[Officelover]

Part Five: The Beginning of Her Employment

She is once again in the trunk of his car. Now that he fed her, the man decides it’s time to begin the third phase of her rehabilitation. She is in his trunk, locked in (yes, he’s the kind of man who can lock his trunk). He is listening to a Billy Joel CD.
The must have driven for two and a half hours. The car ride is long. She hears a muffled rendition of “We Didn’t Start the Fire” four times.
He put her in a large trash bag before they left his torture chamber. The trash bag has two holes cut into it, one for each of her legs. He has wrapped black duct tape around the holes, which ends up a little above her knees. She is wearing each one of the loop-ties (the things that close the bag) as a strap, tied tight around her shoulder. This bag is white, not black. It is covering everything from her knees to well above her breasts.
When the car stops, when she is once again brought into the light, she finds that he has taken her to some mall, somewhere she’s never been. He pulls her out of the trunk, and she finds that she is in the somewhat sketchy back parking lot of the mall.
“If you breathe a word to anyone about me,” he warns her, looking her in the eye, “if you try to tell anyone about our little situation, if you try to escape, I’ll come to you one day and murder you in cold blood.”
He walks toward a back door, her following him, feeling the slight wind flap around the plastic she’s wearing. He pushes on the metal bar, and they walk through a hallway until they reach the mall’s operational manager’s office. The man knocks, and a resounding “come in” is heard.
The man steps into the office, politely beckoning for the woman to follow. She does. The man explains to the manager that the two of them are members of a local environmental activist organization, and that they had planned a performance art piece to get people to think about how much they waste. The manager remembers; he’s gotten plenty of e-mails from the man before.
“What about you, sweetheart?” The manager asks, chuckling, “How’d a girl like you end up in the trash bag?”
“We drew lots,” the man explains, “and our Anna just happened to be the one who got stuck with it.”
“All right,” the manager says. “I’m all for being environmentally friendly. Sure, why not, you can use the food court. Just be safe – don’t let anyone put any glass or sharp objects in that thing.”
“Thank you,” the man says.
“Thank you,” the woman near-whispers.
The two leave his office, and make their way out of the back of the mall into the main shopping area. The woman, whose name was never Anna, is humiliated. She is walking through a mall, passing Forever 21 and Aeropostale, wearing not Hollister but Glad. Every action, which might be considered normal, garners embarrassment from her and stares from the mallsters. Riding the escalator is the worst.
They take two escalators up to the third floor, and head to the center, where the food court is. The two settle in front, near one of the hundreds small plastic tables. The man takes out a marker from the bag he has been carrying. He holds her head still, and writes two words on her face, one on each cheek, each one in bold red capitals. On her left cheek, “TRASH”; on her right, “CAN”. He takes out a collapsible sign from his bag, opens it up and sets it upright to her right. He slips a piece of paper into it, one that reads in large, friendly letters:

“HELLO! I’m Anna, the first human trash can! Please give me your trash – place it down the front or back of my bag. But please think about how much trash you give me – think about throwing something away before you become wasteful. DON’T give me glass, other breakables, or anything else hazardous to human health. Thank you!”

The woman reads this sign in horror, realizing fully for the first time her fate. He stands in front of her, for a little, smiles, admiring his handiwork, and snaps a few photos of her. He then proceeds to sneak off to the back, to lurk and watch from the corners.