western birthrates
by GRSTALT Comms
I get up every morning at 06:23 and put on my Captain False Flag costume.
I’m not allowed to wash it at home – it smells pretty bad – so I spray it with some deodorant.
I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity I’ve been given by the rehab program.
And it could be worse – my partner’s got to dress up as Taybor the Turtle.
These are both properties belonging to Sproos Capital, who own the collection company.
***
At the orientation they told us that business success is about constant evolution.
Sproos decided they’d blow away the competition by leveraging some of its existing IP.
A Dressup’s first responsibility is to take the sting out of repossession – it helps to make things less heated if the kids can come and pose for selfies with their favorite characters.
***
As a Dressup, you’ve got to get into character – the costume we get is based on a personality test we did when we signed up for the program.
Nobody wants the weaselly repo man anymore. People want something they can put on their socials that’ll drum up some engagement.
They’re losing their stuff but gaining some clout, so it all evens out.
***
It’s the Holidays, but business never stops. The Dressups are still out there hitting targets.
The first job of the day is usually easy. Most people are still in bed, so you don’t have to talk to them any. But an upstairs light’s on, so that’s enough to warrant a doorstep.
We both take a minute to get into character – the program sent us to some improv classes.
I tell Taybor to hitch the car onto the back of the truck while I do the doorstep.
I don’t know why, but I’m really feeling it this morning. Some days I’m up for the performance, but other days it feels like I’m ripping out chunks of my soul with every word.
***
The house doesn’t have any decorations up. The front lawn is frosty and overgrown.
A woman opens the door. I launch into my opening Captain False Flag spiel – it’s burned into my memory now, to the point where I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, I could be saying anything at this point, just making a bunch of noises at this woman.
I get worried for a second when she just stands there looking at me, then she says wait a minute and comes back with a man. She says this stupid fucker is the one you need to talk to, and she starts pounding on the man’s chest with her fists and calling him a fucking bum.
We were told at the orientation not to intervene in what they called ‘client-directed violence’ – we can only use the self-defense they taught us if the client turns it on us, we’ve got to try and defuse the situation with ‘avenues to fun’ like signed JPEGS and group selfies.
It starts to get funny how little these people are getting it, I try to hold in a laugh as this dude looks at me with his open mouth and bloodshot eyes, hugging himself in stained basketball shorts and a faded yellow t-shirt that has ‘KILL KLAUS SCHWAB’ written on it.
He says the kids are staying with her mom while we sort shit out, and I’ve had all my accounts suspended, because they can’t handle serious talk about Western birthrates.
She comes back to the door and says he’s a rat fuck who can’t keep his dick to himself.
***
I go into Captain False Flag’s monologue from the end of Building 7 Cleanup, but he turns away from me and says shut your mouth, you fucking bitch.
She says what are you going to do about it, pussy?
He steps up to her and says don’t fucking try me, bitch.
She says why don’t you go back to your skank and shoves him.
He trips backward onto the porch. I try to get out of the way, but the costume’s heavy fabric makes sudden movements hard. He hits me in the chest with his shoulder. We fall together down the steps and land on top of each other on the lawn. His thick beard tickles my face.
She shouts maybe you can get her dad to send you the cash, you fucking bum.
***
Taybor waddles up and goes into her opening spiel. I tell her to cut it out and help me up.
He gets up holding his shoulder and says you injured me, pal, I’m taking this higher.
I don’t know how to answer this as Captain False Flag, so I improvise and say Captain False Flag’s mission is to protect the innocent – I’m not sure what this means.
He says don’t give me that shit, you tackled me and busted my fucking shoulder.
I show him the bodycam footage, but he isn’t convinced and says that’s not a good angle.
I show the footage to Taybor and say does that look like an aggressive posture to you?
Taybor says it looks like you were attacked.
I turn off the bodycam.
He says whatever, I’m suing the fucking company for this, and starts walking back to the house.
***
I open the shell on Taybor’s costume and take out a baton and some zip ties.
I run up behind him and strike him on the ankles with the baton. He goes down face first. I put my knee in the small of his back, tie up his wrists, then his ankles.
She comes to the door and starts screaming let him go you fucker.
I say nothing to worry about madam, please go back inside and I’ll handle the situation.
I lean in and say you still sure you want to take this higher?
He says okay, just let me go, alright? Take the fucking car, it’s a piece of shit anyway.
She goes back into the house and comes out with a hammer.
Taybor shields me and we retreat to the truck. Taybor tries to get it started.
***
She whacks the passenger window with the hammer. The glass shudders. She leans back and whacks it again. The pane of glass drops intact into my lap.
She drops the hammer and reaches in.
The truck chokes and coughs as Taybor keeps turning the ignition.
She wraps her arms around my neck, dragging my face toward hers.
Her breath is hot and stale.
She bites my cheek, but the fabric from my costume protects me.
Her saliva makes the fabric damp.
The truck fires up and we start to move.
She attempts to reach inside my mask, but I grab her thumb and bite down.
She screams ow, you fucker and loses her grip on the window frame.
I look out the window and see her curled up on the pavement.
***
We drive for a while in silence, then Taybor turns on the radio and there’s a discussion about Western birthrates. The wind blowing in makes it hard for me to hear what they’re saying.
Another truck goes in the opposite direction, inside it is a Rizz Pontiff and a Condiment Chad. Taybor pumps the horn, and we give them the special wave that’s just for Dressups.
Before we drop the car off at the depot, we stop in a Taco Burro parking lot to check it out. All the Dressups do it – sometimes you find stuff that’s valuable, or things that tell you a lot about the person, or things that start mysteries in your brain about what’s going on in their life.
But this time it’s just junk – empty cans of Barrel Bomb, nicopod tins, used fudge slurry cups, Big Beef Bro wrappers with sauce smears on them, spent boner gum sachets.
We bag it all up, cram it into the trash, and take our disposal receipt. We go in the Taco Burro and exchange the disposal receipt for one free small soft drink and two straws.
***
The plastic bag Taybor has stretched across the window flaps in the wind and makes a honking sound. There’s a call-in show on the radio. A caller says it’s every man’s duty to spread his seed, and women love having life in them, but they’re tampering with that. The host asks who are they? The caller says it’s Big Pharma! The host asks what evidence do you have to back that up? The caller says my own balls are my evidence! I’ve got four kids, but I haven’t been able to make any more, no matter how much I’ve tried, and I put it down to a biological hack. The host cuts off the caller when he starts talking about the Georgie Guidestones.
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