Narr:

Irritating Public Radio, Your Friends In The Air, tackle an interesting and itchy question tonight, namely,

"Is this show really necessary?"

Welcome to The Dimwit Zone, a place just past where you thought you needed to turn, just a half-inch to the right of the yesterday you'd like to forget and two steps from the idiot that juggles all your tomorrows over a half-empty swimming pool.

Join me as we attempt to find out whether words on a piece of paper recited rather ineptly by overconfident hominids into a cheap microphone which has been unkindly connected to an unsuspecting tape recorder can pleasantly avoid awakening both you and your's truly to the realization that we'd really rather be watching television, or grass growing, or a television burning or grass burning, or grass growing out of a growing television...

SFX: All through the above, the sound of a small airplane has been growing closer. During the following, the sound is at the same level, though there might be (please?) a variation in pitch, similar to a bee or a wasp, as the plane is allegedly moving around a bit.


Narr:

Ah, there it is. I have been informed by the producers that since we are forced by our financial and tax status to receive certain donations "in-kind", our introduction to today's story will be skywritten by the firm of Forehand and Sway, Aerial Secretaries to Lower Middle Texas and two counties in Minnesota since they bought the plane at a Sheriff's sale.

Since this is an hour and half show and skywriting is a rather laborious process, the next few minutes will be occupied with the sound of my reading the words from the sky over the course of a day and a half compressed through the speeding of the tape to a mere three minutes...

SFX: Not really. Just a little reading slowly into a reel to reel and then played back at a normal speed.


Narr:

And now onto our story:

Intro to story:

One of the most trying exercises in self-control ever devised by the ever-divisive human race is attempting to convince unsuspectingly ignorant personnel department personnel that not only are you qualified for the post advertised but you also know how to spell and pronounce correctly the job title.

Since the Personnel personnel are dimly conscious that the continued existence of their paid positions depends on their company's tolerance of their mediocrity, it occurs to them that selecting the most intelligent person for the position advertised might turn out to be a mistake in the long run as that intelligent person might,

in the long run,

be intelligent enough to rise to a position of enough power to get rid of them.

So they have a tendency to hire their soul-mates.

Which, indicently, leads to the story at hand.

Meet Eliot Flood, an intelligent man about the enter the Dimwit Zone in a tale called...

SFX: Dramatic chord from an untuned mandolin just two degrees south of the prime meridian


Narr:

'Concealed in the Shrubbery'.

Now we force our hero to enter the offices of the Chronic Data Corporation, where, just five minutes ago, the entire staff had returned from lunch...

SFX: Sounds of traffic loud then muffled as door swings shut with a hydraulic whish. Distant sound of someone muttering unintelligibly on a phone and various dings and clicks...


Eliot: Excuse me.


Receptionist: One moment, please. Have a seat.


Eliot: I have an appointment.


Recep: Have a seat, please.


Eliot: I am on time. Show me where to go.


Recep: I will be glad to to help you, sir, if you'll just have a seat.



Eliot: That will make me late for my appointment.


Recep: Have a seat.


Eliot: As you wish.


(thirty seconds pass)

SFX: A voice is heard on a P.A. speaker stridently calling out the name 'Lion Floor'. It is the voice of the receptionist.


Eliot: Excuse me.


Recep: Are you Lion Floor?


Eliot: My name is Eliot Flood.


Recep: Then go back to your seat.


Eliot: Could you possible be reading that incorrectly?


Recep: What do you think I am? It's my own writing. Do I look like somebody who can't read her own writing?


Eliot: Why were you calling out the name?


Recep: He's supposed to be here for an interview. Mrs. Rance wanted to know why he wasn't in her office. He's late.


Eliot: I'm due for an interview with Mrs. Rance. I was on time. You told me to take a seat. My name is Eliot Flood. Please call Mrs. Rance and ask her if I am the correct man.


