The Adventures of Dale Wren – Episode 2, Dale Versus the Drivers Department Giant
Anyone who knew Dale Wren would say he wasn’t the grumbling, mumbling complaining type. They’d say he was a rather unremarkable person, filled with uneccentric placidity, blank-eye staring voidness, the kind of person who would fit in pretty much anywhere, given the right set of directions. Dale would not fit well in an exciting career, a place bereft of mediocrity. No, Dale Wren would feel ill at ease in such a locale. So, here, in line at a place where people go to renew their Drivers Licenses, Dale Wren felt right at home. Dale looked rather unenthusiastically at the small slip of paper in his hand, wherein a slightly faded, printed number “139” was staring right back up at him. His line of sight next moved rather lazily towards the serving ticker, where it would show which human the Government Automaton, rather, Attendant would ‘serve’ next, it said, ‘Proudly Serving Number 125’ in readable, blinking digital numbers. He stood at less-than-rapt attention along with his fellow man…and women…waiting to be called, wondering if any one of the many people sitting in the filled-to-capacity room would get up and allow him, of all people, to fill the seat. That thought quickly dissipated, though, for Dale knew better. He knew that life in these kinds of places rarely ever pointed to ‘lucky be he’. Rather, Dale knew that these were the kinds of places that were ‘lucky to be seen’. One number blinked into existence up on the serving ticker and Dale’s line moved, crept, slowly forward one human being’s footstep forward.
The droning voice of the Driving Department Attendant could be heard in the nearby distance, combined with the steady, but shallow breathing of the people in line behind Dale and the slightly anxious, anticipating breathing of those in front. It was the whole combination of these things, perhaps, then, coupled with Dale’s own sense of reality and being, that made the glowing, blue-colored massive hole hovering to the side of Dale seem rather…disconnected from the whole scene. Dale took a moment to admire the hole’s size, its apparent disregard for gravity, as well as reality. “Curious”, he muttered to himself, as the next number bleeped overhead, another footstep closer. It was then that Dale noticed an additional curiosity. It was then that a hulking, bulging leg, connected to a massive, boot-filled foot stepped through the hole. It was slowly, but not too slowly, followed by another hulking, bulging leg, another boot. Pretty soon, Dale Wren found himself yet another footstep closer to being served…not by the attendant, rather, by a massive, hulking, monstrosity. The other people stood by, rapt in shock and awe, it seemed, or perhaps they were so in tune with the mundane, routine existence that is staring ahead while in line at the Driving Department, they literally did not notice the giant right in front of them. “Where be ye?!” The resonating roar that emanated from the Giant echoed throughout the building, finding its way through the hard, cold tiled floor and up Dale’s spine, making it quiver ever so slightly. “Where be the one I seek? Who here answers my plea? Who here wishes to die at the end of my mace?” The Giant raised his mace, an impressive weapon indeed, fitted with a sturdy, wooden handle, which his hand was wrapped around, and rapped the end of it, a stone-made, chiseled-to-perfection finish, against the open palm of his other hand. A few minutes passed in silence, the droning blink of the ticker was all that could be heard, or the hushed patter of shoes on the floor. The Giant’s eyes scanned madly around the room, looking for his prey, and it occurred to Dale at that moment that he was quite possibly the only one who noticed the behemoth. Perhaps, he mused, he should…do something. So, Dale Wren, unremarkable, un-exciting Dale Wren, stepped out of line, out of his regular life, and into the direct gaze…of adventure.
“My fine fellow, if I may, you are quite in error here.” The Giant’s eyes stopped scanning the room and, instead, darted directly at the small man in front of him. The Giant summed up this morsel of a man and came to the conclusion that, not only was this not the one he sought, he was also not much of a man…or a morsel…for that matter. “Who be ye, little man?” The Giant bellowed, his voice shaking Dale’s small slip of paper, still in his grip. “I…er…be…Dale Wren, business manager of Metro City Bank. I have come to this establishment to renew my license. It has expired you see.” Dale slowly showed the Giant his license. The Giant’s eyes narrowed in focus, taking the even smaller piece of parchment being extended to him into question. He had never seen the like and realized at that moment, “I cannot read this language, little man! Now, you will divulge to me the location of the one I seek or I shall thrash and smash you…and your kinfolk…to a fine powder!” Dale pocketed his license and cleared his throat. It wasn’t a ‘oh woe is me’ kind of clearing. It was more of a ‘let’s see what more trouble I can get myself into’ kind of clearing. Dale realized this was not the kind of monster that words could defeat. This was the ‘thrashing, smashing’ sort. And ,while Dale was not the thrashing, smashing sort, he was the ‘collating, copying’ sort. How this bit of information would benefit him, though, was beyond his knowing at the moment. Still, more stalling may be in order, perhaps. “Mister…Giant, sir. What would your…er…thy…name be, so that I may address you properly?”
“I be Grimmot, son of Maut, the Brawler. You, Dale, son of Wren, what kingdom dost thou hail from, or is this…’Ment of Depart the Kingdom you behest from?”
“Ay, I be from…this Ment place you speak of and these…uh…servants around me are at my behest. In the blink of that device you see floating yonder, I can send a horde of my finest warriors to defeat thee!”
