Title: Montgomery Nixon was just an ordinary guy who worked at an ordinary job
Author: Sharon White
Last saved by: Jessica White
Company: Home Use

The Infringement on
Montgomery J. Nixon

By W. Duke White

(Written January 2005 – May 10, 2005)

Montgomery J. Nixon was an ordinary forty-one-year-old bachelor who worked as a data processor at a privately owned mediocre business.  He rose at six o’clock every morning and slipped leisurely into a mundane forest green corduroy suit with a black tie.  And after grabbing his ever-burnt piece of toast from his antique toaster, he rushed to his boring job to delude himself with old computer screens and endless filing.  At ten o’clock, he scurried to the bathroom and spent precisely fifteen minutes relaxing on the stool and reading the month-old issue of Home and Gardens that hung on the handrail in the stall.  At four, he punched out and headed home for a shower and a nightly shave; and then finally, he spent the rest of his night indulging in re-runs of Green Acres and studying Friedrich Nietzsche.
Every day was the same.  There was little room for spontaneity.  Montgomery’s routine was carved in stone and that was how he preferred it.
One day he woke at six, grabbed his toast, and rushed to work as usual.  Yawning, he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and pecked slowly and casually at the keys of his keyboard.  Then at ten o’clock sharp, he rushed to the bathroom and folded open his worn-out magazine.  He undid his belt, threw his trousers to the floor with a resounding clang, and sat upon the toilet to enjoy his fifteen-minute period of freedom.
The bathroom was quiet.  The reading light was apropos, and he sifted through the pages and adjusted his spectacles.  For a moment, he thought he had heard a small voice in the room, but he quickly disregarded it and returned to his article on wall sconces and various alternatives to decorative flower potting.
After about thirty seconds the tiny voice persisted.  Still, Montgomery remained undistracted and kept focused on the magazine.
When the voice returned for the third time, its distinctness could not be ignored.
“Excuse me, sir,” it said directly.
And Montgomery replied instinctively, “Yes?”
“Oh, that’s fine.  You have acknowledged me.  Could I have a moment of your time?”
“I’m on my break right now.”
“Yes, sir, but I have a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
“Who is speaking?”
There was an episode of silence followed by a medley of tiny giggles.
“Could I please have a moment of your time?” the voice repeated.
Montgomery looked down beside the commode to discover a small man.  He was about an inch and a half in height, and he was dressed in a light green suit.  His face was pale, friendly, and etched – on average – with thirty-five years.  His greasy black hair was combed into a pompadour, and he scuttled to and fro with his hands folded behind his back.  He was very calculated in his movements.
“I have a matter I would like to discuss with you, sir.”
Montgomery wiped at his glasses. 
“Who are you?”
“No time.  No time.”  The little man stopped pacing and shook his finger accusingly at Montgomery.  “You, sir, are what we have been looking for.”
“Pardon?”
“Yes, yes.  We have chosen you as our primary supplier.”
“Supplier?  Supplier of what?”
“Supplier of offerings.  Yes, sir.  Offerings.  You know, droppings, dung, excrement, feces, shit.”
Montgomery paused a moment, befuddled.
“I see,” he then said. “I’m sure you can understand my current reluctance.”
