Misses Mittens and the Other Side
The storm came quicker than expected, killing Misses Mittens with a well aimed tree branch. She did not even have time to let out a last desperate mew. More surprising than being struck by the branch, however, was the hand that snatched her up before she could jump back into her body.
She fought the air as she was lifted up to look Old Man Death square in the face.
"Cats only have nine lives," he told her.
She hissed in return.
The first time she'd left her body, she was just a kitten. It was Old Man Death who taught her how to return. And she had done so each time she'd died.
He'd warned her the last time it happened that she had no more lives left,
She resolved to be careful. She stopped picking fights, she avoided the dogs, and she climbed only the shorter trees.
She thought the next time she faced death, she'd look as old as him. All bones.
A bright light appeared and death stepped through it. The storm ceased.
Where are we, she thought.
"The other side," death replied.
And it would appear so, for everything here was flipped. The barn opposite to where it should have been, the trees too.
Death put her down, and she made a beeline for her body. But her body was not there.
No fair, she thought and mewed her discontent.
"You have eight more lives than everyone else." Death laughed. "Get used to it here. It's not so bad."
Misses Mittens pouted, but then she saw a squirrel and pounced. She missed. She never missed. She was the greatest squirrel hunter this side of the barn.
The indignation of it sent her running back to Death. She looked at him with sad eyes. The kind of eyes that always got her treats.
He shook his head. "There's no need to hunt here"
He was not cooperating. She swiped at him with claws extended then ran.
Hiding behind a tree, she watched what he would do. But Death was not angry. He sat on the grass and other creatures came to him. Birds, squirrels, dogs, and cats.
Stubborn Misses Mittens however would not come. She stretched to show her indifference then fell asleep in the sun.
She would escape another day.
Winter Wardrobe
The storm came quicker than expected.
But that’s not too surprising in the mountains. Well, not if you’re accustomed to it.
Betty was new. New to mountains, new to snow, new to driving, new to art. Yet she was determined to try it all. Some months had passed since her arrival to art school in the middle of Denver. Middle in Denver terms, that is. Betty grew up in the heart of Miami. Having a mountain separating neighborhoods made her new city seem so wild, even isolated compared to her hometown. Despite this, she took the first chance that arose to go hiking with her classmates. She lost complete cell service before even starting the trail. That took some getting used to.
Now the weather was cooling off. Betty pulled out her warm gear, thinking that she was ready for anything.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” The question came from one of her roommates, Clara.
“Yeah,” Betty responded, zipping up her hoodie. “I need to dress warm. I didn’t grow up with winter like you did.”
Clara silently nibbled on her chips, eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“What? Oh, come on! Out with it!”
Clara slowly opened her eyes. “It’s not winter.”
Betty glanced outside. Snow blew around in all directions. Swinging an arm towards the window, she states, “And what is that?”
“Snow.”
“And doesn’t that mean winter?”
Clara crunched another chip. “ ’s won’t last more than a day. It’s still fall.”
“Uh…” Betty stared out at the swirling white matter, which obscured everything.
“Also, you’re not dressed anywhere near warm enough for winter.”
Betty rolled her gaze down on her three layers. “I’m not?”
“You need a coat to break the wind. Ya got anything that even resembles a coat?”
“Of course I do.” She pulled open the closet.
“I mean a coat, not that wimpy thing that can barely be called a jacket.”
Betty froze. “Uh, then what do I do?”
Clara glanced out the window. “Let’s wait a couple hours. Then we’ll go shopping.”
“Couple hours.”
“Yeah, the storm won’t last that long.”
“But the snow…”
“The snow won’t last.”
“It’s can’t melt that fast!”
“True. We’ll be wading through slush. Which reminds me,” Clara scratched her chin, “you have boots, right? Real boots?”
“Uh…”
“We’ll get those, too. Along with any real winter stuff that pops up.”
“But I have winter clothes!” Betty pulled a sweater from her closet. Shoving it in her roommate’s face, she declared, “I got this before even coming here.”
Not the least bit perturbed, Clara took the sweater and pulled out the side tag. She sighed. “This is made with polyester. It won’t be warm.” She handed it back.
“W-what?”
“That thing may look warm because it’s knitted, but it won’t be. You need cotton. Otherwise, you’ll freeze.”
“Uh…”
“Oh, look. The snow’s letting up.”
Three hours later, Betty and Clara, plus two more friends were wading through the slushy parking lot at the mall. No one was wearing jackets as the temperature was pushing past 60F.
Betty was blubbering. “H-how?” She looked around. “The shrubs…They’re green.”
Mickey, one of the other friends, gave Clara a quizzical look.
Clara shrugged. “Ya know the joke about the mountains. If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”
“But…How do you plan? Anything?”
“Big closets?”
Betty glared at her roommate.
“I’m serious.”
Mickey interceded. “You do plan. You plan for storms. Though normally, you just plan with ready substitutes.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Think of it this way. The weather here is volatile, so you need to have clothes for more types of weather. You have a reason to have a bigger wardrobe, so that no matter what, you’re ready.”
“And if I still don’t?”
“Eh, make do. Otherwise, somebody is being pointlessly unreasonable.”
“And the shrubs?”
