I wish the others could have been with us now. The elevator was a ride in itself. Mr. Wonka called it the Great Glass Elevator, and it was: great, and glass. It could go any way you could think of, he said, and it did. Up, down, sideways, on a slant; it could do it, and it did. I lost my balance lots of times, and my stomach a bunch of times on the drops, but there were the sides to hold you up, and my stomach stayed with me, even if it was only because it was inside me! Mr. Wonka lost his balance too, but not as much as we did, and he was right: this was a really good way to see the factory.
Mike had given Mr. Wonka some grief when we'd gotten in the elevator.
"There can't be this many floors," he'd said.
"How do you know, Mr. Smartypants?" Mr. Wonka shot right back.
I stayed quiet. Mike, talking like that, was going to hand me the win. It turned out the buttons Mike thought were floors were buttons that took you to rooms. And that was the reason I wished the others were with us. It was because of all the wonderful rooms we were passing through.
Once the elevator got to a room, it went though it level, and not too fast, so you could see through the glass what was in the room. We passed a mountain made of fudge—it even had sugary snow on it—and the Oompa-Loompas stopped their work with their pick-axes to wave at Mr. Wonka. He waved back, and it was like that everywhere we went.
We went through a room with sheep with pink wool. They were being clipped to take the wool off, and I guess Mr. Wonka made clothes, or blankets, or the like, with that wool, but he wouldn't tell us. He said he'd rather not talk about it. Maybe the wool is supposed to be white, and this was an experiment gone wrong. I should say another experiment gone wrong. I didn't mind, though. The sheep didn't seem to mind, and it was nice to know Mr. Wonka wasn't perfect. In fact, it was nice to know Mr. Wonka wasn't at all perfect.
Mr. Wonka showed us the Puppet Hospital and Burn Center. It was just like a real hospital, even though it was a place to repair lifeless things.
"It's relatively new," he said.
I'll bet, I thought. I'll bet it's new from about 10:15 this morning. But I loved that he cared about these puppets; that he treated them like real, live people. That he wasn't going to throw them away. That he was going to repair them: make them as good as new. Mr. Wonka must be a total softie.
He showed us the Administration offices. The Oompa-Loompa working there, who Mr. Wonka called Doris as they exchanged waves, looked like all the other Oompa-Loompas, and that was something to think about.
We didn't say much of anything as we went through these rooms—Mr. Wonka was happy to do the talking—but I noticed we didn't stop, and he never let us out of the elevator. I guess he didn't trust us anymore not to get in trouble if we did stop. He had three fresh reasons for that view.
Still, it was quite a tour, and we saw a ton of rooms. We went to one room—the elevator dropped like a stone, and for the first time, I thought we were goners—and in this room there were giant targets, and canons on swivels, that you sat on, like real canons on tanks and aircraft carriers, and Oompa-Loompas were loading candy canon balls into them, and taking aim, and firing, and hitting the targets, or missing the targets, and making adjustments, and that's when I knew I'd be coming in second, because I had seen Mike's interview on TV, and he had been playing a video game, and this was like a video game, and Mr. Wonka must have brought us here to please Mike.
I felt heavy in my heart, but that's the way life is, and I should be used to that by now. But then Mike spoke up. I have no idea why he did; why he picked just then. Maybe he thought Mr. Wonka's game was lame compared to the games Mike played. The games Mike played killed people, not targets. Maybe Mike thought it was worthwhile hitting people, but not worthwhile hitting targets. Anyway, this is what he said:
"Why is everything here so pointless?"
I heard that, and I knew I was back in the running. I could answer that. And I did. I said: "Candy doesn't have to have a point. That's why it's candy."
Mike was unimpressed. What did I know?
"Candy is a waste of time," Mike spat back at me, and Mr. Wonka drew in a breath, and his lips parted, and his eyes went glassy, and this time, I knew I wasn't the one who had done it. Mike had done it, and Mr. Wonka was gone again. It must be a flashback. Was this a good place for a flashback? A good time for a flashback? If Mr. Wonka wasn't with us in mind, who would pilot the Great Glass Elevator? Where would it take us? Would we want to go there?
I needn't have worried. Mike kept talking, and brought Mr. Wonka out of it.
"I wanna pick a room," he said.
"Go ahead," said Mr. Wonka, all keen and happy sounding, and putting a perfect grin on his face. But seeing that grin, and hearing what lay underneath the way Mr. Wonka said those words, the blood in my veins ran icy, my heart dark with dread, and it was just like being in my loft in the dead of winter, at midnight, on nights with no moon, and when dinner had been especially thin: scary, with the shadows full of dangers.
Mike took no notice at all. He picked a room, and it only took him a second. He must have been studying the buttons instead of really looking at the rooms we had been going through, and that made me think Mike had been bored for a long time.
The button he pushed was 'Television Chocolate'.
I took a deep breath. This wasn't my loft in the dead of winter, with no moon. This was a chocolate factory, and the chocolate Mr. Wonka had given me was just this side of magical. We'd be getting out of the elevator in this room, I just knew it. If I kept my head, no harm would come to me, or anyone else, because Mr. Wonka was a softie, and my fate was up to me. I'd be careful, and I hoped Mike would be, too. Twisting and turning like old tree roots, the Great Glass Elevator had us there no time.
Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
Thanks for reading.
Have your reviews made my day? You betcha! Fav and Followers? You also, and I thank you, one and all.
As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.