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Elmer

Liam Spencer

    The guy was a total asshole in every way. He was our thirteenth acting manager in eighteen months. This was his last chance. He had been bounced out of everywhere else for his temper and irrationalities.
    There was no way to ever get through to him. He would make up his mind about things, no matter the facts. There was a severe disconnect in his mind. It was your fault no matter what.
    He was a short little man with a very heavy Asian accent. He seemed to barely understand English at times. No matter what anyone said, he was outraged. If he asked you a question, he gave the third degree with a high pitched;
    “HUH?! HUH?!” Ear shattering.
    He screamed at everyone daily, often hourly, no matter how hard they worked. It was a culture of fear and bullying. Supervisors scurried to try to satisfy his fantasy demands. Union stewards prepared grievance after grievance. Costs were mounting.
    Everyone counted down the days until he was gone. It couldn’t come too soon.

    I was on light duty with severe injuries to my foot and ankle. Surgery was likely. Every step was pain. I still hustled, and was as fast as everyone else at things I was able to do. The acting manager screamed at me for having said injuries, threatening to fire me repeatedly.
    Short on vehicles, I was stuck in the office with nothing to do. It was hell. I had to look busy. There was no escape.

    The acting manager gathered the supervisors and clerks, and began screaming at them. His accented screams echoed the building to headache inducing levels. I was to his back, so he couldn’t see me as I pretended to have work to do.
    On and on he screamed to faces of concrete and sorrow. What a life. What a job. Where do we go so wrong as to face such a horrible fate?

    And then...
    “and every time I try to talk with you, you running around like rabbits!”

    Think about that with such a heavy accent...
    “Wunning awound wike wabbits?!”
    Our acting manager was Elmer Fudd.

    I had to fake a sneezing attack and go outside. I made it less than ten feet before exploding in laughter. I hated to make fun of his accent, but in the context of his screaming at people, combined with that phrase, it was too much to bear.
    I was laughing too hard to breath. I saw Bug Bunny “wunning awound.” I saw Elmer Fudd chasing him.
    I saw the acting manager, when he was lurking around looking for someone to scream at, as saying “Be wery, wery quiet, I’m hunting wabbits.”
    On and on I laughed. Tears actually began showing. I could hardly breathe.
    I hid under the dock, choking on the smoke I had lit, still laughing.
    “Wunning awound wike wabbits.”
    “Kiww the wabbit, kiww the wabbit, kiww the waaaaaaabbbbbiiitttt.”

    Hahahahahahahaha

    Eventually I got my composure. I went inside the building. The screaming was over. I rushed to my case and pulled paperwork out and prepared to do more pretend work.
    A voice rang out.
    “MERCER!”
    There he was, full of fury.
    “It’s you TOO, you know.”
    “What’s that?” (Yeah, I almost said “What’s up, Doc?”)
    “It’s you too. Every time I try to talk with you, you’re wunning awound like a wabbit.”

    I began my fake sneezing attack. It was the only way. The only way...

    “What’s a matter? You sick?! HUH?! HUH?! Always sometime with you. Always something.”
    He walked away shaking his head.
    A clerk walked up to me smiling. She saw that I was laughing.
    “Are you ok?”
    I smiled to the point of laughter.
    “Yeah, I’m just one of us wascally wabbits. Hahahahahahaa”
    Barely subdued laughter exploded.
    It was another day in the life of a working class wabbit being hunted by Fudds.

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