Recep: You telling me how to do my job? If your name isn't Lion Floor, then you'll just have to wait your turn.


Eliot: Look, Miss, doesn't it strike you funny that anyone would have a name like 'Lion Floor'? Can't you see the resemblance between that name and mine, which is Eliot Flood?


Recep: Can't you see that you have no right to march in here telling me I can't do my job?


Eliot: Call Mrs. Rance or I will go outside to use the pay phone on the corner to call her.


Recep: You're threatening me.


Eliot: No.


Recep: I'm going to call security.


Eliot: I don't have to listen to this. Call Mrs. Rance or I will. It is that simple.


Recep: You're trying to get me in trouble.


Eliot: No. I'm trying to get past you so I can get to Mrs. Rance for my interview.


Recep: Well, you are not being very nice for a guy who wants to work for us. You haven't said 'please' at all!


Eliot: Please call Mrs. Rance and tell her I am out here.


Recep: Have a seat and I will, once I know Mr. Floor isn't here for his appointment.


Eliot: Thank you, Ma'am.

SFX: The Receptionist calls out 'Lion Floor' a couple more times. Then says...


Recep: Last chance. Olly-Olly-in-free! Mr. Floor, are you here? I guess he isn't. Oh, well.

SFX: Touch Tone phone being dialed.


Recap: Mrs. Rance? Mr. Floor hasn't shown. There is a man named Eliot Flood out here who says he has an appointment with you, too. He has insulted me by suggesting that I've mixed the two of them up. Oh, I'm sorry, I must have made a mistake. I'll send him right back.

Oh, Mr. Flood? I'm truly sorry. Go righ back and take a left, go down two flights of stairs, take a right and take the elevator to the third floor and Mrs. Rance's office will be right there.


Eliot: Thank you, Miss...? I didn't catch your name.


Recep: Oh, sir, it's right here on my name tag, see?


Eliot: That's a blank piece of white plastic.


Recep: No, it... Oh, it's turned around. There you are.


Eliot: Tim..elly?


Recep: Timelly, like 'Timothy', only not.


Eliot: Uh. Thank you.


SFX: Feetsteps on carpetting, then stairs, come to a stop. Sound of elevator dinging twenty times. Sound of Eliot humming "Colonel Bogey". Sound of elevator arriving with a ding and a bang. Sound of doors opening sluggishly and closing with great difficulty. Noise of elevator going somewhere slowly. Ding of arrival and sound of ancient doors widening. Sound of footsteps on tiled floor. Knuckles rapping on glass.


Mrs. Rance: Come in.

SFX: Door opening with a creak and rattle. Footsteps from tile onto carpet. Door closing, latching with a rattling click.


Eliot: Mrs. Rance?


Mrs. Rance: Mr. Floor?


Eliot: No, Mr. Flood. Eliot Flood.


Mrs. Rance: Oh, I am sorry. That's what Timelly said she'd gotten messed up and here I am doing it, too.


Eliot: That's all right. I'm sure she'll learn in time. We all have problems when we're beginning.


Mrs. Rance: What do you mean?


Eliot: Timelly. She's just started, hasn't she?


Mrs. Rance: (laughing) Oh, no, Mr. Flood. Timelly has been with us for five years. Do you honestly believe we would keep on somebody who didn't know anything after five years? Just an honest mistake.


Eliot: She seemed to have trouble reading her own handwriting.


Mrs. Rance: Don't we all. She's a receptionist, not a secretary. Don't you know the difference? Now, why were you late?


Eliot: I wasn't.


Mrs. Rance: You most certainly were.


Eliot: I arrived here at five minutes till. Timelly refused to let me announce myself.


Mrs. Rance: What do you have against Timelly? You haven't stopped saying bad things about her since you came in.


Eliot: Perhaps it is because you've been making excuses for her since I came in. She refused to let me tell her who I was. She told me to take a seat and then started yelling for 'Lion Floor'. I tried to talk to her and she said she'd call security. Finally, I convinced her very politely that she should call you and straighten it out. Here I am. Are you going to keep defending that backward creature or are you going to interview me?