“To the contrary, sir.  I hardly find this to be a matter that requires reflection.  It is very simple.  You are a business man, this is obvious, and I am sure you will be willing to barter with us.”
Montgomery let out a hoarse, throaty, and quivery laugh that inarguably was a product of mounting anxiety.  He concluded that what he saw before him was nothing short of a hoax or ruse – presumably, it was a hallucination induced by lack of sleep, stress, or overwork – and he slapped himself firmly twice across the cheek and rubbed aggressively at his eyeballs to erase the image.  But the little man’s face never broke away.  It remained set on him – stern, serious, and professional but friendly.  When Montgomery realized this was no hallucination, he became very intrigued.
“Where did you come from?”
“Mr. Nixon,” the little man smiled with an air of great patience.  “I don’t understand why you insist on wasting time with the inconsequential.”
Montgomery was startled.
“I did not give you my name!  How did you know it?”
“Sir, we have our ways of keeping tabs on you every second of the day if we so desire.  And for the past week, we have witnessed every predictable action you have made.  I must say, sir, you lead a pretty dull life!”
“How much more do you know about me?”
The small man hooked his arms behind his back and began pacing the tile floor once more.  
“Montgomery J. Nixon,” he recited.  “1233 North Spruce.  You drive fifteen miles to work every 
day; you clock out at four and go straight home and take a shower; you shave twice a day, and you 
get no exercise because you prefer to read Nietzsche and watch Green Acres.  I hope your mother feels better soon.”
“Okay then.  What is her ailment and to which hospital was she admitted?”
“She is in the process of passing two kidney stones at the Dekalb County Hospital.”
Montgomery shook his head disapprovingly.
“This is ridiculous,” he said.  “Anyone could gather this information.  I’ll bet you can’t tell me, for instance, what my favorite color is, or what music I like, or what age my father was when he died.”
The tiny man laughed playfully.
“You are trying to trick me, sir.  Your favorite color is blue, you don’t listen to music because you hate the sound of guitars and pianos, and your father is alive and well and living in Portland.  He just had hip surgery and now claims he can feel the weather in the new plate they have inserted.”
Montgomery seemed pleased.
“Ah-ha!  That was my step-dad!  My trickery was a success!”
The little man suddenly let out a high-pitched whistle through his teeth, and from behind the commode a hoard of inch-high people poured out like marbles from a cup.  Men and women alike appeared, looking as normal professional men and women do, but 60 inches shorter and in clothes of curious extravagance.  The ladies were neatly adorned in dresses and lace scarves and shimmering pearls and clinkity-clinking high-heels.  And the men wore bright-colored suits – purple, orange, green, yellow – with sharp-looking skinny-ties, delicate silk shirts, and matching fedoras.
They spilled from the wall like phantoms and gathered twenty-thick at Montgomery’s feet.
“Your fifteen-minute break is almost up, sir,” said the tiny man, the leader of this new committee.  “Because we are from patient blood, we will give you until tomorrow to make your decision.  See you tomorrow at ten, sir, and we trust you will choose wisely.”
Montgomery burst violently through the stall door, fighting his belt buckle all the way to his desk.

