On Saturday morning, Wooley and I left early to ride to Charlotte to pick up a load of motorcycles. Usually I would do this on my own but as the guys no longer leave me alone it was not to be. "You know," I said as Wooley drove south on Interstate 85, "Wackemall Inc. is having the last day of their annual stockholders' meeting today."
"And?" Wooley asked. He knew I was going somewhere.
"Well it just so happens their world headquarters is in Charlotte."
"You aren't thinking..."
"Well I do own 40% of the company," I replied.
"But won't they kill you if you show up there?" Wooley asked.
"In front of hundreds of witnesses," I replied. "I don't think so. Even those guys wouldn't be that stupid, would they?"
"But what about the bikes?"
"No problem, we pick the bikes up as scheduled. The stockholders meeting doesn't start until this afternoon. We've even got time for lunch."
"You think the bikes will be okay in the Wackemall parking lot?"
"Relax, Wackemall has security 24/7."
"It's Wackemall I'm worried about."
We made our way to Charlotte, dropped off a few parts we'd sold and loaded up four bikes, 1 Sporster, 2 Hondas and a BMW to carry back to Burlington. We were a little hesitant about the BMW as we'd never dealt in any German motorcycles before but the paperwork was all in order and the seller was a guy I had bought lots of salvage from in the past so we decided to expand our line. After a fast food lunch we made our way to Wackemall Inc. in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina. "You know," Wooley said, "I'm ready to spend some time riding motorcycles."
"Me too, watch out for that Barridog," I warned as Wooley turned into the parking lot.
"What in the hell?" Wooley said looking as the poor creature standing in the parking lot. "What the hell is that, a dog or a machine?"
"It's both," I replied. "Those sick bastards at Wackemall gather up stray dogs and cats, surgically attach flashing lights to their backs and computer chips to their spines so they can be used as live traffic barricades. They call them Barridogs and Barricats."
"Dude, that is the sickest thing I have ever seen. Somebody needs to put a stop to these people." As Wooley was a former animal welfare worker I knew the sight of this was breaking his heart. I also knew that as of that minute he would do anything it took to bring Wackemall Inc. to its knees. What I didn't know was how we were going to do it.
We parked the truck, made our way inside and to the plastic faced receptionist. "May I help you," she said as if she too were controlled by a computer chip. Wackemall trains all their workers to be frigid when dealing with the public.
"Yes Ma'am," I replied even though she was at least 30 years my junior, "We're here for the stockholders meeting."
"Do you have an invitation?" she asked.
"I own 40% of Wackemall Inc," I proudly replied, "That should be invitation enough."
"Just a moment," she said, her cold demeanor rattled as she raised from her chair and stepped towards the door behind her, "Wait right here, I'll be right back."
"Did you see that?" Wooley whispered as she walked away. "When you told her you owned 40% I thought her face was going to crack."
"Nothing here is ever what it appears to be."
In less than a minute she returned following a dude in a gray suit with a comb over and dye in his hair. Like everything else at Wackemall he wasn't what he wanted the world to think he was. "Mr Jones, I presume, Welcome to Wackemall."
"Yeah, right," Wooley said.
"Follow me," Comb over said, "The stockholders meeting is about to begin."
Most of the meeting was just plain boring BS as the CEO and other board members tried to impress stockholdersthat by just hanging on a little longer, Wackemall was going to have major breakthroughs that would change the world and propell their stock values to unheard of prices, the next Microsoft or Apple the speakers kept saying. But while their technology was impressive the world didn't think highly of Barridogs, Barricats or Wackemelves. Wackemall had 21st century technology with a 15th century mindset. Finally, I had all I could take. "Mr Speaker," I shouted as I forced my way to the microphone, "It's time for a change!"
"Get that man down from there," someone shouted. "Get him down now!"
"Not so quick!" I shouted, "I own 40% of Wackemall shares!"
Suddenly the room was quiet except for the CEO who asked, "Just who the hell are you?"
"Billy Jones."
"Well Mr Jones," the CEO said, "it's true that you do own 40% of the company but it takes 51% to control the company and you're 11% short according to my calculations."
"Not any more he's not," a voice in the audience spoke out. I looked out to see an old man wearing bib overalls a straw hat pulled low over his head and barely able to stand rise from his seat steadying himself with a cane. "I own 12% of Wackemall stock and I'm voting with Mr Jones no matter how he decides to vote."
"And who might you be?" the CEO asked smugly, sure it was all a bluff.
As the old man removed his hat I couldn't believe my eyes. While it had been 25 years since I'd last seen him I knew there could be only one and this one man had to be at least a 100 years old. "Your stockholder records list me as VS Stalker," the old man said, "but most folks back in the day knew me as the Vegetable Stalker."
"Shoot them both!" the CEO shouted! "Shoot them now!" I looked around to see armed Wackemall security guards taking aim at Veggie, Wooley and I, all of us unarmed with no place to run.
"You don't want to do that!" a voice shouted from the back of the room. "If you shoot them we kill everybody in the room! Now drop all your weapons and put your hands in the air!"
Wooley and I couldn't believe our eyes. Standing there in the back of the room was Donny, Steve and all the remaining members of the Wild Salsa Gang I left behind all those many years ago, armed to the teeth, grey hair, bad backs and all. "Who's watching the shop?" Wooley asked.
"Prospects," Lynyrd, the president of the Wild Salsa Gang said with a big ol' grin. "All these years later and I still have to get your ass out of a sling."
