Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #182
…“This town deserves better! Old Blount is still fuming over swallowing his pride about the circumstances surrounding the death of his Charlie, “The Man Who Would Be King”...
P-E J is on the job, endeavoring to avoid detection. So for the rest of November, Harv has does his best imitation of a millwright, looking like he knows what he is doing with a heavy wooden tray of tools, weighing 60 pounds. Fortunately no major breakdowns occur on his watch, the machines likely fearing for their gears, so as a result, the most notable outcome of this month is a right arm two inches longer from carrying the tools. Today he is tired and hungry, but it is a day with yet another case of injustice.
“I heard one of the men telling another that the bank would not let him withdraw his savings,” Harv tells his Judith, who is tending a steaming pot of soup, the contents of which are literally indescribable. “He has a relative, somewhere near Jacksonville, who has lined up a better job for him and he needs the money to put a down payment on a house. I guess he signed some sort of contract with the bank stating he must give two months notice before withdrawing more than one-half the balance.”
“Two months? I wonder if the Banking Commission knows about that practice.” She shakes her head, causing some strands of hair to fall on her face. Greasy hands preclude her from replacing them; she blows them off instead. “I was taking pictures of all the signs with “Blount” in their name, when a woman came out of the General Store crying her eyes out. I asked her what was wrong and she said that she can’t buy food on credit. Her husband was injured on the job and he had not been paid for two months.”
“Oh yes, I think he fell from a ladder while cleaning the grain elevator. The guys didn’t know if he’d walk again, both legs were shattered.”
“Well, if he was injured on the job, isn’t he entitled to replacement income? Aren’t there labor laws that cover that possibility?”
“This town deserves better! Old Blount is still fuming over swallowing his pride about the circumstances surrounding the death of his Charlie, “The Man Who Would Be King”.”
“I don’t know about you, but I for one have enough material to fill the entire issue.” He dips a spoon into his wife’s mottled mixture. “And I miss the food at home.”
“I wouldn’t quit your day job, Judith.” This brush with honesty inspires a wooden spoon into flight, missing Harv, but hitting the front door, just as their pseudo-children open it.
“What’s wrong?” the kids ask in unison, having never seen their “parents” quarrel.
“Oh nothing kids, but I have cooked my last meal for this family!”
In a tender moment, the room erupts with adolescent cries of joy.
“I am sending for your parents tonight,” promises Harv. “They should be here first thing tomorrow.
“Hooray!” shouts the boy. “I can taste Mom’s blueberry pancakes now.”