Mrs. Rance: I can't say I like your tone. Why are you here, anyway?


Eliot: I got a message on my answering machine asking me to come in today for an interview.


Mrs. Rance: Ah. And which position were you applying for?


Eliot: What?


Mrs. Rance: Which position are you applying for?


Eliot: Why are you asking?


Mrs. Rance: Because I have to know for the interview.


Eliot: Don't you have my application?


Mrs. Rance: Heavens, no! Why would I need that?


Eliot: You haven't seen my resume? How can you do an interview without my qualifications in front of you?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, I'm not qualified to decide if you've enough experience to work here. My job is to find out if you're the kind of person we want to work for us. This company is a team. We want people who won't disturb it's rhythm.


Eliot: Marvelous. And after you decide you like me, then what?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, then the techies figure out where to put you in the team.


Eliot: Ah. Techies. Well, ask your questions.


Mrs. Rance: Oh, this is nothing formal, Mr. Flood. We just converse while I get a look at you.


Eliot: Ah. I take it you're a relative.


Mrs. Rance: What did you say?


Eliot: I take it you're related to someone in the company.


Mrs. Rance: Why?


Eliot: Just an impression.


Mrs. Rance: I will have you know, Sir, that even though I am the founder's second cousin twice removed by marriage, I am qualified for my position, so qualified, in fact, that it was created and tailored to make the maximum use of my abilities and I work hard, mister, so don't try to insult me. It's been tried before by experts and none of them have ever found a job here as long as I live.


Eliot: Lovely.


Mrs. Rance: What is?


Eliot: Your job.


Mrs. Rance: Thank you.


Eliot: And Timelly?


Mrs. Rance: Is my daughter.


Eliot: Also lovely. And who created this position for you?


Mrs. Rance: Don't get your hopes up, he's dead.


Eliot: Oh, darn. Who did it?


Mrs. Rance: It was a natural death.


Eliot: No. Who was he?


Mrs. Rance: Cyril Chronic the Fourth, the grandson of the founder, Edward Smith.


Eliot: The grandson?


Mrs. Rance: Yes. On his mother's side. His father was adopted by black Catholic nuns after he was born to lepers in Hawaii.


Eliot: How interesting. Why was he referred to as the Fourth? Was his father the Third?


Mrs. Rance: Heavens, no! He never knew his father's name. The nuns named him the Fourth because they had three other boys named Cyril, after St. Cyril, the patron saint of nocturnal emissions.


Eliot: Surely, that's a joke?


Mrs. Rance: I've never been sure.


Eliot: If Edward Smith founded the company, then why is it called the Chronic Data Corporation?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, that's a curious coincidence.


Eliot: A coincidence?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, yes. A coincidence.


Eliot: How?


Mrs. Rance: How? If I knew that, it wouldn't be a coincidence, would it?


Eliot: I guess not. Why did Edward Smith call it the Chronic Data Corporation?


Mrs. Rance: He didn't.


Eliot: He didn't?


Mrs. Rance: No. That's why it is a coincidence.


Eliot: Edward Smith called his company what?


Mrs. Rance: Smith's Radio and TV Repair.


Eliot: Ah. So, who named Chronic Data?


Mrs. Rance: A computer. That's why it's such a curious coincidence.


Eliot: Really?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, yes, the computer was designed by Cyril Chronic the Fourth before he married the boss's daughter.


Eliot: Wait a second. You said Cyril Chronic the Fourth was the founder's grandson.


Mrs. Rance: Yes, he was the son.


Eliot: And you said something confusing earlier about the nun's naming Cyril the Fourth because they had three other Cyrils...


Mrs. Rance: Oh, that was the father. Rich people like the Chronics don't call their sons 'Junior'.


