Carl was standing by the water cooler, enjoying a nice, cone-shaped cup of H20 when the Mayor stepped out of the office to chastise him without mercy.
“Carl, you wonky eyed freak of nature! Where is everybody?”
The Mayor’s dutiful stooge looked around the showroom. No customers. No salespeople. Just a whole lot of silence.
“I don’t know, boss,” Carl said. “All at home, I reckon.”
“Why?” the Mayor asked. “How are we gonna cheat people into buying cars that aren’t worth the scrap metal they’re slapped together with if everyone’s at home?”
“Beats me, boss,” Carl said. “All I know is everyone’s painfully terrified of the Toilet Killer.”
“The Toilet Killer?” the Mayor asked. “Shit, that’s all the more reason for people to come on down here. I got porta-potties and diapers for everyone.”
“I know,” Carl said. “But I think most people are so scared they’re aren’t going anywhere. Everyone in my neighborhood is staying at home with their windows shut, doors locked, glued to all the NN1 coverage and occasionally taking breaks to shit in their backyards.”
“People shitting in their backyards like a bunch of Goddamn animals,” the Mayor said. “It’s like we lost a war!”
“Helluva thing, boss,” Carl said. “Helluva thing.”
“Poor bastards,” the Mayor said. “Everyone’s gripped in ghastly clutches of this terrible shit-phobia. Even my son has it. He came over my house, wailing and crying about how he was scared I’d die on the toilet while taking a shit. Such a sweet boy.”
“That’s real nice, boss,” Carl said.
The Mayor puffed his stogie, then took a sip of his martini. “Carl, get the ad man at the local TV station on the line. Tell him I wanna go live from the lot this afternoon.”
“Big plans, boss?” Carl asked.
“You know it,” Carl said. “I can’t have people in this town so scared that they refuse to participate in commerce. I’m gonna prove that it is safe to shit on a toilet in this town once and for all.”