“What about the shrubs?”
“They’re green.”
“It hasn’t been cold enough for long enough. The shrubs will just bounce back for now.”
Inside, Betty received a crash course on dressing for the cold.
“Use layers.”
“Check the coat’s temperature rating.”
“And the boots.”
“Should we check for ski pants?”
A couple hours later, the little group kicked back at a nearby restaurant. Betty’s eyes glazed over from the information overload.
“Did we overdo it?” Mickey asked while waving a hand before Betty’s face.
Clara waved her off. “Nah, she’ll get over it.”
The last member of their group, Leila, changed the subject. “I know this might be a bit early, but shopping for all this stuff reminded me about skiing. When is the next trip?”
“Huh?” Betty snapped to attention.
Clara nudged her. “Don’t worry,” she reassured. “We’ll make sure you’re good and ready for hitting the powder.”
Betty nibbled on her fries, thinking, So much to learn.
They said the storm came quicker than expected. Fred begged to differ. From his first day at the Project, he wondered why everyone was so silent. Nothing really worked in the place, so Fred talked to a few of his colleagues about his concerns. In case the Client knew the standards they followed, or rather the lack of standards they followed, not only he, but the last guy on the sinking ship, would worry.
From day one he noticed far too many people idling through the day as if their job did not depend on a good quality output.
They were not high-tech, rather the opposite, low-tech and traditional engineering where regulations had gained space over the years and creativity had gone the other way.
Seniors approaching retirement age seemed as if they no longer cared leaving a legacy behind. Fred even asked one of them, Charlie, what he longed for. Charlie responded Retirement without hesitation, which made Fred wonder about his legacy. After all, he was know for staying thirtyfour years at the Project being the guy to go to. Charlie frowned and got started.
“You know, young man. There is no interest in this organization for what I will bring with me as I leave the work shop. The knowledge of the seniors are no longer in demand. Oh, I know and understand this facility all right, but once documented last year, people stopped asking questions. I mentioned this to Mr Boss once, but he seemed not to care at all. You know what he told me?”
Before Fred had the chance to engage, Charlie continued.
“He told me I could lean back and relax. Stay my remaining years and just … do nothing!”
Charlie went silent. Fred stayed silent. Not the kind of answer he expected, not the management response he expected. However, that management response did not surprise him. It resonated with what he had picked up since starting with the Project.
He got similar feedback from a few more seniors. No reason to put in the effort.
Nothing much different talking to the junior staff members. They however were more into social media and necked over their phones more than over their keyboards and work desks.
As he spoke to a few of them, he realized Mr Boss never challenged them. Neither did most och the seniors. Fred wondered quietly why this was and who to turn to to make people talk at this work place. The seniors had more or less given up on cross breeding their knowledge and the young guns seemed … just off and uninterested. Young People, were they too approaching retirement age as well? They were off course, but not for another hundred years.
As he mentioned his worries and observations to Mr Boss’ closest associate, it did not take long before Mr Boss called him in.
“Heard you are talking to people. Please don’t do that.” Mr Boss started. “The Project is under control. We know what we are doing. The Client comes to us for our know how. They do not want to know who works with what and who does what. They come to us to get their machines. And they eventually get their machines. It will be alright this time too, as long as you talk with smaller letters. Just sit back at your desk and do what the others are doing. Relax.”
Fred opened his mouth in response, but Mr Boss told him everything was going to be ok. “Don’t worry, I have done this a hundred times before.”
“But no one is doing anything”, Fred whispered, Mr Boss not picking up.
The project built large mechanical structures, auto guided to operate under ground, mainly in mines. They considered themselves the leading supplier in the marketplace, not that it was a large market, but a leader is a leader, no matter what!
Fred just could not comprehend how they could deliver anything from the Project. The client, a US salt mine facility visited on occasion, but always seemed to fall for Mr Boss’ smokes and mirrors.
So, the crew kept doing what they were supposed to do, which was to write documents in ten days when short of one was sufficient. Then they would sped another ten days cross reviewing their pieces and yet another ten days updating and approving. Calling it quality assurance.
Fred did not believe in what they were doing, but since every one else did what they were doing, which was almost nothing, Fred, in the long run, did the same.
When the Client finally canceled the Machines, they had to stop working on the day.
In the cancellation letter the Client wrote “There seems to be no quality management, hence no quality in the products”. They also noted there was “No track record and traceability for issues that seemed to solve themselves, no plan of action, just results! We need to understand that you know what you are doing!”
It was further announced that these shortcomings had been identified starting a short while before Fred was hired. In the last sentence, the Client regretted that they had not acted sooner and saved its valuable money. ‘See you in court’ was the very last thing it said.
It was the reception control that had finally failed. The Clients client was legislated by the 10CFR Part 21 regulation, which due to lack of documentation was not fulfilled.
“What is that” asked Mr Boss.
“You don’t know?” Fred responded. “I know”. Mr Boss looked at him blankly.
At the day of the storm, it seemed no one was prepared but Fred.
Somebody said silently that they had expected this storm much later.
“Wrong!”, said Fred, "It should have come sooner”.
Mr Boss nodded, pale faced, pulled both his palms through his thinning white hair, but said nothing.
