Indignation Page #7

Yeah. yeah. It's something we

do at the house, volunteer.

He said you gave the okay to go

into your room and get your books.

I basically grabbed

everything off the desk.

Quite a room

you got there.

Yeah, it's deluxe.

[chuckle]

It was like

a medieval inquisition.

Except he was smiling

most of the time.

I think that's what annoyed me

the most.

You mind?

Yeah, dig in.

So you mixed it up

with old Dean Caudwell?

He's actually not such a bad

guy, he's just a blowhard.

He didn't make you move back in with that

moron Foxman and that queer Flusser, did he?

Huh? Uh, no.

See?

But then, he started grilling

me about my beliefs,

my social life, my principles.

Mainly about Chapel.

I tried to explain to him

as clearly as I could,

as rationally as I could,

why the chapel requirement

is unjust.

I don't... I don't know how you

and your fraternity brothers

take all that Christ stuff,

week in week out?

Chapel?

Who goes to chapel?

You pay somebody to go for you and you

never have to get anywhere near chapel.

Is that what you do?

What else would I do?

You know, I went a couple

of times freshman year.

They had a rabbi once,

so I had to go then.

Otherwise it's Caudwell

and Donehower

and all the other great

Ohio spiritual leaders.

So how much do you pay?

For a proxy? Two bucks a pop.

That's nothing.

That's not nothing.

Look. Figure you spend 15

minutes getting off the hill

and over to the church.

An hour of subjecting

yourself to chapel,

and knowing you, you're seething

with rage the entire time, Mm-hm.

You're probably another half

hour afterwards still seething.

That's a hundred and

five minutes, times forty,

that's...

Four thousand two hundred minutes

that's 70 hours.

Yeah. Right.

And that's not nothing!

[sigh]

Alright. So how does it work?

Well, the guy you hire takes the card

the usher hands him at the door,

and when he hands it back at the

end he's signed your name on it.

That's it. You think a handwriting

specialist pores over each card

back where they keep

the records?

No. All you have to do

is pay somebody.

Yeah, but who? Plenty of

brothers willing to do it.

And it's work. I'll find

somebody if you want me to.

I can even try to find someone

for less than two bucks.

And if this person shoots off his mouth?

Then what?

You're out of here

on your ass.

No one would do that.

They'd be out, too.

Look, it's a business,

Marcus.

Clearly Dean Caudwell

knows what's going on?

Caudwell's the biggest

Christer around.

He couldn't imagine why people

don't love listening to Donehower

instead of having the hour free every

Wednesday to jack off in their rooms.

That was a big mistake you made,

bringing up chapel with Caudwell.

Hawes D. Caudwell

was the idol of this place.

Winesburg's greatest

halfback in football,

greatest slugger in baseball,

greatest exponent on earth

of all things Winesburg tradition.

Meet this guy head-on about this

stuff and he'll make you into mush.

You go around

guys like him, Marcus.

You keep your mouth shut,

your ass covered, smile...

and then

you do whatever you like.

Look, don't... don't take

everything so seriously.

You might find this is not

the worst place in the world

to spend the next four

years of your life.

At least you're not in Korea.

Plus... you've already located

the Blowj*b Queen of 1951.

That's a start. I don't know

what you're talking about.

You mean she didn't blow you?

You are unique.

I still don't know

what you are referring to.

Olivia Hutton.

Look, blowj*bs are at a premium

in north-central Ohio,

as you can imagine.

News of Olivia has traveled fast.

Don't look so puzzled.

Uh, I don't believe this.

What's not to believe?

Hm?

She sounds like a bit of a nutcase.

There's nothing wrong with that.

I wish there were

more of them around.

I'll pick you up on Saturday. That's

when you're getting out of here?

You okay? Do you want

me to call the nurse?

No, no, I'm fine. I'm just in a

little bit of pain. I'm okay.

Yeah. Okay.

I'll see you Saturday.

I'll set you up

with a cot at the house.

[door closes]

[moans]

Ah!

Now, I want you

to tell me everything.

Everything?

Everything about what?

About you.

I want to learn all about you.

I want to know

what made you you.

What about

what made you you?

You first.

[groan]

[faucet running]

Well, I guess the shop

made me, if anything did.

Though what was made exactly

I can't say I entirely know anymore.

I've been in a very confused state

of mind ever since I hit this place.

Thank you.

It made you hard-working.

It gave you integrity.

Oh, did it?

The butcher shop?

Absolutely.

Well... let me tell you

about my father.

Let me tell you about what he

gave me in the way of integrity.

We'll start with him.

Oh, good.

Story time.

Well, every week,

the fat man

would come into the store

and he'd pick up all the fat.

And the fat itself was stored

in a garbage pail.

After the fat man came,

I would take this can out front

of the store and I'd wash it out.

So one day one of the pretty girls

from my class came up to me

"and said," I stopped

at the bus stop

across the street

from your father's store

"and I saw you cleaning

the garbage cans."

So, I went up to my father and I said

"Boss,"I always called him "Boss,"

I said, "Boss, I can't clean

the garbage cans anymore."

You were ashamed?

No. No, you see,

that's what he thought.

To me, it was practical.

How am I supposed to ask them out,

if they know that I clean the cans?

Well, you asked me out.

But you didn't see me

clean the garbage cans.

I could have guessed.

So what did your father say?

Did he let you off the hook?

No. He said,

"What, you're ashamed?"

What are you ashamed of? All you

have to be ashamed of is stealing.

Nothing else.

"Clean the cans."

He could have told

Big Mendelson to do it.

Big Mendelson?

Mm-hm.

He worked there too

until things slowed down.

Boy, did he have

a nasty mouth on him.

He belonged in the back,

trust me, in the refrigerator.

I thought he was hilarious,

but we had to let him go.

What did Big Mendelson do?

Well, on Thursdays,

my father, he would come back

from the chicken market,

he'd dump all the

chickens in a pile

and people would come in and pick whatever

chicken they wanted for the weekend.

Anyway, this one woman,

Mrs. Sklon,

she would always come in,

she would pick up a chicken

and she would smell its mouth

and then smell its rear end.

It got to the point that one day Big

Mendelson couldn't contain himself.

He said, "Mrs. Sklon",

could you pass

that inspection?"

I swear I've never seen anybody

get more mad in my life.

She picked up a knife,

tried to stab the big guy.

So that's why your father

had to let him go?

Well, he had to. He had to. By then

he said lots of things like that.

But about Mrs. Sklon,

Big Mendelson was right.

She was no picnic

not even for me,

and I was the nicest

boy in the world.

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