*	*	*	*

The next day Montgomery returned to the bathroom at ten o’clock sharp.  He entered the stall apprehensively, and as he had expected, the tiny man was there waiting next to the toilet.  He wore the same light green suit as the day before, and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest.  Montgomery locked himself inside the stall but did not drop his trousers, nor did he sit upon the stool.  He stood rigid instead while the tiny man smiled up at him.
“Please, sir,” said the little man.  “Don’t let my presence interrupt your routine.  Feel free to pull off your slacks and relieve yourself.”  Montgomery made no advance toward the toilet.  “So, what have you concluded?”
Montgomery wiped at his glasses nervously with the front of his shirt.  He wasn’t fond of confrontation.  He was concerned that his consistent inquisitions and indecisiveness might upset the little man and cause him to finally lose his patience.  The little man had already spent so much patience on him already, and now he demanded an answer.
“First,” said Montgomery timidly, but gaining confidence as he continued, “I find it only proper to know the first name of the man or woman I am dealing with in any business situation.  Second, when you mention barter, that usually implies that once I supply the product, I will be receiving something in return.  And third, I don’t appreciate the unconstitutional manner in which you initially approached me.  It is an invasion of privacy and, in my opinion, rather unethical.”
Montgomery’s logic impressed the tiny man, and he laughed respectfully in a manner that reflected this.  “My official name is Charles Wallaby the Third, but my friends call me Charlie.  You can call me Chuck, Mr. Nixon.”
	“Why should I call you Chuck?”
	“You have brought the gift of joy by your decision.”
“You have yet to tend to my other two concerns, therefore I have yet to make my decision.  I will call you Mr. Wallaby for the time being.”
Mr. Wallaby seemed hurt but he continued to suffice Montgomery.  “Your payment for the product will be in candy and vitamins and various other pills, since those are the most valuable things that we are strong enough to maneuver.  And since there are only twenty-one of us, it will take some time to make the drop-off.  You won’t see us anymore.  All you have to do is conveniently forget to flush and then grab your payment from behind the commode.  You may have a hefty payment one day and a very poor one the next, depending upon time and availability.  But I can assure that my diligent comrades and I will work hard to keep you happy.  But, sir, if we have any inclination that you have double-crossed us, please keep in mind that we are small… not disabled.”
	“I understand.  Now about my last concern?”
“Ah – yes.  You see, sir, you and I have different definitions of the word unconstitutional.  Your constitution was written to insure the freedom of every man and woman of your country, while ours was written to protect our product and agility in bartering.  Please accept my apology if I have offended you.  And as I have said before, if you decide to cooperate with us, you shan’t see us again.”
“Okay, Mr. Wallaby.  I will accept your apology.  It only sounds fair that I should be lenient toward those who are unaccustomed.  Yet, it causes me curiosity as to your origin.  What race are you kin to, and how is it that you and your comrades manage to walk through walls as if there were no walls at all?”
Mr. Wallaby shook his head in disappointment.  “Sir, I have already tended to your concerns, and I find it highly inappropriate that you continue to prod me with insignificant questions.  Furthermore, I find you to be quite selfish in asking for an apology for getting your cheek slapped just to make haste in slapping mine.  Be careful, sir.  One day, with that behavior, one might find you extremely rude or distasteful.  For the moment, I merely find you to be unsympathetic and evasive.”
	“If I may interject, and I may be out of line by saying this, but aren’t you being just as evasive as I?  You seem to know so much about me and have for at least a week, yet I am prohibited to know certain issues concerning you, issues that I am very curious about.  Aren’t I the one that has what you need?”
Mr. Wallaby let out a hearty laugh.  “To the contrary, sir!  To the contrary!  We have everything you need, or could want.  You will be doing us a justice, as well as yourself.”
“Now you are prompting me with bribes?”
“This is not a bribe, sir.  This is a chance of a lifetime.”
“Yes, well,” Montgomery stated sarcastically, “there is nothing more I need in my lifetime, not even vitamins or candies from behind a toilet stool.”
“Sir, we can go anywhere and do anything you want us to do.  We have capabilities.”
“I don’t recall you bringing this up before when you were addressing my second concern.”
“Isn’t it the instinct of a businessman to give as little as possible while taking as much as possible?”
The two men chuckled.
“Yes, you have a point,” said Montgomery lightheartedly but then quickly tightening his face again.  “But I don’t think I shall agree to the deal.  It isn’t appealing.  Instead, it is rather sophomoric and ridiculous.  This whole experience has been nothing but asininity.”
“Sir, please.  I assure you that it is not asinine.  It is actually very imperative.  Our stock is extremely low and we are in desperate times!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wallaby.  I’m not the right man for the job.  Now if you will excuse me…”
The tiny people in their fancy garments filed suddenly through the wall, their eyes wide and sad, and their faces wan.  They merged at Montgomery’s feet again and began chanting in monotone chorus: “Please, Mr. Nixon!  Please, Mr. Nixon!”  They tugged at his pant legs and climbed over his shoes.  Their large, maniacal eyes glared up at him with intense desperation all the while.  Montgomery was on the threshold of sheer terror.  He kicked wildly at the tiny people and even stamped a couple of them, cracking their bones under his shoe.  The crowd dispersed in hysteria at the sight of this and retreated through the wall.
Montgomery remained rigid with fear for a few moments, trying to collect himself.  He did not mean any harm to anyone.  It was not his intention to stamp the life out of two of the little people.  After all, it is only natural to defend oneself against an invasion of any sort, whether it be man, rodent or insect.  Nonetheless, Montgomery felt so awful about what he had done that he knelt down, picked up the smashed carcasses, and began to sob.  He held them in his sweaty palm and peered down at them helplessly.  Their bodies were limp, fragile, and surprisingly heavy, weighing close to a pound a corpse.  
“I’m sorry, small ones,” he said solemnly.  “I didn’t mean to.  I was frightened.  Now I have really done it.  I should have just accepted the deal.”
He disposed of their remains in the toilet.  And as though it were a warped funeral hymn or memorial salute, a flush resounded through the bathroom.

