(Black humor in an orange wrapper.)
One could be forgiven for assuming that Nedlog Orange is the hero of this piece, especially if one were not from the Midwest.
In reality Nedlog Orange was merely a catalyst and there is no protagonist unless you choose to take sides. I was just a confused by-stander and to this day I remain in awe of the titanic clash of psychic forces and how it all ended.
This story is true in the way that all stories are true but in this case the story is also factual.
In the mid sixties (See, some of us do remember.) I was working a clerical job for a small industrial concern in the Chicago area. That’s where I met Hodo and Roger and where the story played out.
Hodo was a five foot four inch red headed gnome of a man with a wicked sense of humor and an evil pig eyed grin to match. Stricken with polio as a child he grew up using crutches. He developed the arms and torso of an NFL linebacker and the legs of a spastic chicken. I wouldn’t call Hodo an angry young man but he did have an oddly savage way of looking at the world.
The office was one of those old style industrial offices with the desks scattered over a huge area in rough geographic alignment. Hodo’s desk was adjacent to mine. He had come on the job about six months after me and I was assigned to mentor him on his new duties.
Hodo and I became good friends. We played chess at lunch and on breaks. We invented games to ease the tedium of the job. We developed a kind of us against them spirit in our department and we covered each other’s backs.
One of our games may help you to understand how Hodo’s mind worked. He would erode both real and imagined antagonists with a kind of psychological water torture.
Hodo’s desk was to the left of mine. On my right, across a wide aisle was the desk of an indoor salesman whom we will call Jack (Because I can’t remember Jack’s actual name.). Jack’s day was spent talking to customers by phone in a very loud, very distracting, terribly annoying, voice. Jack compounded the problem by speaking in an almost unbroken string of clichés. "Another day another dollar." "Long time, no see." "No such thing as a free lunch." You get the picture.
We decided that a cliché contest would be in order. Each time one of us, Hodo or I, used a cliché within the context of our jobs we got a point. Jack was included but we didn’t tell him. The game began with clichés filling the air and points piling up.
Hodo added his own touch to the festivities. Each time Jack earned a point Hodo would call out, "Give Jack a point." or, "That’s one for Jack." in a voice loud enough for Jack to hear. By the end of the second day Jack was keeping a suspicious eye on us and developing a facial tick. This delighted Hodo to no end.
Toward noon on the third day things were reaching a climax. After two and a half days Jack had amassed more points than the combined total earned by Hodo and I. We redoubled our efforts. And then Jack, in an instinctive act of self-preservation made a decisive thrust to the heart of the situation.
"Harold?" Jack fairly shouted into his phone, "Harold Johnson, I haven’t seen you since Hector was a pup."
Hodo and I were dismayed. We immediately admitted defeat and awarded the victory to the bewildered Jack. We told ourselves that there was no substitute for professional experience and congratulated ourselves on our sportsman like acceptance of the inevitable.
Enter Roger (Who’s last name I don’t remember.). Roger was a tall, slim, pale, soft spoken, young man in his early twenties with tight wavy hair and a faraway look in his eyes. Roger was a jazz musician in the evenings. His day job was strictly a maintenance activity, not a career.
For reasons I never understood Hodo took an instant dislike to Roger. As you have already seen getting on the wrong side of Hodo was akin to being pecked to death by angry chickens. Hodo didn’t announce his enmity or his intentions. He just began probing for Roger’s soft spot.
And Roger, in an unconcious but none the less stunning display of self-betrayal revealed that weak point in his first week on the job.
Our company had its own cafeteria with regularly scheduled lunch and coffee breaks. These breaks were ushered in and out by a loud claxon. From his first day Roger left the plant at lunchtime but took coffee breaks in the cafeteria. On what was probably Roger’s third day the morning claxon sounded and Hodo in the spirit of, "...keep your enemies closer." invited Roger to join us on break.
The three of us converged on a table from different quadrants of the cafeteria. I had coffee, Roger had milk and Hodo arrived with a bottle of Nedlog Orange. Nedlog Orange was an orange flavored non-carbonated soft drink in a clear glass bottle. Roger was half way into a seat when he noticed Hodo’s beverage. He hesitated briefly then sat but some subtle connection had been made that created a nearly tangible tension in Roger. He told us a story.
"I used to have a friend who ordered that all the time," said Roger. "He would drink half the bottle and then leave it on the table. Whenever I asked if he was going to finish it he would say, "No! That shit tastes awful."
"What happened to him?" Hodo asked.
"They picked him up on State Street at three AM one morning, talking to the buildings."
There was a miniscule but definite shift in the cosmos. A grin that said, "Gotcha!" flitted across Hodo’s face and disappeared.
We moved on to other subjects until the break whistle sounded. As we rose from the table Roger’s eyes locked onto Hodo’s half empty bottle of Nedlog Orange. "Aren’t you going to finish that?"
"No! That shit tastes awful."
Hodo turned without apparent interest and headed for the office as Roger’s complexion turned from pale to ashen.
Beginning the next morning the game was on. Everywhere Roger turned he was confronted by half empty bottles of Nedlog Orange. Hodo even had one half empty bottle in a file drawer in his desk. Whenever Roger walked past Hodo would open the drawer so the bottle was visible.
It took about three weeks. One morning Roger didn’t show up for work. We never saw him again. His job was taken by a weasely little guy with an evil sense of humor. Hodo liked him.