Eliot: Right. So, both the father and the son were named Cyril the Fourth?


Mrs. Rance: You didn't know that? Don't you know anything about this company? How long have you been working here, anyway?


Eliot: I don't. I'm here for an interview.


Mrs. Rance: How did we get off talking about company history? You don't have any need to know.


Eliot: Certainly.


Mrs. Rance: Now. Hobbies?


Eliot: Firearms, music, electronics and dog breeding.


Mrs. Rance: Firearms?


Eliot: Yes.


Mrs. Rance: I've never heard of them before. What are they?


Eliot: They are made of metal and wood and when you pull on a little curved thing, it goes bang and a piece of lead comes flying out of this little grooved tube and punches holes in things.


Mrs. Rance: Way too technical for me. Are they fun?


Eliot: Why?


Mrs. Rance: Well we certainly don't want to hire anyone who doesn't know how to have fun.


Eliot: Heavens, no.


Mrs. Rance: Do you have a home computer?


Eliot: I have several computers.


Mrs. Rance: Good. We can't have anyone here who doesn't know how to have fun with computers.


Eliot: Do you?


Mrs. Rance: What?


Eliot: Have fun with computers?


Mrs. Rance: What kind of woman do you think I am?


Eliot: You said you couldn't have anyone working here who didn't know how to have fun with computers. If you don't, why are you here?


Mrs. Rance: Are you saying I should sit at home playing with an obscene toggle in my hand gazing raptly at a TV screen trying to make the damned thing go BEEP at the proper pitch, then you're out of your mind, sir.


Eliot: You're not terribly consistent, ma'am.


Mrs. Rance: I am doing the best that I can. You should see some of the people who come in here, wanting to slide past with a mouthful of mumbles about experience beingmore important than manners and appearance.


Eliot: Did you ever work for IBM?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, no, much as I'd like to, but I do watch their channel almost every night.



Eliot: Ma'am? What do you know anything about?


Mrs. Rance: Oh, I'm simply delightful with motorcycle engines. My father was a Harley dealer back in the fifties.


Eliot: My, my, a big plus for you.


Mrs. Rance: Why do you ask?


Eliot: Well, you work for a big electronic's firm, bottlenecking the hiring process and crippling the firm's operating potential. You know almost nothing about what it takes to keep a company like this in operation and you seem to be doing everything in your power to put the company under. You have a big mouth and a big office and probably a big salary that you have never come close to earning.


Mrs. Rance: Why are you saying these things to me?


Eliot: Chronic Data has been a subsidiary of the Eros Space Frame and Sock Company, Incorporated, for a week. In that time, I, an efficiency expert, have been wandering through the factories and labs doing my best not to throw up. The firm is lucky to still be in business. I discovered that it hasn't always been like this. I managed to date the change from a vital, cutting-edge company to a group of mediocre idiots doing their best to keep from outdoing each other in the competency department. The change began three months after you set your pompous butt in that extremely expensive chair. You are out, lady. You had better have built up some savings over the years, because not only will you never work anywhere again in anything resembling an office job outside of fast food or retail, but the Chronic shareholders are going to sue you for malfeasance, malpractice, mismanagement, mayhem, manipulation and misapprehension. You're going to need money for legal fees.


Mrs. Rance: You have to be joking.


Eliot: You have to be guilty.


Mrs. Rance: But, I just work here. I'm not to blame for the company. I just do my job, that's all.


Eliot: And, what is your job?


Mrs. Rance: I thought I told you.


Eliot: The title, please?


Mrs. Rance: Personnel Screening Manager.


Eliot: In most businesses that title designates someone who calls around the country checking employment references and who schedules urine tests. How do you get off doing almost nothing? Don't you have a supervisor?


Mrs. Rance: Yes, my son, Philum Rance, the Chief Personnel Officer.


Eliot: Lovely. Nepotism all over the place.


