Day 17: 34,170 words, and 34,170 Brandons

 

Writing came really easily today, with all of my time at the airport. I was tittering as I wrote these excerpts. I hope you like them too.

First, here's an excerpt with Gordon: 

“What do you know about Foucauldian Discourse Analysis Aid Kits?” she asked.

The glee on Gordon’s face that someone was talking to him about Foucauldian Discourse Analysis was plain to see. 

“I’m so glad that you asked,” he said animatedly. I know that I do not need to tell you that he immediately put his finger up didactically before launching into his speech. “They are a good start to Foucauldian Discourse Analysis. They’re like a tricycle, if you will. Like a tricycle, a toddler could use it. A dilettante needs one, but the hope is that you progress, at least, to a Foucauldian Discourse Analysis Aide. I would liken this to training wheels. Ideally, one should be able to conduct Foucauldian Discourse Analysis as easily as one breathes. And much like breathing, it is best if it can be carried out independently, rather than with the help of an aid kit or an aide.”

Scottie looked at Gordon for a beat. He was not the Foucauldian Discourse Analysis Aide that she needed. But he was the one that she deserved.

“Aside from being incredibly condescending,” she said, “that was helpful. You might be surprised to learn that an understanding of Foucauldian Discourse Analysis has somehow become pivotal to solving the case we have been working on.”

“Surprised? To the contrary!” Gordon said enthusiastically. “I have consulted on many critical cases with the Toronto Police Service!”

“So in addition to losing respect for the London Police Service, I now have further reason to distrust the Toronto Police Service,” Scottie said with frustration. She breathed out. 

“Gordon,” Scottie finally said. “Will you be our Foucauldian Discourse Analysis Consultant?”

“Yes, yes, a million times yes!” Gordon shrieked.

“Hold on a second,” Jackie snarled. “Before we all agree to let you come along, we need to set some ground rules.”

“Agreed,” Jake said. “Scottie, you can’t forget that he has been following you around for nefarious purposes just a few hours ago! I don’t think that this is a good idea.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea either,” Scottie replied. “But what other good ideas do we have?” She looked over quickly at Gordon. “No offense.”

“Well, some offense taken,” Gordon shrugged. “But he’s right. I was doing something that I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry that I was following you and that I made you feel unsafe. I shouldn’t have. But I want to make it up to you. I want to help. Please let me do that.”

Gordon looked so hopeful, but Scottie was already convinced. She made eye contact with Jackie and Jake. After several seconds, they both visibly relented. 

“The faulty Foucauldian Discourse Analysis Aid Kit had better be pivotal to stopping the fires,” Jake sighed. 

“The what?” Gordon asked excitedly.

“Hold on,” Jackie said brusquely. “About those ground rules. I know that I can’t control what you wear, but when we are in my bar, no capes. Under no circumstances. That’s ground rule number one.”

“I object!” Gordon whined.

“You either accept the ground rules, or you don’t come along. There is no room for negotiation,” Jackie asserted.

Gordon was silent. 

“The second ground rule is that you do what I say, when I say it. No questions. This is a dangerous situation, and I need you all to be safe.”

“I accept,” Gordon relented.

“The third ground rule is that I can make up ground rules at any time. They are all binding.”

“How can I possibly accept that?” Gordon asked.

“If you want to be a part of this, you’ll accept it,” Jackie shrugged.

Gordon thought for a long moment. It seemed as if he was performing a Foucauldian Discourse Analysis. Scottie had to hand it to him—it came as easy to Gordon as did breathing. Perhaps even easier to him than breathing, because he breathed in a loud and annoying manner. Although he admittedly also conducted Foucauldian Discourse Analysis in a loud and annoying manner. 

“I accept your terms,” Gordon finally said.

Here's another excerpt, with my flimsy plan for why Jake and Scottie have to pretend that they're a couple:

“Brandon,” he explained, “this is Sally, my girlfriend.”

Scottie beamed, as if meeting a London police officer named Brandon was the greatest thing to happen to her all day. “So nice to meet you!” she shook his hand happily. She was acting like how she thought someone named Sally would act. A Sally who was Jake Kneiss’s girlfriend. She was probably glamourous and cool, not needy in any way. She probably loved meeting police officers. 

Jake had a plan for infiltrating the London Police Service in search of Brandon, the audiovisual expert. Obviously, Jake Kneiss, former London Knights and Toronto Maple Leafs player and current London Knights Coach, was at the centre of this plan. His well-known face could open doors, especially in places like police stations. The police were unlikely to ask any questions if Jake was asking for something, like, for example, where in the police station they might be able to find someone with tech expertise. But, he couldn’t go in alone, so they needed a reason for Scottie to be with him. And what better way to get her in, with no one paying any attention to her, than if they said that she was Jake Kneiss’s girlfriend? Being the wife or girlfriend of a male celebrity is to be invisible. The only way they could have made her even more invisible would have been to make her a mother, but they didn’t have the time that would be required for that kind of slow burn of a plan.

“Nice to meet you, Cindy,” Brandon said, barely paying Scottie any mind.

Fortunately, that was just the way that she wanted it. They had him right where they wanted him.

“This is really embarrassing,” Jake said, lowering his voice. Brandon was positively gleeful to be on the receiving end of embarrassing information from Jake Kneiss. “But,” Jake lowered his voice even more, “this is kind of sensitive in nature, if you know what I mean.”

“Understood,” Brandon said, feeling so incredibly important—exactly why people like him become police officers.

“There are some photos of, well, a sensitive nature,” he looked at Scottie with a burning heat that could not have been faked, “that we need to be wiped from my phone. Unfortunately.” He winked at Brandon. Brandon chuckled knowingly.

“Is there anyone with, say, audiovisual expertise,” Jake continued, emphasizing “audio” and “visual” in a positively filthy way, “who could help me? I really mean wiped, like never to be recovered, by anyone. As in no nerd can ever find it.”

Brandon looked at Scottie with a renewed interest, in a way that she was not exactly a fan of. Nor, apparently, was Jake, who put his arm around her in a way that clearly communicated to Brandon that whatever he was imagining, it was to end now.  

“We are here to help,” Brandon said, showing Jake all the deference that was owed to such a man. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much expertise in technology. I can’t even put together a slide show.”

It took all of Scottie’s self control to not snort with laughter. 

“But we have just the nerd who can help you,” Brandon chortled. “I’ll bring you to Brandon.”