“Oh…can you at that, Dale, son of Wren?”
“I can at that!” Dale answered, trying very hard to make his voice sound more like a ‘I mean it’ kind of voice, not at all like a ‘please don’t kill me’ kind of voice. The Giant paused then, for many moments and looked around even more. Dale wondered how many more details could this gawping, whopping monster take in. Would this Giant, this ‘Grimmot’ see through his ruse, would the monster see the gulping, slurping Dale Wren, instead of the swashing, dashing Dale Wren he made himself into? It would seem that moment was now, for the Giant took his mace and held it aloft, steady, firm and resolute in its perch. “One last chance, little Dale, where is the one I seek?” Just at that moment, the ticker moved another number higher and Dale smiled, knowingly, responding, “Your number is up, Grimmot, son of Maut.” With the force of ten horses’ hooves leaping down, Grimmot let his mace down upon his opponent, the weapon shaking ever so slightly as it flew down upon poor Dale Wren. But this would not the end for Dale. For, instead of crashing down upon his head, his boring, 15 dollar haircut head, the mace instead veered to the side, smashing upon the floor right by Dale, thereby creating a large dent. Dale then took the opportunity to extend his leg, the one that was directly in front of a long line of people slowly but clumsily scrambling to their place in line. The line of the slow, benign Drivers suddenly became useful. One tripped over Dale’s leg, the one behind, not being altogether observant of their surroundings, bumped into that person, the one behind them also tripping, and the domino effect ensued, having the impossible happen. The impossible being the effect of 30 unwitting little humans topple over the massive Grimmaut, having the monstrous Giant trip, ever so opportunistically, over an, as yet unseen, slip of paper that was stealthily put there by someone who had a knack for finding the perfect places for paper that needed collating. A person named, “DALE SON OF WREN, I shall never forget your name!” Dale looked on in amusement as his enemy fell backwards at breakneck speed upon the hard, cold floor and upon another unexpected item…a blinking, now un-blinking, device. It was un-blinking because, while the people in line were toppling, and while Dale was stealthily placing his slip of paper on the floor behind the Giant’s foot, one of the Driving Department’s attendants yelled in surprise at the toppling mass of people in her line, threw up her stapler, which hit the ticker, which then flew back down towards her head, hitting her, knocking her unconscious and then hitting the floor, where another attendant stepped on it, making several staples fly out, ricochet off the walls and then, in successive and precise motions, land on the fine cables that hung from the ceiling, the very cables that, until that moment, held the ticker in place. So perfectly did the staples hit those cables, that the ticker’s momentum was interrupted in mid swing from one of the cables snapping by the delayed reaction of the shock wave that came from the Giant’s mace smashing into the floor.
Smash and crash went the Giant’s head, as he landed halfway through the glowing hole in the room, which Dale knew now to be a portal of some kind. It was then that Dale noticed something for the first time since the Giant made his entrance. On the other side of the portal, Dale noticed…an open field, like the kind you find cows munching and crunching on. And on the end of the field…a castle. Dale wondered at that moment what could possibly be at that castle? What kind of people lived in it, what forms would need filling out? For the first time in his mundane life, Dale Wren felt…adventurous. Not the ‘I am going to become a knight’ kind of adventurous, though. The feeling was more like a ‘Walking to that castle could be interesting’, kind of adventurous. And so, without looking back at the line of fallen fellow constituents, Dale stepped forward, through-ward, into the portal. It was at that moment, in fact, that the portal began closing, almost as suddenly as it appeared. In the blink of a ticker’s blinking, Dale decided to not forget to take a briefcase that he saw right at the other end of the portal, inside the Driving Department, as well as another slip of paper…this one a might bigger than the one he was holding on to and that was opportunistically hanging from the Giant’s right pocket. Dale pocketed the paper, after folding it several times, grabbed the briefcase and began walking on a road near his entrance. It was then he heard a yelp and a slurping, slicing sound, followed by a thud. Dale turned and saw that the Giant, who was unconscious, was now surely dead. Not for the fall, of course. No, the Giant was dead because, as he lay unconscious, the portal closed and cut his head off, no doubt leaving the rest of his body on the other side. Dale did not, however, have time to pat himself on the back for a task well done, for he was summarily surrounded by several onlookers. These onlookers were, thankfully, not Giants, but were average-sized men and women. “Well, good sir, if you’re to stand there, you’ll never get it.” Dale paused and responded to the man dressed in what could only be described as rags, “Never get what, pray tell?” “The decree, it’s being handed out by the King’s scribe.”
“And where do I find him?”
“He’s over there.” The man pointed out a man dressed in fancier garb, standing on a cart, handing out papers to random people who were all, it appears, very pleased to receive the paper. Before Dale could make it to the scribe, the man put out his arm to stop him. “Hold there, friend. Not without this, I wager.” Dale then gripped the item given him and opened his hand. In his palm was a small slip of paper with a number on it…214. Dale huffed and puffed. The man raised an eyebrow and wondered aloud, “What’s the problem, friend? They’re on 200?” Dale didn’t look up but answered, cheekily, “Yes, friend…but I was at 139.”
More adventures of Dale Wren coming soon!
