Bonaccelli's Genuine New York Style Pizza [EWC]

Looking at the computer screen and then the clock, Jennifer Riggs' brain rolled around in her head like a steel sphere in a pinball machine, desperately seeking a way out. But just then, the familiar voice of Mrs. Peabody, her shift supervisor, came in from behind and tilted the game. "Ms. Riggs? Mr. Brody wishes to see you in his office in one hour for your weekly psyche exam."

'Oh, wonderful' she thought. Being part of this operation required regular interviews with machines dressed as human beings, whose job was to identify potential whistle blowers, leakers and sleeper-patriots.

"Thanks". It was the only reply she could offer, never-mind that there was not a drip of honesty attached.

The monotony of reviewing people's emails... those of complete strangers talking about subjects that had no relation to national security, made the daily experience feel like a form of torture. With each monitor display, there was also a repeated pang of guilt; feeling like a dirty peeping Tom peering into somebody's window just hoping to catch them in some state of embarrassment.

With a click of the mouse, her next subject opened...

'Hi Jenny! How's your day going? I'll meet you at that pizza place about a block away from your parking deck. See ya there!'

She just sat, staring as if through a tunnel at the screen in front of her; an email of yet another stranger. She wasn't allowed to access source-addresses or ISPs, just the content... just the content.

After what seemed like only a moment, there was the slow facepalming that often comes with one's return to reality. 'Oh my god, you're losing it girl. This email is NOT addressed to you!' Then glancing up at the clock, it suddenly dawned on her that an hour had somehow flown by. How long had she stared at that single document on her display?

Pacing down the maze of hallways, her destination was in reach; she knocked on Brody's open door less than a minute before a write-up for being late.

"Come in Ms. Riggs. Have a seat."

Carl Brody claimed a number of titles, not the least of which carried anything related to the job he performed. His weekly excavations were always the same; word for word, read from a sheet of paper taped to the mat-calender on his desk.

"Have you had any contact with anyone outside this agency that may be associated with, or familiar to any person or organization that could be considered... "

The monotone recital felt like a lawnmower engine droning inside her head. It just went on and on and on.

"Do you have any problem sleeping at night, have irregular bowel movements or erratic eating habits?"

Without moving, she lifted her eyes onto the man in front of her and imagined him with a pencil stuck in his ear and a tampon hanging out of his nose. Then, out of nowhere, a snicker found escape.

"Ahem! Ms. Riggs! Do you find something amusing about any of this? You do know the critical nature of the work you do and the job of assuring our nation's security? If you are going to waste my time and the taxpayer's money..."

More of the endless monotone except his voice had now changed to something akin to a car tire screeching during rush hour.

After a round of sincerely insincere apologies and a typical bureaucratic ass chewing, she finished the exam. Her score had been gigged because of the giggle but at this point, she didn't really care. Besides that, it was lunch time...

... Cont'd

The exit door was finally in sight and just beyond, sunshine and fresh air.

A deep breath led to the question of how to spend her break time. She wasn't really hungry but something to drink and maybe a nibble would be good. Glancing about, there were the typical places that were always there; fast food chains with long lines, unhealthy menus and crappy service.

For all of her 18 months working here, she had never really taken the time to explore the neighborhood. Putting her hand up to shield the bright light, she noticed what appeared to be a block-row of older storefronts just down the street. 'Well now...', she thought to herself, '... let's see what the locals have to offer as far as cuisine.'

Jennifer had come from a small town in Nebraska, strictly for the work. After graduating college and surviving a failed marriage, she decided to say goodbye the long, flat roads and endless farms of home in search of a new beginning. Unfortunately, a year and a half later and there were second thoughts about the job situation. The pay was good but she didn't know how much longer she could survive the environment it tendered.

As she approached the row of older stores, she noted how much they were like those found in so many smaller towns. browsing the line of shops, she came upon one that really stood out; Bonaccelli's Genuine New York Style Pizza. Looking inside through the large plate glass window, she noted an appealing quaintness and since she had gained a fondness for good pizza back in her college days, she couldn't pass it up.

