My Name Is Not William, Part 5 by David Kendall, Jr.

If I would have just let Krebbs finish his thought I probably wouldn't have this girl completely and passionately lip-locked on my mouth. So, maybe it was a good thing I exploded on Krebbs. It's a shame it took all that for this girl to do what she's doing. Again, I shouldn't complain. This is the closest a girl has had contact with me since, well, since that girl I saw looking at VCDs in Chinatown. Ha, she was looking at porn.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

Krebbs wasn't finished with his sentence, but frankly, that's the way you start sentences like, 'I'm pregnant,' 'You've got herpes,' or 'Son, I'm gay.' I wasn't going to let him finish. I was so tired of being a runt. The one who does everything and gets no credit for it at all. I'm tired of being quiet. And, I'm just tired.

My tirade begins: "Krebbs, if you think security guards are necessary, good. Because I'm about to go psycho on your ass! Your white, pockmarked, sweaty ASS! ASS! Yeah!" OK, I'm not Shakespeare when I get angry. But, I like to think that second 'ASS' really drove the point home. Krebbs looked like a photograph; completely still and trapped in a moment. Not necessarily showing emotion, simply a man standing with his mouth agape. I continued, "I've been here longer than all those goddamn kids in the mail room, I do everything shitty job in this place and I get nothing. Nothing!"

I really wanted to throw something. Tossing some of his papers would have been cool or throwing a chair would have shown my anger as I raged against my boss. What did I do? I banged my fists against the wall of Krebbs' office. I looked like such a pansy. My arms flailing like two loose tubes of meat against the wall I'm sure really put the fear of God in Krebbs. I wish I would have finished there. I personally can't think of a dumber way of leaving my mark with this agency.

In a fit of rage, I knew I had to leave Krebbs' office before the security suits grabbed me. Bolting for the door with my girly, flabby arms, I ran straight into the door frame. I was knocked out cold. Apparently, quite a fuss was made since I stopped breathing. I was told this later by the paramedics. Who did I wake up to sucking on my mouth? Vicki. How did I know it was her? She was wearing her telephone headset.

Here I am in full mouth-to-mouth contact with the girl I say hello to every morning. I should have cherished this moment. My eyes, groggy from head trauma, fluttered open to see a rather attractive woman pressing her soft lips across mine. Was it passion? To save a man's life more than likely, but I didn't want to waste this passionate kiss. So, I stuck my tongue in her mouth. Smooth like a pimp.

"Ahh-gaa!" was about the noise that came out of Vicki as she recoiled in horror. Wiping off her mouth, she muttered, "He's breathing." She quickly faded into the crowd.

Sets of mystery hands gathered on my back and helped me to a sitting position. I was facing Krebbs' office. The two goons in dark suits were crying. Crying? Maybe they weren't security. Whoops. More hands started to grab onto me. I was flopped into the air onto a stretcher. Paramedics magically appeared with their eyes staring straight down at me. They loosened my clothes and started to poke and prod. As I was being pulled away, I heard Krebbs say, "I think his name is William, but I don't really know. I was just about to ask him." The mailroom frat boys who actually know my name stood and watched me get carted off. They didn't even offer the correct information. I closed my eyes.

I hear dinging so that must mean I'm in an elevator. I open my eyes and sit up. Screw this shit, I am not going to the hospital. I start pulling the ties from the stretcher off me.

"Sir," one of the paramedics snaps, "We really need to take you to the hospital."

"I refuse treatment," I slur out.

An older paramedic affirms his colleague, "Sir, you could have a concussion or worse, we really need to check it out."

"I don't care. I want to get out of here," I retort.

The elevator doors open to the main floor. Responding to the cue, I try to get up but get caught up in paramedics pushing me down and my ankles still caught in straps.

The older paramedic starts to bargain, "Listen, William, if you please let us check you out at the ambulance and you can have someone pick you up, we'll let you go." I reluctantly nod my head in agreement and lay back down.

I stare at the ugly ceiling panels of my building as I am wheeled out through the only door at the front of the building. The security nazis at the front desk scream and hold them shut if use these doors in a normal situation. These doors are "FOR HANDICAPPED ONLY! FOR HANDICAPPED ONLY!" No shouting today, but I think they would try to shove the stretcher through the revolving doors if they could.

We stop at the back of the ambulance. After flashing a light into my eyes and poking me with a stethoscope, the older paramedic finally says, "Can I convince you to go to the hospital?" I respond firmly, "No." The three paramedics all look at each other and shake their heads. I whimper out, "I need a phone." One of the paramedics places a cell phone in my hands. I ring up the only person I know.

"Hello?" The voice on the other line seems confused.

"Enrico," I sputter, "You have to come and get me."

"Oh, angel tits, it's you!" Enrico starts laughing, "I was wondering who this 'Earl Witkins' was on my caller ID. I don't know any..."

I interrupt, "Shut up, I have some paramedic's cell. I'm in front of my building at work. Just come and get me."

"Paramedic? Are you all right? You didn't go all postal..."

"Just come here now and pick me up." I hang up the phone and hand it back to the man who apparently is Earl. Twenty minutes later, Enrico and his custom minivan comes flashing to the front of building. He jumps out of his van and runs to me at my station behind the ambulance.

Enrico's face twists up in shock as he stands peering down at me. "You look like crap. We need to get you to a strip club."