... Disgusting!
I can't get to the wires while those guys are working on them. I need to create some kind of distraction, get them away from the panel.
Not to mention the fact that I really, truly stink! I don't think it's ever coming off. I'm going to stink like fishheads and mouldy pizza for the rest of my sorry life.
No thank you. I've had my fill of her.
It's completely secured. I can't open it.
There's nothing else of interest in here.
They don't open manually.
There's no way I'm going back down into the basement. I'd rather be rolled out of here on a gurney with my body wrapped in black plastic.
Nah-ah.
Whaddayawant? We're on our lunch break, honey.
(heavy sigh)
Hi.
It's me again.
Why aren't you guys working?
We're on our contractually bound lunch break.
Uh-huh. Right. But you're not eating.
We're done eating, sure, but we're still on our break. Clause sixteen of the contract? And I quote; "...improper digestion may prove detrimental to further work-related activities...". End quote.
Enjoy your lunch break, guys.
With the Sunday overtime we're getting? You betcha, honey.
Excuse me -- how do I smell?
Smell? Are you coming on to me, honey?
What!?
I dunno. Women don't usually come on to me, so I'm just checking -- I wouldn't want to miss a come-on.
I asked you how I smelled!
Yeah. Right. Uhm. Like mouldy pizza and -- and...is that salmon?
Smoked.
Yeah. And a faint touch of rum.
I had an...accident, with a bottle. Inside a garbage container.
Happens to me too, all the time. You're not alone. In fact, there are meetings downtown every Wednesday night.
Aren't you supposed to fix the doors?
That's right.
But instead you're just -- sitting here.
That's right.
And you're not planning on getting back to work any time soon.
That's right.
And you're not bothered by this.
That's right.
I could say anything, anything at all.
That's right.
And you'd just answer...
..that's right.
Well, how's that for productivity. Yeah, yeah, "that's right".
It'd be so nice if you could fix the doors.
And it would be so nice if you could go away and leave us alone.
Is there anything I can do to make you go back to work?
No. Short of an emergency, we ain't moving our asses in the forseeable future.
What constitutes an emergency?
Any event accompanied by a specific work order, signed in triplicate.
What kind of work order?
Eh...you know.
About that work order...
Yeah, which one?
You know, for emergencies?
You mean the "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits" requisition form?
Uhm, sure.
Well...if you were to produce said requisition with the appropriate signature, we'd be forced to prematurely suspend our lunch break -- for tactical reasons, of course...
Don't you just love bureaucracy?
Bu-what?
Never mind.
Where do I go to get the requisition form?
What form?
The requisition form for the "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of...", uh, "...of Union Members Benefits"?
Any official office for which we perform services.
I don't have a drinking-problem!
If you can't admit it to yourself, honey, you do. After all, who's the one reeking of rum? Not me, that's for sure. Not today, anyway.
Meaning what?
We're letting the corn beef settle, honey.
...thus allowing our scheduled work to be completed.
Mister! Mister! The plane! The plane!
Huh? You an angel come from heaven to take me away?
The ants, they're everywhere! There are ants in my pants!
I'd love some green eggs and ham. Wouldn't you?
What's the deal with those spaceship dinners, huh? I mean, they taste like hospital food!
They never quit! They quality assure everything! I can't take a pee without Quality Assurance standing behind me checking off boxes and taking urine samples!
I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Doh!
Ah, to be young again...and also a robot.
Captain's log, stardate...Sunday, July 30th, 2209... We've encounter an anol-- Alan-- Amalanam-- We've encountered something weird.
In "Miracle", there are always vacancies.
Now we're set.
What's this?
Oh, just a jolly little requisition entitled "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits".
Say what? Lady, do you realize what you've done! You've...interrupted our lunch-break! This is an official work order! It can't be-- Wait, 09042...this isn't 09042-A, is it?
Uhm, no. Just plain, old 09042-nothing.
Hah! This being Sunday and all, that petition is useless. On public holidays you need the extension-A form, "Addendum for Public Holidays". Us being on triple overtime and all.
So...?
So we're gonna stay here and enjoy our extended break, thank you very much. Now, go away.
Okay, now we're set...I hope.
Why do you keep bothering us? Don't you have anything better to do?
No, absolutely not. This is requisition form number 09042-A. The "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits" requisition form with the "Public Holiday" addendum.
Balls, we've been nailed. George! Get your ass off that chair. We're going back to work thanks to this...lovely young lady.
Are you guys gonna be done soon?
Eh. Who knows. This is complicated stuff, honey.
How's it going?
Eh.
