Bazölaa®

by Jay Williams

Published Spring 2005 (really in fall 2006) in The Binnacle

BAZÖLAA!® A game sweeping the nation. Thousands of people stay up into the wee hours of the morning to play this addictive game. A simple game with the goal of getting “a whole lot of points” (500) through the use of cards and dice. The excitement comes with the enhancement people add, such as chugging a beer when a player gets a combination of matching cards and dice. However, the ultimate accomplishment occurs when a person rolls the five dice and gets all fives. The player must immediately yell “Bazölaa!® Bazölaa!® Bazölaa!®” and then instantly wins the game, no matter the score. This rare phenomenon usually only happens once in the lifetime of the game—or late at night after several rounds of chugging when the four begins to look a lot like a five.

When John Huge laid off 15,000 people in Akron, he did it to “downsize.” To make the company profitable again. Sure, those 15,000 people were now cast out onto the street, but it also meant that the remaining employees got to keep their jobs. The "beneficial, overall effect" he called it. In other words, he helped the local economy by not completely folding, claiming bankruptcy and laying off 20,000 people. Good for Akron, good for America, and of course, good for the company. It also didn’t hurt that he didn’t have to lose any of his perks.

“That was a close one, Bill,” he said, swooshing the water so he could maneuver his float closer to the edge of the pool.

“Close, sir?” the butler replied.

“Yes. The Akron thing. I almost had to let you go,” Huge replied earnestly. He got to the side of the pool and took the cherry daiquiri from the sweating, white-coated servant. “But that would have been bad for the local economy.”

“Yes, sir. Thank goodness for your kindness,” Bill said, and it was almost convincing sincerity. After all, he really was thankful he wasn’t on some street corner like most of Huge’s former employees.

“Yep,” John said, smacking his lips and licking off some excess sugar. “Good for the economy.”

Setting the drink on his belly, he pushed away from the side of the pool, back toward the middle. Amazing how just twisting a few words around could make it all so easy. His next plan would be a little more challenging. He had to move out the entire population of MiddleTown to construct a new Bazölaa!® factory.

Sam Weston loved his job. Not the plumbing store he owned and which had made him a fortune. The job that paid him $100 a month and travel expenses was the best job he had ever had. For although he’d never be able to retire to the mountains on the salary, as mayor of MiddleTown he had an inner satisfaction that money could never buy. As mayor of this small town he could do something for the good of everyone, not just for himself.

Sure, he had to be dragged screaming into the job—at first. He had to face Mrs. Hempstead and her Dog Excrement Campaign. He endured the flood of `98, the freeze of `99 and the Great Y2K melee of 2000 at O’Connor’s Tavern. These didn’t faze him. No matter how many freak accidents or catastrophes he had to take care of, there always remained the inner joy of knowing that the people he served appreciated his hard work for them. With the new Bazölaa!® factory opening up, he knew his little town would continue to prosper, no matter hell, high water or excrement. Meeting the CEO of Bazölaa!® just reaffirmed his sense of satisfaction.

“Mr. Huge, MiddleTown welcomes you,” he said, extending his hand.

John Huge gave the mayor a wimp-wrist shake. “Um, well, thank you.”

“The citizens of this town are so excited about the new factory.”

John Huge shifted nervously. How to broach the subject, he wondered? “Yes, yes,” he said, mindlessly. A mannerism he learned to utilize as he climbed the corporate ladder. Answer positively while your mind floats to gaining the advantage.

“Especially since it’s for such a popular new product. Bazölaa!®”

“Yes, oh, yes.”

“Even my wife, who hates business, is enthusiastic about the future of this endeavor,” Sam said eagerly. “And the jobs it will create!”

A game show bell went off in Huge’s brain. The opportunity was here! “Yes, the new jobs,” Huge said confidently. “This new factory will produce ample new jobs and save so many that may have been on the cusp due to a slow local economy.”

“That’s what the town believes too,” Weston said, smiling even broader.

“Yes, new jobs and an improved economy, the backbone of all corporations,” Huge said passionately, and he really believed it. “The basic ideal behind any great company.”

Normally, a strange, jingoistic statement such as this would have triggered alarms in Sam Weston’s mind. This time he had been too distracted by the dream of a bright future to hear the alarm. Which explains how he got caught off guard as Huge began to unfold his plan.

“In fact, we create even more new jobs while building the factory,” Huge started. “Jobs in demolition of the houses and the new social workers hired to help with the resettlement.”