*	*	*	*

Over the next week or so, there was no sign of Mr. Wallaby and his comrades.  Montgomery was very anxious to speak with Mr. Wallaby again.  He wanted to apologize and give his deepest regards for the loss of his friends.  But every day the stall held only one old Home and Gardens magazine.
Then one day Mr. Wallaby reappeared.  It startled Montgomery at first for he had begun to accept the notion that the little people would never return.  He was very happy to see Mr. Wallaby, yet he was taken aback by his appearance.
“What has happened to you, Mr. Wallaby?”  Montgomery asked, exasperated.  “Or shall I call you Chuck?”
The little man’s clothes were dirty and disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot and sunken into dark sockets.  His face was unshaven, his demeanor was writ with overtones of severe depression, and he hadn’t any aspirations.
	“You have worn out your privilege to address me by my first name,” he said wearily.  “I have spent the last week desperately seeking a new provider, and in the process my comrades and I have used up all of our resources.  We are all starving, in need of furniture, utensils and clothes, and it is all because of one man’s defiance!”
“Mr. Wallaby, please try to accept my apology for the mindless slaughter of two of your comrades.”
“Three,” Mr. Wallaby quickly added.  “Another died later from acute trauma to the brain.  You kicked her so hard it caused a hemorrhage in her occipital lobe!”
“I didn’t mean to cause anyone any distress!  I was merely defending myself against what I initially construed to be a horrifying bombardment!  They were tugging at my pant legs and glaring up at me with deranged wide-eyes.  I didn’t know what to do!  I was frightened, so I reacted on instinct, just as any cornered animal would!”
“Sir, you are sixty times larger than us, yet you are still as craven as one who is sixty times smaller!”
“Maybe so, Mr. Wallaby, maybe so.  But my sympathy runs deeper than your hunger.  Therefore, I have reevaluated the deal and I would like to agree to it, but at no charge to you.”
Mr. Wallaby shook his head.
“Don’t sicken me with your petty acts of sympathy.  You have done quite enough already.”
“Mr. Wallaby.  Now is not the time to make moral assessments, because they will ultimately turn out to be erroneous.  Moral assessments are making you starve right now.  If you would have been up front with me from the beginning, I would have understood, adamantly accepted the deal, and done so even without the candies and vitamins.”
“But that is the way of a businessman: to pursue the transaction in the manner that I had.”
“Maybe for some.  But, considering the circumstances, it would have been considerate of you to be open from the start.  I’m beginning to think you are not such a good businessman after all!”
“I try,” Mr. Wallaby admitted.  “I try hard, but I can never get the knack of doing business properly.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Montgomery, standing from the toilet to pull his pants up and fasten them around his waist.  “My fifteen minutes are up, so let’s call this the deal: five days a week I will supply my product.  Plus, once a week I will train you to be a true businessman.  And in turn, you pay me nothing but your attention.”
	Mr. Wallaby lit up with glee, clasped his hands together and stated,
“You can call me Chuck, Mr. Nixon.”

