It started as a joke.
Tom and Joyce were looking for a place to "grab a bite" before "catching an early flick" and decided that the path of least resistance was the Burger King in front of which they were standing. They walked up to the counter and ordered their meals. As the food was being prepared, Tom leaned over and, with a big grin on his face, said, "Oh, by the way, I'm the Herb you're looking for."
"That's nice, sir," the 14 year-old behind the counter replied, smiling thinly. Joyce started to laugh, and Tom soon joined in. Little did they realize that it would be the last time either of them laughed for a long, long time...
Joyce paid for the food and they carried their trays to a vacant table. "Did you see the look on that girl's face?" Joyce asked, unable to control her giggling. "I thought she was going to faint!" Tom smiled, popping the lid off his burger, but inwardly he wondered about the girl's reaction, which struck him as inappropriately grim.
The conversation drifted. As Tom was about to drop the final French fry into his mouth, a dark shadow fell across the table. Looking up, he saw two stern, heavily muscled young men in uniforms he couldn't quite place. "You Herb?" one of the two asked him.
"Well...not exactly..." Tom started to say, but was interrupted as the man loudly brought a black-gloved fist down on the table. The restaurant became suddenly, eerily silent.
"Did you," the man quietly asked, "or did you not identify yourself to the young lady behind the counter as, quote, the Herb you're looking for, unquote?"
"Well...yes..." Tom, confused, admitted. "But, it was a joke...just a silly joke..."
The other man in uniform put a hand under Tom's arm and started lifting him out of his seat. "You're coming with us, scum!" he hissed, viciously, as the restaurant erupted in a frenzy of activity. The two men half-dragged, half-pushed Tom out of the restaurant as Joyce jumped up, screaming, "What are you doing? He hasn't done anything!"
As the action broke, a few families tried to sneak out the side door, hoping to spare their children an ugly scene. A wino, who was standing just inside the door to get out of the cold, mistook the intentions of the uniformed men and started mumbling, "Okay. Take me away. I'm too old to fight any more..." Meanwhile, the manager appeared from out of the back room, exhorting the crowd to: "Please, remain calm. There is nothing to be afraid of...""and handing out coupons for big discounts on future meals.
Within a matter of seconds, there really was nothing to be afraid of.
"Who are you?" Tom asked from the back seat of the unmarked car he had been hustled into. "Where are you taking me?" One of the uniformed men punched him in the kidneys and, as he doubled over in pain, put a hood over his head.
"You're a regular comedian," the man said, his voice barely audible. "A real funny man. We don't like funny men." The rest of the journey was spent in silence.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Tom was hustled out of the car and down a long staircase. He heard a bolt being drawn, and something that might have been human whimpering. Not having had much experience with such things, Tom couldn't really tell. He was shoved through a door, which promptly clanged shut behind him.
"It's okay," a friendly voice stated. "You can take off that hood, now. You're among friends." Tom removed the hood.
He stood in the middle of a large, badly lit stone cell. Several men in filthy, smelly rags clung to the walls, gibbering madly to themselves. Another man, in the tattered remains of a business suit, stood before him. "Where am I?" Tom asked.
"Can't you tell?" the man asked. "I mean, don't you know?"
"Listen," Tom tried to say, "I'm -"
"Please," the other man coolly interrupted him, holding out a forbidding hand. "No names. We're all Herbs here."
Tom looked around, shocked. "Are all of you here for...?"
"Oh, not at all," the man, the Herb, explained. "Herb here," he pointed to a hulk on the wall in front of them, "was one of the small number of residents of Loonenburg who didn't choose Anacin. They brought him here to make an example of him...and Herb over there consistently chose Coke over Pepsi in the Pepsi Challenge. The other Herbs have equally sad tales to tell..."
"Why?"
"We've decided to all adopt the name of Herb as a show of solidarity. They might take away our freedom, but they cannot break our spirit. Right, boys?" A couple of the Herbs moaned pitifully. One lazily waved his hand. "They might have shown more spirit," businessman Herb seriously stated, "if you hadn't arrived just before dinner. They're weak...you understand..."
"Where are we?" Tom asked, trying to ignore the Herb that was clawing at his pant leg.
Businessman Herb waved his arms expansively. "This is where they put all the misfits of the consumer society," he said, a hard edge to his voice indicating that he wasn't too far from babbling himself. "We were the ones who refused to take the commercials and advertising campaigns seriously. Right, Herb?"
The Herb at Tom's feet started nodding violently and giggled inanely. "But, they can't lock up people just because they didn't take advertising seriously!" Tom protested.
Businessman Herb shrugged. "Who knows what they can do?" he said. "They take advertising very seriously."
A slot opened up in the door. "Alright, you lot," a voice shouted from the other side, "dinner's here." A tray full of burgers, fries and soda plopped to the floor. "That's dinner?" Tom asked.
"And lunch," businessman Herb informed him, rushing to the door to get his share, "and breakfast. Better get yours while there's some left..."
Tom ran to the door. But, instead of falling to his knees, he banged on the door with his fist. "Please!" he shouted. "Let me out! I don't belong here! Let me out! Please..." Tom began to sob.
If anybody heard him, there was no sign of it.