At first, Sam didn’t believe he heard this. But the reality soon rolled in. “Resettlement? What are you talking about, Mr. Huge?”

“Why, the resettlement of the people who have to move out of their houses.”

“What? Your planning engineer stated you would build in our warehouse district. There aren’t any houses there.”

Huge shook his head. “No, no, that was just the contingency plan. Our primary focus is outside the warehouse district. Due to business concerns who own the warehouse area, the logistics and great expense, we determined it would be much, much cheaper to use the residential site and just move the people out of their homes.”

“What!? Are you crazy!”

“Oh, but think how great it would be for the economy.”

Weston was livid. What an outrage to even think such a thing. For the moment, he resisted his urge to scream at this fat billionaire. “And the jobs,” he said dryly.

“Exactly! The jobs, the economy! It will be such a boon to your little town.”

“And so where do you envision the townspeople of this “little town” living?”

“We’ve thought of that. We’ll provide tents.”

“Tents? What kind of a shelter is that?”

“Oh, they’re the best. They even have a back flap—two doors so to speak.”

“But this would be a terrible lifestyle for the people.”

“Did I mention we’ll bring in and service portable commodes?”

“Portable commodes?”

“We’ll even provide toilet paper—at a substantial discount.”

“This is the most insane idea I’ve ever heard,” Weston said.

“Trust me. As one businessman to another, this will be great for the economy!”

Sam had heard enough. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood straight out. Something that hadn’t happened since the Big Pool Contest Controversy of 1997 at O’Connors Tavern. A focal point for half his troubles as mayor and where he was heading right after he got rid of this jerk.

“Well, this businessman believes there is something more to life than the evil accumulation of massive wealth. And that something is the human concept of compassion and good will. Neither of which you exhibit.

“Now, Mayor Weston, let’s be reasonable.”

“Sir, there is nothing of reason in your being. I want you and your insidious plans for a game factory out of my sight!”

Huge narrowed his eyes. “You sayin’ you won’t support this project?”

“I’m saying you and your project can go to hell—with all your other money-hungry CEO friends.”

“You’re about to cost your townspeople a great discount on T.P.”

The mayor turned beet red at this. “Get out of my sight you bastard!”

It took Sam Weston several stiff drinks to wash away the awful aftertaste of his discussion with Huge. The crowd at O’Connor’s also helped reassure him that he had done the correct thing. Seeing the joy, the heartache, the day-to-day trials and tribulations of his fellow MiddleTowners play out in front of him made him feel better. He took a long swig from his scotch. How can a person such as Huge forget his humanity for the pursuit of a few more dollars? Disgusting. What a different world Huge must live in from his own, Sam thought, as he surveyed O’Connor’s.

Ordering at the bar stood Gloria and Maria, two single women out for a night of flirting. The pickings would be good tonight. How would they feel about living in tents?

Competing over at the dartboard were Roger and Albert. Two old curmudgeons who could never agree on anything, but who always spent their free time in each other’s company. Everyone always said they hung out together after work just for the chance to drive the other insane. They’d been doing it for 30 years. What would they think of using portable toilets?

Yes, Sam had done the right thing. It might cost the city a few dollars, but he saved its soul.

Unfortunately, even as Mayor Weston basked in the glow of the humanity around him, Huge was setting in motion the well-greased wheels of American politics and business. Sam experienced the first stage the very next day. Tom Sneed, the city’s representative in the state legislature, met with Sam for the first time in over a year.

“Sam, how long have we known each other?” Sneed asked, as he pulled a cigarette out of his jacket.

Mayor Weston hoped the man would notice there were no ashtrays, but the man was oblivious. “Oh, I guess, on and off, about four years. Ever since you got elected.”

Sneed laughed heartily. “Oh, Sam, come on. You’ve known me since junior high.”

“Where you pretty much hung out with your clique of khaki-clad rich kids.”

Sneed ignored the slight. “A long time. And now, as adults, we both serve this cherished town for the betterment of all.”

Was he going to launch into a campaign speech? Sam fidgeted in his chair, praying this bore would avoid any more sloganeering. No luck.

“We both serve to work for the good of the people. That’s our calling and our joy!” Sneed continued.

“Well, you’re half right. One of us feels that way,” Sam said, with a slight laugh.

Like all good politicians—that is, well groomed, robotic, ladder-climbers—Sneed didn’t notice or care what this mayor said.

“And so with that I mind, I was really surprised to learn that you intend to reject the Bazölaa!® factory.”

“How did you hear about that? That only happened yesterday.”