*	*	*	*

The transactions between Montgomery and Mr. Wallaby continued smoothly for two long years.  In this time, Mr. Wallaby’s business ethics were honed significantly.  The product was always delivered as promised, and there was never a doubtful thought.  Mr. Wallaby’s comrades were rarely seen or heard from, and neither the unintentional massacre nor the news of their current well-being was ever spoken of.  By the looks of Mr. Wallaby, though, it was safe to say that they were all happy, healthy, and “rolling in feces.”  His extravagant, light green suit had been updated to an ostentatious red and white one – made from silk and velvet and complete with miniature golden cufflinks – and his red shoes had been buffed to achieve its highest shine.
	One day, Montgomery encountered two of the comrades, a male and a female.  As he entered his stall, he noticed them struggling to resuscitate their friend.  Their friend lay next to the stool, dressed in a plum-colored suit, and his complete lower body had been crushed.  Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, and a red trail stained the floor where he had dragged himself during his final moments.  The female comrade looked up at Montgomery with grief in her eyes, while the other continued conducting CPR to their lifeless friend.
	“You’re late!” she screamed grievously, her little eyes welling with tears.
	“He’s going to make it,” insisted the male in between frantic breaths.
	“What’s happened here?”  Montgomery exclaimed.
	“You’re late!” the female repeated.  “Where were you?”
	“I had an appointment with my doctor.  What has happened?  Where’s Chuck?”
And as though it were his cue, Mr. Wallaby appeared from the wall followed by two of his comrades.  His anger was apparent as he ordered the mangled body to be disposed of.
“Where have you been, sir?”  Mr. Wallaby’s tone was one that had never been exposed to Montgomery’s ears.  It was overtly authoritative and it shocked him.  “It is twelve o’clock and your tardiness has cost me one of my comrades.”
“Chuck, I am not at fault.  I had an appointment with my doctor and it was important that I attend it.  I made the call late last night and I was in such discomfort that the thought of contacting you evaded me.  But if it is of any consolation, the cause of my discomfort was swollen hemorrhoids.  That should be of some consequence to you as well, shouldn’t it, considering the correlation between my ailment and the product?  What has happened here?”
Mr. Wallaby held a firm grip on the situation, his tone consistent.
“At precisely ten-fifteen, two of my comrades arrived here, as usual, to make the pickup and conclude the transaction.  But upon climbing to the top of the commode, they found no sign of you having been here.  So, one of my comrades returned to inform me of the situation while he stayed behind to await your arrival.”  Mr. Wallaby gestured to the cadaver that was presently being hauled away.  “Somewhere within that period of five minutes, a stranger appeared, took violent action, and then disappeared just as I arrived on the scene.  I managed to get a good look at him, and I have sent the majority of my comrades to find this man and dispose of him gingerly.”
	“Chuck, I…”
	“You haven’t the privilege to call me Chuck, sir!”
“Mr. Wallaby,” Montgomery continued, soft but steady.  “I have never seen you so stern, not in the two years that I’ve known you.  And to mention it, not even during the incident when I accidentally killed three of your comrades.  That seemed to me like a more tangible reason to be upset.  But to exhibit this behavior over a matter that couldn’t be avoided, or has never happened in the past, is preposterous.  I have never purposefully done you wrong, so why are you so eager to jump to conclusions about our partnership?”
Mr. Wallaby ran his fingers through his dark, stringy hair and bunched up his brow impatiently.
“Sir,” he said.  “I do not need to draw conclusions when the conclusions are already drawn distinctly before me.  It is queer enough that you are two hours late, when you are never late, or at least let me know when you anticipate being late.  But it is just hilarity to hear that you actually think you know me.  Mr. Nixon, sir, meeting once a week for fifteen minutes for lessons on business ethics hardly puts anyone in the position to say that they know someone, no matter how many years it’s been.  We have never spoken of travels or great loves or books that we’ve read.  It has always been about business.”
Mr. Wallaby let out a condescending laugh, which angered Montgomery and rendered him speechless for a moment.  When he finally gathered himself, his voice boomed.
“Why you ingrate!  You arrogant, tyrannical fool!  This is not what I taught you about ethics!  This behavior does not result from the knowledge that I’ve shared!  Instead, it is to the contrary and outright disgraceful!”
“Call it what you will,” Mr. Wallaby immediately snapped back.  “It hardly matters now!  We have accumulated enough information and supplies from you that we are now in the position to crush you and anyone else who gets in our way!  I have never forgotten about the massacre of my three comrades, and my ‘tyranny’, as you so dubbed it, is only beginning!  A war has been waged due to ‘breach of contract resulting in untimely death’, and I have made arrangements to annihilate you with a vengeance!”
Montgomery was stunned, yet his lips continued to form words.  “So, these past two years have only been a ploy to execute your revenge?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say ploy,” Mr. Wallaby replied, “because I have learned much from you and your kind.  Although, I can safely say, you have learned nothing of my kind.”
“And what is your kind?  It is true, I don’t know as much about you as you know about me, but that is not from lack of curiosity.  Upon meeting you, I asked these questions but you insisted that business was more important.  I didn’t drill you again after that because I didn’t want to feel like I was inconveniencing you.”
