A Taste of a New Story I'm Working On

I watched with mild interest as the paunchy man in his fifties sprayed bleach water on the stainless steel countertop in my kitchen.  He wore the uniform of the mundane, a polo shirt liberally peppered in grease stains and flour from chicken that he'd fried for my picnic on the lawn.  The black workman's slacks he wore hung beneath his ample gut, barely held up by the cheap big box store belt made from all-synthetic materials.  Sweat beaded on his pasty white forehead, the hair from his widow's peak dangling like a worm in front of a creature who, anywhere else in the pond, would have been a very big fish.

"La Danian," I said.  "I hope you're not getting tired, there's still the refrigerator to clean and the floors to mop and wax before you can leave."  The older man cringed from a mixture of irritants.  Annoyance at his "slave" name that was nowhere near indicative of his tenth generation East Coast upbringing, frustration with a worthless body made soft by years of desk work, and general disgust with the manual labor I was putting him through.  But primarily, it was the absolutely horribly real fear of failing me.  If he failed me, he failed for life.

"I'm going to be kind to you tonight and let you have a ten minute breather before you get to work on the floors.  You did a good job on getting all the picnic items prepared today, but you need to move faster next time.  I don't do overtime and you either get it all done or you go on report.  Since this is your first week I'm going easy on you."

"Thank you, Mistress Red," he gasped.  I nonchalantly handed him a bottled water from the refrigerator and closed it again, watching as he gulped the chilled water down too quickly and promptly gave himself brain freeze.  I rolled my eyes at how pathetic he was.  No more so than many of the others, but that would change.  A few minutes ticked by and I watched as the sweat rings that mooned his armpits began to evaporate.  Normally my mind was constantly working even in downtime, deciphering based on his profile and instinct the best way to express my dismay at his current worthlessness, but I was just too tired.

I leaned down to speak to him, the man still panting from filthy physical labor and exhausted from general emotional stress.  "I've changed my mind La Danian, you are being released early tonight.  If you wish to make up for the time, you may contact me tomorrow afternoon and I will schedule you in next week."

The man's face contorted in porcine fear.  "Thank you Mistress Red.  Mistress, may I ask a question?"

"You may," I replied.

"Was it something I did?  Or didn't do that I'm being asked to leave early?  If there is, I'd like to be able to fix it."

"No, La Danian, it wasn't.  I'm just tired tonight.  And I compliment you on having the bravery to ask if you have displeased the one you answer to.  Taking responsibility for your actions is a step most don't fully comprehend until the very end.  Some never do.  I will remember this."  I smiled at him as he looked up at me from his knees, grateful as a puppy.

"Thank you Mistress Red.  I will leave now with your permission."  I nodded my assent and he bowed his head in reverence to me before groaning to his feet.  He rolled down the hallway and out the side door reserved for the Service Industry.

I sighed and grabbed a clean towel and the bleach water again.  In leaving he'd slung sweat over the newly shining countertop.  I reminded myself how this was just one minor irritant and that I loved my job more than anything.  One of the good bits about it popped into my head, and I felt myself automatically grinning from ear to ear.  "Thank you Congressman, it is for this I serve my country."

Five years ago I was approached with a plea from someone who knew how close our nation's representatives were to a massive bloody revolt enacted by the populace.  Bread and circuses no longer distracted the crowds of suffering, unemployed masses while the public's "representatives" dined on steak and strippers.  To avoid collapse, change must occur and it must come from within.  The masters at the top knew nothing of the servant's lot and were unlikely to change on their own.  The theory being, in order to represent the people, they must understand them and to do that they must live like them. 

For too long those in power beheld those they governed as nothing more than a means to an end.  It became my job to teach them in a manner that would create humility, modesty, and appreciation for a solid work ethic that was more than just patter.  What better way to do that than use their own carnival of perversions against them? 

Welcome to the retraining of the nation's capital; my name is Red and I am The Mistress.  I love my job.