“Important matters of the people spread fast. And this is very important for the people of MiddleTown. The impact to the economy would be tremendous!”

“The impact to the welfare of the people would be disastrous!” Sam countered.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Sneed said, his voice grating on the poor mayor’s brain. “This factory will help the people immeasurably. The money it will bring into the local economy, the jobs it will create. The people will flourish!”

“The people will suffer. Do you know about the tents?”

“A minor inconvenience when you consider the monetary bonanza!”

“A major catastrophe that will destroy this town as much as a tornado. I will not allow this to happen to my town,” Sam said, beginning a slow burn. “You go hop back into the bed you and Huge have made together, and tell that slimeball he can stuff that factory where the sun don’t shine. You know, the same place you and he left your souls!”

Sneed didn’t really listen to this rant either, otherwise he might have been extremely angry. Might have done something reckless, such as become heated and create a sweat stain on his Armani suit. No, he didn’t listen, but he understood the gist of the tone. He stood up quickly to try to make it appear as if he had become passionate about what Sam said. He pointed at the mayor and did his best to sound threatening.

“Listen, Sam, your opposition is pointless. Even if you oppose this, the state legislature is completely behind it. I have initiated a bill that states the city has overstepped its jurisdiction and cannot obstruct this wonderful economic opportunity.”

Sam sprang to his feet. Unlike the man in front of him, he didn’t have to act to make it sound as if he cared. “That is outrageous! There is no way you and your fellow cretins can get away with that!’

“Pishhh! It’s nothing,” Sneed said with a wimpy wave of his hand. “The state constitution says we can. Remember Storybrook?”

“Yeah, you guys built a dam that resulted in the city being 100 feet under water.”

“Yes, our very own Atlantis. Tchhh. Too bad that thing didn’t work out,” he said shaking his head. It was the best sympathy pose he could produce. “It did help the economy though.”

“What! It was a disaster! Five thousand people displaced. An entire city, its two hundred-year history, wiped off the map forever.”

“Ah, but the third quarter earnings of the construction company rose two percent!”

“Aieee!” Sam made an attempt to dive across his desk to get his hands around this alien’s neck. Unfortunately, he didn’t take into account the large size of his desk and instead clipped the edge and landed on the floor. He winced and rubbed his sore wrist. Damn, probably broken, he guessed. He looked up at the man retreating to the door. “I’ll fight you with every breath! Not a single brick will be laid on that factory. I swear it!” Sam shouted, too much in pain to follow up his previous threat with any more physical action.

Sneed turned the knob and opened the door. “Tsk. Simpleton,” he said, shaking his head as he walked out. At first, he gently shut the door, but an alarm went off in his head telling him he needed to act upset at what happened in the office. He reopened the door and slammed it shut. Better, he thought.

Mayor Weston rallied the townspeople. They unanimously rose as one to fight the state legislature. Sam and several of his lawyer friends tied up the determined lobbyist-addicted legislators with a filibuster by the only legislator who couldn’t be bought. It didn’t bother them that their champion had incurable cancer and only helped them in order to make amends with his God and legacy. The ploy worked, and the townspeople breathed a collective sigh of relief, firmly believing that in this democracy the common man could still make a difference.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be only a short breath. Huge had pretty much paid for the election of the U.S. representative of MiddleTown, not to mention both U.S. senators from the state. The bill granting the federal government the right of eminent domain raced through both houses and in a well-attended signing ceremony was made into law by the president. Huge kept the ceremonial pen.

“Good for the economy and therefore the people,” the president said, as he signed the bill. The crowd of well-dressed congressmen and lobbyists smiled and nodded their agreement.

Within a month, the houses of MiddleTown were bulldozed and the people moved into tents (with two flaps). The Bazölaa!® factory went up in record time and began to produce the popular game by the beginning of the next year. A short time thereafter, a national campaign to reduce drinking and game playing took root throughout the country. With the resultant drop in popularity of Bazölaa!®, Huge closed the factory to keep his corporation afloat. He sold the factory to the townspeople, at cost, and they moved out of their tents and into the factory. The wealthier citizens lived in the office cubicles left behind, while the poorer ones were relegated to living under the extensive conveyor belt system. Mayor Sam Weston, whose plumbing store was accidentally razed when several of Huge’s mammoth earthmovers backed into it (even though they were over a mile from the construction site), ran for governor. The dead incumbent, whose campaign was financed by Huge, soundly defeated him.

Bazölaa!® Bazölaa!® Bazölaa!®