Hey, there's a phone call for you.
For me? Who is it?
I think it might be union business.
Outta my way, lady!
There's another phone-call for you.
Union people again?
Probably.
Gangway!
There's a call for you too, sir.
Me? I get no calls, ever. Except from my Mommy. Is it my Mommy?
Uh, it could very well be your Mommy.
Oh. Thanks!
That's the requisition from last week. What a horrible experience that was. I pray each and every night that we'll never have to sacrifice our lunchbreak again. You keep it, okay? Seeing that form again sickens me.
Hiya.
No point talking to old Georgie there. Ever since he overdosed on Raptures, he ain't been right in the head. I don't ever let him hold the hammer no more either, I'll tell you that.
Good to see you up and about, George.
Excuse me, ma'am?
Yeah, yeah, what can I do for you?
Excuse me, ma'am?
You again? What do you want now?
Where are the archives?
The archives? You're not an officer of the law, are you?
I need the requisition form called "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits".
All right, all right, what's the number?
Number?
I need to know the identification number of that form. You know, the five-digit alpha-numerical ID?
Aren't those documents arranged alphabetically?
Yeah. Yeah, they are. But I--still--need--a--number! Capisce?
About that requisition form...
Identification number?
I don't have an identification number! I just know the name of the requisition. It's--
No, can't help you without an ID number. Rules are rules.
I'm sorry, but doesn't this situation strike you as disturbingly Kafka-esque?
Nah, it's more of a Bergmanian pastiche on a Kafka-esque theme. My unwillingness to yield is less a bureaucratic necessity than a petty desire to transfer the burden of my miserable existence onto others.
Right. What you said.
Thanks anyway.
About the archives...
You're not an officer of the law, are you?
I need requisition form number 09042, "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits".
(heavy sigh) Hold on.
I'm sorry, but I need the 09042-A requisition form addendum as well.
The what? The 09042-A? Why the hell didn't you ask me for that one in the first place?
Because I'm a cruel bitch, and I love torturing you. In fact, I've made it my life's mission to haunt you forever and ever with requests for useless forms and documents.
Hmmm. Hold on.
I'd like that form for complaining about lewd and indecent behavior, please?
Number?
31366.
Hold on.
Yes, yes I am.
So what if I'm not?
I'm in training at the academy, and I need to get into the archives to...study.
If you're a cop, where the hell's your uniform? Your badge? Your standard issue disruptor pistol?
At home. They're all at home.
Then I suggest you get your cute little butt home to get your badge, your uniform and your gun. Capisce? Now, shoo, leave the grown-ups to do grown-up work, okay?
Then you can't go into the back, capisce? Cops only. Besides, half the doors in this building, including that one, are out of order -- nobody's going in, nobody's coming out.
And until those overpaid, underworking "service" guys get off their butts and back to work, that's the way it's gonna stay.
You're in training. Uh-huh, sure you are. Then what the hell you doing here? You should be at the academy, doing push-ups and learning how to bullshit like a pro.
Oh, never mind.
You can't go back there! It's a restricted area.
Here you go, miss. Union requisition form number 09042.
All right, requisition form number 09042-A. And that'd better be it.
<Dial home>
<Dial 099-12090>
I haven't spoken with Mom since I... Since I left, actually.
I should give her a ring.
<Exit>
Hello?
Hi...Mom?
(subdued gasp)
It's April. How are you?
(choked) Where are you, sweetheart?
In the city, Mom. You know that.
Why didn't you call? We've been-- I've been worried sick about you, sweetheart.
Didn't you get my letter?
Yes. And I can't say I understood why--
Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? You didn't understand.
I don't think it was fair of you to be so hard on your father. You hurt him a lot, you know? And I'm not just talking about you pushing him down the stairs.
And what about me? You don't think he hurt me? Were you so blind you didn't see that?
April...you know I can't take sides in this...
No. Of course not. Not you. Not ever.
Anyway. How is-- Is Dad doing okay? I mean, after the fall?
He broke his arm, and he had to take some time off work. Money's short because of that...we had to pull Danny out of school until next semester.
You can't blame me for those things, Mom.
If you hadn't left like you did--
I'd probably be dead now, Mom. I couldn't take it anymore...please, let's not argue about this now. I just wanted to...hear your voice.
Please come home, April. We still love you.
No. Thank you, but no -- that's not going to happen. Listen, I have to go. I'm in the middle of...something. Take care, okay?
Okay, sweetheart. I love you.
Yeah. Me too, Mom. Bye.
Busy. What a surprise.
I'm already using that one.
That's just my incoming call.
