THE STAINLESS STEEL RAT ESCAPES
FROM THE COMPUTRONS AND GOES OUT TO LUNCH

The Computrons were everywhere—they were tabulating, computing, calculating, scheduling, producing, gaining visibility, and ever working as a team. It was rumored that they were devoid of feeling, although they did have a few circuits for that; however, those signals, weak as they were, were often crowded out by the sheer intensity of their work effort, for the Computrons were single-minded, focused, goal oriented, dutiful, diligent, market driven, and oh so busy, busy, busy!

It would be hard to get past them, I thought, as I looked longingly out the window of my office. Outside I could see freedom in the hills beyond the river, where there was a place that I could have a peaceful lunch, a place whose hidden approach was forever shrouded in mist—a secret spot hidden from all Computron scans, a haven that awaited me. But, how would I get away from work?

There were also the Robotrons and the Automatons to worry about. They were even more intractable than the Computrons since, being earlier models, they were much more inflexible. However, I thought, more philosophically, there has to be a work niche for everyone if a company is going to prosper. Ever needed were the soldier types, organizers, workers, go-fers, administrivians, bosses, whip-crackers, clock-watchers, foil-makers, harried secretaries, nuts, hectic people running around and sweating every little thing, and contented Smoos. Yes, I know, some of those jobs are horrible, but, remember, if it were not for these niche-fillers WE would have to do those jobs!

Some niches were filled and unfilled by a sort of natural selection process, for example, by managers who were not of the right mold, ones who were quickly weeded out of power and replaced by those who would live, eat, and drink the Corporation. Yes, you guessed it: management was soon all of one mind. This was my challenge, dear reader, the mass Corporate mind. It was strong, unyielding, and solid, and certainly one could not face it head on. Still, I would try to do the impossible—which was 1) to go to lunch, and 2) to do it without talking about work or hearing about it while I ate.

All this I kept in mind as I, the Stainless Steel Rat, planned my escape, for nothing could keep me inside on such a day of nice weather. Lunch, especially going out for it, was a long forgotten art that was last practiced by our forefathers, and now nearly impossible to pull off; for lunch had, sadly, become an unofficial extension of the workday. We had to beat the Japatrons! Everything had to be doable and viable—for there was no longer any such thing as a “non concurrence” or a “non commit” (translation: “no”).

However, there were no walls that could hold me—no building secure enough to contain the Stainless Steel Rat, for I lived and thrived in the cracks and small interstices where authority overlapped—in the gray areas of the corporate structure! I would vanish into the rootless world of the abstract, where computers reigned supreme in their silicon and stainless steel world, hence my name. In my world, justice was obtained from the heart, not from the book. Now then, how would I get out to lunch when I was expected to either work through it or to eat with people who would talk about work and nothing else?

My plan unfolded. I scheduled an official meeting in a conference room at 12 noon, a normal enough time for a meeting, but, I invited only myself and some fictitious people who, of course, would not show up. This fake meeting would guarantee that a meeting conflict would occur with those Computrons who often actually did schedule noon meetings (or even worse, 5 PM meetings). Meanwhile, I activated my Turing Machine, which would automatically answer my electronic mail by looking for certain keywords and names, thereby giving replies that would appease the sender, buying me even more time. Next I carefully unplugged my phone so as not to draw undue attention to the phone’s unanswered ringing during the next half-hour from the fools who would try to call during lunchtime, for it was now already getting near 11:30.

Then I changed into my Corporation camouflage clothes: a white shirt and tie, with sleeves partway rolled up; for, this would help me blend more easily into the crowd, making me quite boring and unspectacular, and therefore practically invisible. As a final touch I put fifteen pens and pencils into my shirt pocket and carried some foils and paperwork in my hand, as well as a briefcase containing the delicious lunch that I had prepared at home.

This was it. Do or die. I left my appointment calendar prominently displayed, so that anyone who was really trying hard to find me would stumble over the calendar and presume it to be the truth. Then I quietly looked both ways, for it was still a little bit early for lunch, and quickly left my office, even walking 300 feet out of my way just to avoid the office of a Super Computron who loved to delegate work on sight of the nearest person. For concealment, I temporarily joined a group of marching Automatons, walking close behind them so that no one could observe me in operation as an individual. Once in the clear, I eased off down a side hallway.

Oh, no, Red Alert! My previous manager was coming straight at me, though he was still a ways off down the aisle. He would surely bend my ear until it was swollen and red with pain, and make me late for lunch. Thinking fast, I quickly ducked into the place where no man had gone before: the ladies room. I counted to twenty to allow him time to pass and then exited, not even stopping to wash my hands.

Yes, I could have had lunch in the Corporation cafeteria, but, as I’ve said, that was much too dangerous, for work was being talked about in there, and also the food was poor and expensive. I just had to get out in order to save my mind from being narrowed down too much. I headed towards the freight elevator which would lead me to the unguarded exit of the loading dock.

The walk toward the elevator was the most dangerous part of my plan, for it was a one-way aisle with no side exits. Oh, no! I ran straight into an Automaton! My only hope was to ask it to join me for lunch, hoping to catch it off-guard—so it would think that I was joking. So, I asked it to lunch. I guess I reached its built-in humor mechanism, for it coughed out a mechanical laugh and said, “There’s not enough hours in the day for the celebration of life that you describe through social relationships, human interaction, dreams, art, nature, books, romance, joy, happiness, smiles, adventure, and certainly not lunch! Work, work, work! I must work on my foils for a one o’clock meeting. I cannot go out to lunch, ha, ha; my life is out of control because I’ve bit off more than I can chew—” I quickly slipped away while it was still mindlessly lecturing me from the automated tape of standard prerecorded answers.

So, lunch was still on, and I carefully left the building, taking no more chances, staying well out of the line of sight of any big shot’s office window, both for practice and to keep myself alert. Also, just in case anyone was watching, and for alibi reasons, I headed over to the actual building of my fake meeting, where, by the way, no one knew me. I entered the building and immediately exited it by a side door. This ruse was necessary because the badge reader would record my exact time of entry, in case there was an investigation later, but not the time of my departure.

Outside again, I hugged the sides of the buildings until I got well through no man’s land and past other obstacles and could gain cover from trees. All this was well away from the security gates, of course, for there was no getting through them at this time of day since they were laser equipped and therefore deadly to any moving object. I headed for the river portion of the Corporation “moat”, for it was the most lightly defended. I took the route most likely to succeed, the one through the Corporation graveyard, wherein every Computron epitaph read exactly the same: It lived; It was busy; It died.

I hoped that I could remember the path down to the water, a trail made by the Indians long ago. I found the secret entrance into the river bluffs, carefully passed the No-Trespassing signs, and snuck in through a small gap in the electronic fence. Of course, no one was allowed to use these wonderful trails since they might fall off of a cliff and then sue the Corporation.

A glorious view soon unfolded before me, and the world was once again bright, and beautiful. My spirit lifted upon seeing the sparkles on the water, the mountains, and the waterfalls across the river. My boat was waiting just where I’d left it. Naturally, I was careful not to touch the water, for it was poisoned with toxic pollution.

This was really it! I crossed the river—in the boat that I’d so carefully constructed from driftwood and fallen trees. I landed on the opposite shore, a still pristine county that both time and progress had somehow forgotten. I walked into a wild vineyard and picked a shady spot, among many, where nature was still new and fresh. There I savored my lunch without distraction, even read an old forbidden book, then began a wonderful nap on the grass. Looking across the river, I saw no sign of the Corporation, except for its two water towers.

The Stainless Steel Rat had made it—I had gone out to lunch; I was across the river and into the woods.