Mrs. Rance: I ought to slap your face! My son and I have never done anything like that and I'm sure he never thought of his sister like that, either.


Eliot: You're just writhing with erudition, aren't you?


Mrs. Rance: Why are you saying such disgusting things to me?


Eliot: You are easily offended. You are also easily offensive. You make me sick.


Mrs. Rance: I just work here. I'm not responsible for the company or it's policies. I do my job. I just work here.


Eliot: Right. The founder's been dead for twenty years and he was the last person who knew what he was doing. Everybody in the firm now just works here. So, who's responsible?


Mrs. Rance: I would say the President.


Eliot: Who?


Mrs. Rance: My cousin, Erwin Arlick.


Eliot: Ma'am, he sold the place. He said he couldn't change the downward trend because he couldn't find a place to begin. Well, I have. You. You've packed the company with nice idiots.


Mrs. Rance: You're just looking for a scapegoat. Surely some of those nice people I approved of were technically competent?


Eliot: Maybe some of them were. But, faced with a pile of apathy, maybe they decided not to buck the trend. What I can't understand is why they would allow someone with no knowledge of the needs of the company determine who would be employed by the company without an organized means of selection. Whatever happened to checking references and giving urine tests?


Mrs. Rance: Mr. Flood, a lady can tell a nice person. Reference checks and urine tests are an affront to a truly nice person. I can tell a nice person by their clothes and their hair and by the way they talk.


Eliot: A surface investigation of the backgrounds of almost forty percent of the people you've hired indicates a high level of recreational drug use and fifty percent have criminal records.


Mrs. Rance: Oh! No! You must be mistaken. I know what I'm doing.


Eliot: Lady, you don't know diddly about computers or firearms or drugs or technical skills. Nothing in the world could convince a qualified personnel expert that you had any place in this company beyond washing out restrooms. Grab your purse and your family photos, ma'am, 'cause you're history.


Mrs. Rance: How do I know that you have the authority to do this? I don't believe any of this. I'm going to call security.


Eliot: Fine. Do it well.


Mrs. Rance: I'm calling your bluff.

SFX: Touch tone phone being dialled.


Mrs. Rance: Tony? Hello, this is Helen. Would you send one of the boys down? I have a gentleman I want escorted out of the plant. Thank you. There, mister smarty-pants, we'll see who has who by the cojones.


Eliot: Louis L'Amour fan, hey?


Mrs. Rance: Now, don't you go making fun of America's greatest writer.



Eliot: I wouldn't think of it.

SFX: Knock on the door


Mrs. Rance: Come in.


Guard: Afternoon, Mrs. Rance. What can I do for you? Oh, hello, Mr. Flood.


Mrs. Rance: You know this man?


Guard: Yes, ma'am. Mr. Flood works for the new owners. He's a real nice fellow. Had a few words with the Guard Chief to tighten our security.


Mrs. Rance: So, if he asked you to escort me off the premises, you'd do it?


Guard: Afraid so, ma'am.


Mrs. Rance: Let's go, then. I'm ready. Good-bye, Mr. Flood, you unscrupulous sneak-thief.


Eliot: So long, then. Take your daughter with you as you go.


Mrs. Rance: No. You're not picking on her again?


Eliot: You or me, lady. Pick one.


Mrs. Rance: Oh, me.


Guard: See you later, Mr. Flood.


Eliot: Bye.

SFX: Touch tone phone being dialled


Eliot: Hey, Ted. Mrs. Rance is going out the front door. I think she's ready for her accident. Right. I'm out of here. See you later.


Narr:

What you have just heard is a dramatization of a non-event. If it had been an actual event, you would have heard more profanity. In the event of an actual event, don't turn on your radio as you might actually miss something while waiting for us to tell you what we thought might have happened.

Thank you for listening. Tune in again at another time, but, before you do that...spend just a little time asking yourself if this show is really necessary... and wipe your shoes...as you leave...The Dimwit Zone.