The echos of the large hollow space felt dead relative to the engine-filled choas from only momments ago. Felix lowered the pen, having signed into the roster for the meating. He walked over to the rows of tables that held the military style duffle bags standing like soldier ready for inspection. Smells of old bacon and fake eggs mingled with boot polish and industrial cleaner. The lights hummed far over head, and there was a persistent clatter of people moving things on hard surfaces. Squeeking of rubber on lenoleum tiles. Low quality cuttlery on lower quality plates. ‘Why am I here?’
His stomach tightened and growled in hunger. Felix looked around. There were 2 more long rows of available tables with people even distributed so that would not need to interact. Even though the tables had benches on either side, everyone seemed to be facing away from the door, to the far long wall where the coming briefing would likely take place.
It struck felix as odd that the people were eating so slow, with poor posture in some cases, and their placements were cluttered: hats and elbows on the table, and crumpled napkins. They didn’t seem to have a particular demographic: old, young, dark and light skinned males and females, with varying lengths and colors of hair, and an assortment of head coverings. Everyone seemed so at ease, calm and passive. A loud clatter broke the lulling background noise as someone dropped an empty cup. Felix watched, but the reactions were what one would see in the food court of a shopping mall on any random thursday. No nervous tension. At one seat at the eateng table it looked like someone had simply gotten up and left their tray of partially eaten food for someone else to clean. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the correct room. If not, then he would need to relocate before… Whatever was supposed to happen?
‘I’ll check the tags.’ he thought. ‘If I can’t find my name, then I’ll go ask around’. Looking at each tag in turn, he noticed that none of the names looked familiar, but considering that none of the people looked familiar that would track. A few names were proceeded with the accronyms of rank, but most were just names with accronyms as suffixes. Doctors? Engineers? Scientists? Half the credentials meant nothing to him. Tag after tag reinforced the same finding; that military was a small representation of this group. Why then host the gathering at an Air Force base?
Felix was almost surprised when he found the tag with his name, having been focused so heavily on the puzzle of the other participants. He thought about inspecting the bag right away, but felt a little exposed standing basically in the middle of a large open room that was at least sparsely populated. ‘Food First.’ He thought, developing a strategy of using the bags to get an idea of who was who. He made one more pass over the names, making mental notes of the locations of a few military tagged bags, then headded to the food table.
Warming trays stood over sterno cans that were almost out of fuel, and the food had developed a dry crust on the surface. Felix held his hand over one of the trays filled with what was trying to be grits. Stone cold. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’, he mused, and grabbed a plastic cafeteria plate from a stack nearby. He placed a very small portion on his plate from each warmer, that way if something was simply indigestable,at least he wouldn’t have wasted much. He could always go back for the more edible options.
He then moved to the very far right coner of the room, closest to the bathrooms, and farthest from the door he’d entered. The light over there was slightly dimmer than the center of the room, and would give him a good vantage point to observe people without seeming too prying.
One-by-one, new-comers were led into the room. They signed in and went directly to searching for bags. He noted that several people went the the latrine areas, but not long enough to shower, only to change or relieve themselves. Felix looked to his wrist again, sighing in frustration, then scanning the walls for a clock. Just above the center of the large wall was a small digital clock that read 19:16. He would need to abandon the spying and get ready for the brief. Having finished most of his food, and consumed a large glass of tap water, he took his dishes to the bussing cart with tubs for dirty dishes, scraping leftovers into the trash and sorting the rest into the appropriate tub.
Being mindful of who was watching, which it seemed like no one was, Felix walked calmly but assertively to his bag, shoulderred it, and without slowing made his way to the showers.
As expected, the hanger latrines were separated by gender, and would have a row of sinks, a row of toilets, and a row of shower stalls sans curtains. The men’s latrine also had full height urinals. Agains the far wall were a few wodden benches that were bolted to the floor, and a bank of wall lockers, most of which were open.
Felix took a seat on the bench, placing the heavy duffle bag across his lap. He leaned back and scanned the bathroom for onlookers. Then, lifting and examining the tag and zip-tie, he noticed that the plastic was looped through to secure the zipper. But it wasn’t just a zip-tie, it was a tamper-seal with an eight digit serial number. The number matched a similar sequence of numbers on the bag’s name tag. Followed by the words “Do Not Remove Items”
