Onkeymay Usinessbay

Doug Donnan

Executive Editor OMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE!

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

                                 

'ONKEYMAY USINESSBAY'

 By 

Doug Donnan

                      

           Teach-Tech Robotics Research Facility /// Seattle, Washington

     “Because if we don’t do something about it now,” Brandt said as he made a hand gesture

as though he were cautiously pulling an electrical plug from a wall socket, “sooner or later we’ll

all be walking down the unemployment road.” The two men stood there just outside one of the

rear service entrances to the massive building. The only light was a pervasive iridescent glow

that was provided by an overhead electric sign that silently announced:

          [ TEACH-TECH/SHIPPING & RECEIVING ]

     “But dammit Brandt this is breaking and entering,” Bell exclaimed softly as if he might be

trying to make some kind of dramatic point in a church or public library. “I would rather be an

unemployed linguistics translator than a common thief. We could go to prison for this if we get

caught.”

      Bill Brandt, a decidedly perspicacious fellow, gave him a kind of impish grin as he held up a 

pair of shiny brass keys and jingled them in front of the pink beak that was Walter Bell’s nose.

“I’ve got a few friends in low places my little Berlitz buddy. We may very well be entering, but

as far as breaking anything we would surely be found innocent by a jury of our peers for making a

few simple adjustments to these damned multi-lingual robotic menaces,” Brandt replied with a

furtive hush as he hooked the thumb of his other hand over his shoulder at a large gray metal door.

     “You’ve got the keys?" asked Bell as if that may also be some type of crime, but then again

perhaps not. “Listen here Brandt. I don’t want you to think for a minute that I condone any of this

crazy business about monkeying around with all of our high-tech robotic replacements. However,

on the other hand I’ve got a family to feed too. So please,” he whispered as he half-squinted all

around and about into the darkness of the asphalt parking lot, “will you give me the condensed

version again of just exactly what it is we’re trying to accomplish here?”

     “Okay my hapless friend,” Brandt sighed as he leaned in close to his apprehensive colleague,

“here’s the story one more time in a nutshell. These particular state-of-the-art robots, affectio-

nately referred to as Engloids, are all about teaching the English language to people in foreign

countries. The researchers have found that young children in particular take a liking to these

electronic educators. Apparently the kids don’t feel as uneasy or shy when these contraptions

put on their Americanized dog and pony show.”  

     “Americanized?” Bell sighed a whisper in dismay.

     “Whatever,” Brandt hushed him. “The point is they’re a big hit overseas. My sources tell me

that this particular company, Teach-Tech, is at the forefront of all this. Apparently they’ve got

a stack of back orders from countries like China, Japan, Korea and on and on. The writing is on

the wall. As these gizmos grow in popularity we the people, with our little language lessons, are

bound to become extinct sooner or later, comprende?”    

     “Unfortunately,” Bell replied. “I think I do. But what in the hell are we going to do about it?

That is my question to you.”

       Brandt glanced around into the darkness for a second and then pulled a fold of paper from

the pocket of his Old Navy pea coat. He handed Bell the little ring of keys and unfolded the slip

of paper. He then produced a miniature flashlight from out of nowhere and snapped it on.

  “Jesus,” Bell almost laughed. “Who are you James Bond or Houdini?”

     “Never mind all that,” Brandt answered as he played the penlight’s beam around the electronic

schematic. “My guy inside, my source if you will, tells me that if we simply remove this particular

micro-chip…#461,” he pointed at a tiny highlighted circuit board, “we can throw quite a micro

monkey, pun intended,  wrench into the sub-systems of these damn robotic teaching transformers.”

      “What will happen to them, the Engloids?” Bell asked as he pinched the duet of keys.

     “Quite frankly my dear Bell,” Brandt leaned into him even closer now, the brim of his dark

cap pecking at Bell’s ridiculous pulled down navy blue sock hat. “I don’t give a damn.”

      “I see,” Bell almost whimpered there in the shadows.

     “It has to be done, or else. Now are you with me on this or not?” Brandt finished as he slid

the penlight and slip of paper back into his pocket.

     “How many are there…inside there?” he nodded at the door.

     “An even dozen,” Brandt answered. “Apparently we’ll find them easily. They’ve got a kind of

chimpanzee-like face and they’re all wearing a silly red, white and blue plastic baseball cap.”  

     “Monkeys huh? Okay,” Bell replied now with a little more conviction. “Let’s do this.”

                                               Seoul, South Korea / Six Weeks Later

      

     “How was your airplane flight Mr. Kellogg? Do your arms grow weary?” asked the diminutive

South Korean Teach-Tech liaison Jung Hun Park. His absurd attempt at the old American joke

was almost as funny as the ancient original one.

“A bit of turbulence here and there Jung Hun, but nothing I couldn’t handle from my kneeling

position in the plane’s bathroom,” Kellogg responded to the decidedly naïve, smiling emissary.

      “You are prepared now to view the video then?” he asked with a Charlie Chan-like head bow.

      Kellogg looked around the little auditorium. There was a fair sized LED screen set up with 

a few unfolded metal chairs facing it. Rather crude he thought to himself, but it would probably suffice

for the demonstration.

      “Why yes,” Kellogg replied. “And will it be possible to meet some of the young students later?”

      “It shall be done,” Park nodded again as he swept out a hand maitre d-like in the direction of the

gray steel  seats.

      Before long the two TT Robotics men were comfortably seated and waiting for the service technician to

start the video that was to display examples of the school children’s learning progress. A lot was riding on

this Kellogg mused. The future of the entire Engloid project and Teach-Tech Robotics itself was very

probably at stake.

      The big screen lit up in a wash of cool blue and then there was a flashing countdown of numbers.

     “I have not yet seen this video myselves Mr. Kellogg,” Park whispered softly. “But I know that

the children were to be very excited to have us look through it. They all do now seeming so proud to

be beginning to learn the fine, cool words of the Americans.”     

     “Uh, certainly,” Kellogg said as he slid over a bit in his seat. “It should be very, interesting.

Ah, here we go then!” he breathed as the screen lit up with all the smiling then soon singing faces

of a collection of young, raven haired South Korean children. The title of the little ringing song was

superimposed over their bobbing heads in a playful cartoon-like script:

                    

                                         TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME!

The airy instrumental that lead into the little ditty was apropos and heartfelt. However,

it didn’t take a trained ear long to detect that the youngster’s collective rendition of the iconic

American song was, at best, somewhat flawed:

   ‘Aketay emay out to the allgamebay, Aketay me out ithway the owdcray, Uybay emay umsay 

eanutspay and—

        Kellogg did a quick double take at the screen. He couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. He

bent forward and began to massage his sweating forehead with the tips of his manicured fingers.

      “They’re singing in Pig-Latin,” he almost groaned. “The damn kids are singing in freakin’

Pig Latin!”

      The now befuddled Park, who had been tapping his foot to the tempo of the song, turned to

witness the now pallid, agonized face of the Teach-Tech CEO.

      “Lateen’ you say Meester Kellogg? But I thought we were to teach them, I mean,” his mouth

now formed into a tiny puckering hole like the entrance to some vacant birdhouse. 

      Kellogg hung his head in despair just as the children celebrated the end of their efforts with a

resounding cheer. 

       “We’re ruined,” he sighed.

                 

_____ The End _____