Gumming It

“Put that sign on the door next to that canister ashtray. They shouldn’t be smoking in here anyway. Tape it good. If they don’t see it, just give them another reason to jump all over us.”

“OK. Good as done. Anything else?”

“Get your gear, go in there, and make sure there is not one speck of dust anywhere. These geniuses look for any excuse to put this on anyone but themselves. Not going to give them that option. If they can’t make this thing, whatever it is supposed to be, work, that’s on them. Make sure you check under every surface. Remember don’t touch anything you don’t know is safe to touch. Don’t want to blow up the world.”

1960 3M Headquarters: Minneapolis Minnesota

Vernon White oversaw the maintenance division, Plant 3, home of the MONSTER. The personal computer was barely out of diapers as far as electrical impulses that had as yet to rearrange themselves in a future brain, and would mysteriously define reason as something most people would question as, getting to close to the edge of insanity. None of this of course mattered to Vernon White. His concern on this night, like most nights, was to confine the misgivings of those who believed God only spoke to them, to the shinning dust free floors, walls, and ceilings of the room that kept the MONSTER, comfortable and particle free.

The early days of zeros and ones took on the look of a beast larger than the finned Cadillac’s that sprouted in the parking lot of the new technology company that appeared in the desperation of a time, when the only way to achieve success was, Wheaties, “The Breakfast of Champions.” This new technology promised a twenty-hour work week, and to pump money into social systems that would allow the less fortunate to stop collecting discarded bottles, and collect dividend checks at the end of the month.

James Marple that day put on his deionized coveralls, mask, and gloves, picked up his specially adapted vacuum, and headed through the doors that protected the MONSTER from contaminants to electrical circuits and paranoid technicians. James chuckled to himself as he pushed the button allowing the airlock door to whoosh its welcome, the newly installed sign disappearing into the glass wall. No one paid any attention to signs; everyone had become immune to indoctrination. 

James went about his tasks with meticulous attention to every detail. He knew Vernon to be right about the technicians’ willingness to place the blame for any failure on everyone but themselves. James knew little of zeros and ones, nor did he care, as long as he was left alone to day dream about traveling to Mars, Egypt, Venezuela; he didn’t care if it got him out of Minneapolis.  “Coldest damn place in the world,” he was fond of saying, “Except for International Falls.” Every so often he would add, “Coldest summer I ever spent was in International Falls,” a bit of plagiarism borrowed from his favorite story teller, Mark Twain.

James had one problem, that although he fought it, seemed to always find excuses to follow him on his rounds at plant 3. James unlike so many of his co-workers was not addicted to cigarettes or the occasional sip in the break room. His vice which he’d admit to if necessary, which meant he’d been caught outright, was gum chewing. He was particularly fond of sports card bubble gum. Something about the pink solidified mass of whatever it was that titillated his spirit and made him feel the exuberance and promise of a ten-year-old.

James Marple for all his faults was a considerate man. He wished only to do his job, collect his pay, and enjoy his dreams of Mars and beyond. It was his claim to duty and honesty that became the impetus for what we today accept as normality, personal computers. 

On the day that did not go down in infamy, James Marple found himself routinely vacuuming the confines of his intergalactic station number 3, when he heard the airlock carry his dream deep into his subconscious. It was Vernon. He was attired in the customary garb demanded by the technicians, who at the time were known as, “those guys.” The word programmers didn’t arrive for another 31 years, 2 days and twelve hours, not that it mattered to anyone, especially those that worked in Building 3.

James watched Vernon traverse the route he’d taken to reach the point he occupied. James because of his willingness to please, routinely checked himself for the possibility of having made an error in his routine which would give Vernon, known to those under his command, "as the terminator," a reason to write him up for one form of malfeasance or another. James could not incur any more such notices as he’s already reached the three strikes and your out level. Being removed from building 3, meant going back to the exterior maintenance department which meant being outside in Minnesota winters, and having to survive the heat and humidity of the sparrow sweating summers. 

His mind raced over all the procedures and believed he had followed all protocols associated with the room. He was about to speak to Vernon when he realized he’d forgotten to rid himself of his gum, an infraction, which now lay curled inside his cheek. When Vernon knelt on the floor to examine the underside of the small shelf attached to the MONSTER, James slipped his hand up under his face shield and removed the gum from his mouth. He quickly in an attempt to dispose of the evidence applied it to the outcropping of the MONSTER that held the electrical components that controlled the operation of the machine.

Vernon tapped on James’s shoulder and motioned for James to follow him out of the environmentally controlled room. Vernon notified James he’d completed his evaluation. James had passed, with what Vernon described as, “expected results.” James would later refer to the evaluation as him having passed with, “Flying Colors.”

In the excitement of the day, and his newly acquired permanent status, he’d forgotten about the gum deposit he’d left on the MONSTER. It wasn’t until weeks later during the celebration in Building 3, the result of having successfully overcome a seemingly insurmountable problem with the electrical system, that apparently had miraculously resolved itself, that James remembered the gum. 

James had no indication the gum he misplaced would be the conduit for the, “miracle in building 3,” as it had come to be known. The moisture which was normally absent from the controlled chamber the MONSTER resided in, provided the path for the electrical charge to initiate the sequence that brought the MONSTER to life. It was during the celebration that he slipped into his gear and slinked into the chamber. When he removed the gum, he watched as things drastically changed.

The string of green lights on the machine quit their marathon blinking. The beeping and buzzing sounds that animated the technicians, went silent. As James decided he should leave, he turned and noticed the glass walls of the chamber now contained the distraught faces of dozens of people. He, with simplistic ingenuity, leaned nonchalantly against the machine, discriminately replacing the gum in its favored position. The machine once again blinked into life amidst the muffled cheers of the now jubilant faces that surrounded him. "Another Miracle?"

James Marple was placed in charge of Building 3, and all that resided within its puritan walls. James spent the remaining three days before retirement dreaming of his move to California. He considered it to be the furthest place from Minneapolis , and the weather that he claimed to be Mars like, in so many ways.