"Yeah, Bro," I laughed, "some things never change."
Continue to Old Friends, New Deals.
"And?" Wooley asked. He knew I was going somewhere.
"Well it just so happens their world headquarters is in Charlotte."
"You aren't thinking..."
"Well I do own 40% of the company," I replied.
"But won't they kill you if you show up there?" Wooley asked.
"In front of hundreds of witnesses," I replied. "I don't think so. Even those guys wouldn't be that stupid, would they?"
"But what about the bikes?"
"No problem, we pick the bikes up as scheduled. The stockholders meeting doesn't start until this afternoon. We've even got time for lunch."
"You think the bikes will be okay in the Wackemall parking lot?"
"Relax, Wackemall has security 24/7."
"It's Wackemall I'm worried about."
We made our way to Charlotte, dropped off a few parts we'd sold and loaded up four bikes, 1 Sporster, 2 Hondas and a BMW to carry back to Burlington. We were a little hesitant about the BMW as we'd never dealt in any German motorcycles before but the paperwork was all in order and the seller was a guy I had bought lots of salvage from in the past so we decided to expand our line. After a fast food lunch we made our way to Wackemall Inc. in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina. "You know," Wooley said, "I'm ready to spend some time riding motorcycles."
"Me too, watch out for that Barridog," I warned as Wooley turned into the parking lot.
"What in the hell?" Wooley said looking as the poor creature standing in the parking lot. "What the hell is that, a dog or a machine?"
"It's both," I replied. "Those sick bastards at Wackemall gather up stray dogs and cats, surgically attach flashing lights to their backs and computer chips to their spines so they can be used as live traffic barricades. They call them Barridogs and Barricats."
"Dude, that is the sickest thing I have ever seen. Somebody needs to put a stop to these people." As Wooley was a former animal welfare worker I knew the sight of this was breaking his heart. I also knew that as of that minute he would do anything it took to bring Wackemall Inc. to its knees. What I didn't know was how we were going to do it.
We parked the truck, made our way inside and to the plastic faced receptionist. "May I help you," she said as if she too were controlled by a computer chip. Wackemall trains all their workers to be frigid when dealing with the public.
"Yes Ma'am," I replied even though she was at least 30 years my junior, "We're here for the stockholders meeting."
"Do you have an invitation?" she asked.
"I own 40% of Wackemall Inc," I proudly replied, "That should be invitation enough."
"Just a moment," she said, her cold demeanor rattled as she raised from her chair and stepped towards the door behind her, "Wait right here, I'll be right back."
"Did you see that?" Wooley whispered as she walked away. "When you told her you owned 40% I thought her face was going to crack."
"Nothing here is ever what it appears to be."
In less than a minute she returned following a dude in a gray suit with a comb over and dye in his hair. Like everything else at Wackemall he wasn't what he wanted the world to think he was. "Mr Jones, I presume, Welcome to Wackemall."
"Yeah, right," Wooley said.
"Follow me," Comb over said, "The stockholders meeting is about to begin."
Most of the meeting was just plain boring BS as the CEO and other board members tried to impress stockholdersthat by just hanging on a little longer, Wackemall was going to have major breakthroughs that would change the world and propell their stock values to unheard of prices, the next Microsoft or Apple the speakers kept saying. But while their technology was impressive the world didn't think highly of Barridogs, Barricats or Wackemelves. Wackemall had 21st century technology with a 15th century mindset. Finally, I had all I could take. "Mr Speaker," I shouted as I forced my way to the microphone, "It's time for a change!"
"Get that man down from there," someone shouted. "Get him down now!"
"Not so quick!" I shouted, "I own 40% of Wackemall shares!"
Suddenly the room was quiet except for the CEO who asked, "Just who the hell are you?"
"Billy Jones."
"Well Mr Jones," the CEO said, "it's true that you do own 40% of the company but it takes 51% to control the company and you're 11% short according to my calculations."
"Not any more he's not," a voice in the audience spoke out. I looked out to see an old man wearing bib overalls a straw hat pulled low over his head and barely able to stand rise from his seat steadying himself with a cane. "I own 12% of Wackemall stock and I'm voting with Mr Jones no matter how he decides to vote."
"And who might you be?" the CEO asked smugly, sure it was all a bluff.
As the old man removed his hat I couldn't believe my eyes. While it had been 25 years since I'd last seen him I knew there could be only one and this one man had to be at least a 100 years old. "Your stockholder records list me as VS Stalker," the old man said, "but most folks back in the day knew me as the Vegetable Stalker."
"Shoot them both!" the CEO shouted! "Shoot them now!" I looked around to see armed Wackemall security guards taking aim at Veggie, Wooley and I, all of us unarmed with no place to run.
"You don't want to do that!" a voice shouted from the back of the room. "If you shoot them we kill everybody in the room! Now drop all your weapons and put your hands in the air!"
Wooley and I couldn't believe our eyes. Standing there in the back of the room was Donny, Steve and all the remaining members of the Wild Salsa Gang I left behind all those many years ago, armed to the teeth, grey hair, bad backs and all. "Who's watching the shop?" Wooley asked.
"Prospects," Lynyrd, the president of the Wild Salsa Gang said with a big ol' grin. "All these years later and I still have to get your ass out of a sling."
"Yeah, Bro," I laughed, "some things never change."
Continue to Old Friends, New Deals.