“Business is more important!  Haven’t you realized that by now?  Everything that I’ve done has been in the name of Business!  Not even my comrades can be held in the same regard as this great art!”
“But there are things that are much more important than business itself, like personalizing a transaction or professional courtesy.  It is the right thing to do as a decent human being!  Within all my blind trust, I have never thought of you as anything but a human being.  But it is clear now that you haven’t the characteristics of a human.  So I ask you again, what is your kind?”
The facility was quiet except for the sound of Mr. Wallaby’s stubborn sighs.  The carcass had been cleared from the scene, leaving only the presence of the two quarreling businessmen.  Mr. Wallaby had kept the secret of his race hidden for two years and he was reluctant to reveal it now.  But his solidity appeared to have been weakened by Montgomery’s consistent retort, and he announced it boldly and suddenly.
“We are called Ornauts,” he said.  “Or, The Charles’, as it is deciphered in our official language.  You see, sir, we are all named Charles, as were our forefathers.  Even the women are dubbed Charles, for we have no restrictions on gender like humans, because, as you have so aptly observed, we are not human.  We are from another – what humans would call – dimension or alternate plane of existence.  My grandfather, Charles Herbert Wallaby Jr., invented a mechanism, a pair of glasses, during the last fecal draught two years ago, that enabled him to travel to different planes of existence.  Since the invention, our economy has prospered with little downfall for we now have the technology to seek out supplies anywhere in our vast universe.”
	“Then why two years ago were you starving if you had such a mechanism?”
“We had yet to become acclimated to the mechanism when you and I first met, sir.  You were just our second stop on our endless search for supplies.”
“Why Earth?”
“Earth is not a planet like your race thinks it is, sir.  It is just another plain of existence in the middle of an empty space.  Humans are determined to find life on other planets, but they will never find any because there is no other life on this plane.  The existence of planets is just a deterrence to keep humans from realizing the truth about alternate realities.”
	“So…”
“So now I have told you too much,” Mr. Wallaby interrupted, his tone practical.  “The war is waged and it shall begin!”
The high-pitched whistle from Mr. Wallaby’s lips sliced Montgomery’s eardrums and tightened his muscles.  He knew what was going to happen even before the Ornauts filed out of the wall and marched toward his shoes.  Instead of the eighteen he had expected, more than twice as many appeared, all of whom were equipped with swords the size of small carpenter nails.  He turned to flee but the latch to the stall door was conveniently jarred.
“You cannot escape us,” Mr. Wallaby howled over the thunder of 90 tiny feet.  “I warned you that if I had any inclination that you had double-crossed us, we would take action.  We have more power than you realize!”
Montgomery yelped and thrashed to free himself.  These yelps reached the air in girlish shrieks.  Realizing there was no easy way out, he turned to confront the mob intrepidly.  Their blank, sullen faces were focused on war.  They anticipated the order from Mr. Wallaby, who held up his palm to keep them still.
“Is there anything you would like to say before we squash you like you had squashed us?”  Mr. Wallaby asked.
“Yes,” said Montgomery, quaking.  “You say so much and talk just enough, but it makes little sense.”
And without hesitation, he brought his foot down onto the Ornautian force with such speed and vigor that there remained time to bring it down once more before Mr. Wallaby could choke out his orders.  The army charged Montgomery’s soles and began to thrust their swords into his ankles and shins.  Montgomery stomped the floor in disarray and with such lack of strategy that he allowed the army of tiny people to gain the upper hand.  When the pain in his lower legs began to increase, he kicked hysterically and erratically in every direction.  But this did not alleviate the pain, for the Ornauts did not cease their jabbing and poking.  They worked laboriously to inflict harm on the calves of their enemy.  Some of them attempted to climb the legs and attack a more vulnerable location, but they were no sooner flung across the stall and splattered against the wall upon impact.
Soon the odds of victory were turning in Montgomery’s favor.  Dozens of Ornautians lay dead and scattered sloppily about.  There was no sign of Mr. Wallaby anywhere, and without the leadership from him, the Ornautian force began to weaken, and eventually they retreated.
The stall was painted red with the blood of the army.  It was the familiar image of a battlefield following a tremendous massacre: a page right out of The Battle of Gettysburg or the battle of Little Bighorn.  Even though he was still functioning in a frantic state, Montgomery knew he needed to get rid of the bodies and clean up the mess before someone saw it and began asking questions.  He started by scooping up the carcasses and dumping them in the commode.  He then wiped up the puddles of blood with handfuls of toilet paper.  He almost overlooked the miniature pair of glasses that lie amongst the remains.  Mr. Wallaby had been ranting about these same glasses.  Every Ornaut seemed to have a pair.  When he saw them, he knew what he had to do.  He couldn’t let Mr. Wallaby get away or another threat upon his life would surely be imminent.  Montgomery snatched the glasses up in one hand while he continued dumping bodies and smearing blood from the floor with the other.  As he engaged in this task, the door to the restroom burst open.  Montgomery popped his head out from the stall.  His boss stood in the doorway, panting.  He was bald with bold eyes, and he was turning dark red.
	“Dammit Montgomery!” he snapped.  “What the hell is all that ruckus in here?”

