Events of An Indescribable Nature

In Which The Story Proper Begins, Sort Of

Still cursing the Oompa Loompas, I swung around once more to glance behind me. People! People, far too many people for my taste. I eyed them as they stood there, leaning back slightly so I could see them all. My sunglasses, purple-tinted, turned them a deep royal. Before I could help myself, my eyes slipped behind them to the crowds still assembled behind the gates. Even more people— tall ones! Short ones! Fat ones! Thin ones! Small ones! Large ones! Long ones! Zip up your pants!

I forced my eyes to return to the visitors to my factory, who were looking at me as if I was a forty-year-old candy maker with a silly expression on his face.

Suddenly I realized that I had a silly expression on my face.

I pointed one finger at the door. "Tour," I said, prompting myself as much as them. No reaction. Clearly, I had them stymied. I could only wish that they hadn't had the exact same effect on me. Gulping nervously, I made my way into the factory proper.

"Don't you want to know who we are?" inquired one of them.

I scoffed. "Honestly, I think with global warming, air pollution, and income tax, I have enough to worry about without learning people's names. We'll all be dead in a thousand years anyway."

"You haven't got income tax figured out?" asked the nebbish man with the precarious comb-over.

"Not at all," I answered. "But that's not what I worry about. The real trick is getting out of paying it. Take heed, my dear children. Taxes lead directly to cancer of the testicles, premature hair loss, and bad breath. Avoid them at all cost."

"Nonsense," said the nebbish man. "Income tax is important. I pay mine every year like a good citizen."

I cast a pointed glance at the pale scalp that showed in abundance through the thin strands of his hair. "So I see."

The little blond girl leapt in front of me and attempted to assault me, but I fended her off with a hand placed firmly on her forehead. "Mr. Wonka," she said, struggling gamely to get free, "I'm Violet Beauregarde."

"How lovely to meet you," I said through my teeth, let go of her head and held her off with my cane. She was shoved aside by a large fat boy who, when he spoke, showered me with small bits of chocolate. The amount of candy in his mouth was so amazing that I was surprised his voice was able to fight its way past.

"Irm Agushtush Gloop," he said, indistinctly. "I ruvshour shoclesh."

I blinked down at him. "What?"

His mother appeared at his side, a large, cheerful-looking matron with two round spots of color on each of her cheeks, a bit like an apple, or a whale who doesn't know how to take a compliment gracefully. "He says he loves your chocolate," she filled in, and I relaxed.

"Oh, you have an accent, how quaint," I said. "I thought it was a speech impediment of some sort, or all the candy clogging his throat. But its just his accent— that's alright then." Clear in my own mind, I brushed past them. A voice came from behind me.

"Don't you wonder who I am?"

I turned around and looked at her— another little girl, this one with brown curls and buck teeth. She blinked at me imperiously, clearly expecting me to fawn over her— or do I mean doe? Some sort of hoofed animal, at any rate.

"No," I said, and turned back around. There was the definite sound of her stomping her foot, and she said, "Daddy—"

This left just two children to whom I hadn't been introduced. So much the better, I reckoned, and tried to walk faster. Mr. Nebbish, however, caught up with me.

"I'm concerned about your cavalier attitude to our country, Mr. Wonka," he said. "Income tax is of the utmost importance—"

"Couldn't care less," I said brightly. "But I'm so glad you're on the job."

Leaving him puzzled, I went on. I'd not gotten two steps, however— well, perhaps two– perhaps more, even— who's counting? Pedants— when I realized the itchy feeling on the back of my neck was not my high collar, as I'd thought, but actually was caused by someone staring at me. Two people, in fact, I found out when I turned. One, the remaining child, blinked at me with large blue eyes. I eyed her back, my lip curling back from my teeth of its own volition. She didn't look like a child; her denim jumper and hair tied in pink-bowed pigtails were unconvincing, to say the least. Her companion was likewise confusing to me. For one thing, she— he— was wearing a loose business suit, an ornate necklace, and a slightly dazed expression. For another, his— her— mustache was coming off at one corner.

I tilted my head to look at them.

"And who are you?"

"Mandy," said the child immediately.

"Becky," said the parent, and Mandy stepped on his— her— feet. "Ow— er— not Becky."

"George," supplied Mandy.

"George Becky," said the parent. "Mandy's, um, mother."

"Father," interrupted Mandy, grinning widely.

"Father."

I stared at them a moment longer, then nodded slightly. "'kay." Once again I turned away, then back to blink at them once more. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Perfectly."

"We're very excited to be here," said Mandy, bouncing slightly.

"Aha."

There being not much to say after that, we walked onwards down the hall. Feeling quite overwhelmed by the definite presence of these people— people! Real people— behind me, I walked as quickly as possible, fixing my eyes in front of me. Steadfastly, I ignored the feminine mutters of, "Look at his butt!" and "He must work out." At a guess, I'd say they did not emanate from Mr. Nebbish. Although the blond creature and her mother were a possibility, I decided that it was most likely the source of the remarks were in fact Mandy and her mo— father. P-parent-ish thing. However, I did ignore it, and quite well, I believe, except that my hackles raised. I believe that's what you call it.

"Why is that door so bleepin' small?" asked one of the— people. The li'l boy, I believe, who belonged to Mr. Nebbish. Nebbish Jr. I guess you'd call him, unless, as was extremely possible, his grandfather was Nebbish as well, in which very likely case, he would be Nebbish the Third.

Yes, that sounded about right.

The spoilt girl, now, who so imperiously demanded I discover who she was, deserved to be called just that— Spoilt. As this didn't have a very lovely sound to it, I decided to go with my standard fall-back— li'l girl.

Actually, that would suffice for pretty much everyone, now that I thought about it.

Li'l girl. Li'l boy.

Make things easy. Why not?

Its not as if it actually mattered.