Inside, the floor was black & white checkered tiles with small tables, brass ceiling fans from a high ceiling that was covered in stamped ornamental tin. It was a throwback to something you see in old B&W pictures from the late 19th, early 20th centuries.

After lunching on what she considered to be some of the best lasagna she had ever tasted, she took a slow walk back to that place she had come to so revile. 'Pizza, hell! she mused.

Upon approaching her workplace, the ugliness of the large, multi-level parking deck jumped out and and slapped a reminder of that earlier document that came across her screen.

Her mind raced, 'The pizza place... about a block away from the parking deck?' She had the urge to spin about... to make sure it hadn't all been some kind of silly psycho-lucid daydream. But halfway through the turn, she decided not to...

'No, why mess up a great hallucination?' But, was the humor she sprinkled so liberally on the subject to save her meal or her sanity? The door slammed loudly behind her as she realized she had just passed through two deep security ID checks without even remembering them.

'I am damned sure losing it now'.

... Cont'd

The days passed like wind through the trees. Each one saw her visiting Bonaccelli's's Genuine New York Style Pizza for lunch and with each sitting, a kind of calm and contentedness washed over her. She didn't understand it but it was there.

One day, she decided she was going to research that email that had appeared on her screen. The system picked out words and phrases that then culled them from the billions of digital messages sent each and everyday around the world. And it took a while because sometimes, older files simply disappeared. But after a long effort, she found it. What was it about this email that caused it to be snagged for review? She knew she had to have seen it the first time but... why didn't she remember it?

Our new national security state pegged words like, 'bomb', 'gun' and 'cell'. But it also hooked on ones like 'American', 'patriot' and 'flag'. Combinations of any of a million others raised more flags. But... ''Hi Jenny! How's your day going? I'll meet you at that pizza place about a block away from your parking deck. See ya there!', didn't have any of those key words she was normally used to seeing.

Opening the file, she clicked the button that would highlight the word, or words, that had attracted the attention. There were only two and when she saw them, it came back to her and she about fainted.

'Jenny' and 'pizza' were the ones and the notation indicated that they had been pulled as a pair. In other words, the two used together in a single message tweaked something in the system.

"Mrs. Peabody? Do you have a minute?"

"Yes dear, what can I do for you?"

"This is a flagger from about ten days ago. I was wondering if you could explain why this ended up on my screen."

Handing Glenda Peabody a printout of the document in question, there was a brief silence.

"Ms. Riggs, this came to YOUR screen?"

"Yes ma'am, it did and I couldn't figure out why. I've just never seen those words as flag material before."

Another moment passed as the supervisor examined the print while at the same time, clicking through items on her own computer screen.

"Jenny, let me research this a bit and I'll get back to you."

"Thank you Mrs. Peabody."

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Email after email from people she had never known passed before her, containing what now seemed like the most ridiculous flaggings. About 30 minutes before the end of her shift, she got a message to report to Mr. Brody's office, ASAP.

Upon entering his office, she noted that Peabody as well as two men she had never seen before, were awaiting her arrival.

Brody began, "Ms. Riggs, you received this flag-review the first time about ten days ago. Is that correct?"

"Yes sir, I did."

"And upon reviewing, you noted that the highlighted text was 'Jenny' and 'pizza', is that right?"

"Well sir, I know I did but it had been a long day so I just forwarded it up to Repass for another look."

Brody glances at Peabody and then goes on...

"And on that same day you saw the name 'Jenny' and the word 'pizza' redlined, you walked a block and a half to a pizza parlor and had lunch?"

"Yes sir."

"And you have gone there almost every day at lunch since?"

"Yes... how did you know that?"

Another eyeshot between Brody and Peabody...

"Ms. Riggs, I'll need you to accompany these two gentleman to the security examination room. Please don't worry, it's just standard procedure."

"What?"

With that, the two males take Jenny by each arm and leave the room. She can be heard crying as they slowly go down the hall for other areas in the building,

Brody looks at Mrs. Peabody and adds, "Don't worry, she'll be fine. A month or two in psyche rehab will get her squared away. Just make sure you have a cover story for any friends or relatives until she gets fixed."

"Yes sir, will do."

"Oh, by the way... would you care for some lunch? The agency has a great little pizza place just down the street..."