*	*	*	*
	
Montgomery tucked the fragile little pair of sunglasses in the pocket of his forest green corduroy jacket and went about his normal routine until four o’clock.  He had calmed his boss by claiming that he had been trying to exterminate a swarm of cockroaches by stamping them to death.  ‘The more he stamped the vermin’, he said, ‘the more they scurried this way and that.’  The boss had been appeased with Montgomery’s story, but he continued throughout the day with desperate attempts to contact an exterminator.  This made the rest of the afternoon tense for everyone.
When four o’clock came, Montgomery clocked out and waited at his desk until most of the employees had left.  When asked why he was staying so late, his excuse was simple:  he had to stay to catch up on work because he had come in late from a doctor’s appointment.  So, when the majority of the employees had gone home, he crept back into the bathroom with the pair of glasses wrapped in his clammy fist.
There was a dead, eerie silence inside the stall.  It sent quivers through his guts and a tremble down his spine.  He knew nothing of the consequences today’s actions would bring, but he was prepared for the worst.  The tiny spectacles were examined, and he pondered on several questions as he rested upon the stool.
How do these things work, he queried to himself.  How am I supposed to wear these, if I am to wear them at all?  Where will these take me, and how will I find Mr. Wallaby when I’m there?  There is only one way to know, I suppose.
Montgomery sprung to his feet and lunged toward the wall.  As he had originally expected, he crashed bluntly into it and fell to the floor, cupping with his hand the pain on the side of his face.  It wasn’t, he realized, from any lacking on the mechanism’s part.  The mechanism had not been in his hand!  It had slipped unwittingly from his sweaty palm as he pounced eagerly.  He picked up the glasses, keeping his composure this time so not to feel foolish again, and gripping the glasses tightly in his fist, his arm outstretched, he slowly began to walk forward.  His arm sunk into the wall at once, all the way to the elbow!  But an intense static made him quickly extract the itchy limb and cradle it against his chest.
It was with sheer determination and rejuvenated vengeance only that he thrust himself through the crackling portal with cries of war and pain.

*	*	*	*

The teleportation scrambled Montgomery’s eyes and mind somewhat.  He stood beyond the threshold of the new realm inanely.  He was only half-aware of the conversation that was directed at him.  His brain refused to process all the information.  Faint voices mumbled his name but he could not draw a clear image of the speakers.  The horrid stench of fresh feces was the one thing he could interpret clearly.
Slowly, he began to regain his senses.  While his sight started into focus, so did a mysterious pain in his chest.  He was cold and disoriented, and he soon began to realize that he was lying flat on his back.  A man with rubber gloves fastened to his hands knelt over him and cupped Montgomery’s nose and mouth with an oxygen mask.
	“Welcome back to us, Montgomery,” he said pleasantly.  “How do you feel?”
“What happened,” Montgomery croaked.  He looked around him for answers but only received concerned gazes from numerous bystanders.  Noticing these people, it occurred to Montgomery where he was.  He lay on the cool tile of the employee bathroom at his work.  He was soiled in his own excrement, and he had no recollection as to why.
“You went into cardiac arrest,” the man kneeling over him said.  “We have been trying to revive you for the past couple of minutes.  You were technically dead!  You weren’t responding to CPR, but our defibulators brought you back.  We’re going to get you to the hospital and do some tests to see if you have any extensive brain damage.”
Montgomery was lifted onto a gurney.  After all the onlookers had been cleared from the area, the medical technicians began to wheel him out to the ambulance.  He was unsure as to what events actually took place, but it was safe to assume that it had all been a dream, a hallucination, or a glimpse at an afterlife.  He rested easy knowing that he didn’t have to fear an angry mob of miniature people wanting to kill him over his bowel movements, and he knew that if he lived throughout the night, this heart attack was to transform his life in a positive way.  As soon as he recovered, he would live his life to the fullest and never be trapped in the same boring daily schedule as he had before.  He was going to leave his flaws behind and vacation in Europe and see Stonehenge and the Eiffel tower and dance with pretty Polish women, drink with loud Irish men, bask in the Greek sun, and dine at the finest Venetian restaurants.  He was going to live every dream and exercise his heart like he should have done before!
Then suddenly the gurney jarred into the wall and something knocked loose onto the floor.  Montgomery broke from his dreamy state of thought.
“What is this?” said the technician, retrieving the item and offering it to Montgomery.  “Is this yours?”
Montgomery’s eyes grew wide.  His dreams of Europe were dissolved in an instant.  He raised a weak and trembling hand to accept the item and groaned at his new awareness.  After pausing for a moment to assimilate this new circumstance, he crushed the tiny glasses vehemently in his fist and let the fragments fall back to the floor.  He was certain that he would be seeing Mr. Wallaby again very soon.