PINCH: CHAPTER 2
Beat 1 of 4
Tikka had just returned from a restroom break to the lab where his team awaited. The other “taste-technicians,” a stout capybara named Chapman Bilberry and Lynda Serpa, a Blue Iguana, tear away from their phones. They’re eager to not seem too unfocused.
Tikka wears a white lab coat on top of business casual wear; cloth grey shoes with dark grey felt jeans, plain black t-shirt. Lynda and Chapman both wear similarly conservative colors to Tikka.
The lab has white tile floors, cold chrome metal tables, and bright, colorful advertisements for SLRP products as wallpaper. The lights are stark white LED’s. There are two covered serving trays and a small rectangular box in the middle of a long table between the three technicians.
Tikka starts, “Ellie, resume archiving taste tests.”
A disembodied voice from a nearby panel responds, “Welcome back, Employee. Please restate and confirm the position in the testing process.”
Tikka says, assertively, “This is team-lead Tikka Masala alongside fellow Taste-Technicians, Chapman and Lynda, members of team Heska doing round E-23b Southwest Smoked Pork Belly, Base flavor meant to simulate pork.”
“Thank you, archiving has resumed.”
Tikka quickly adds, “Addendum; Possible combination w product number 526XDH- Zesty Jalapeño version 3.4.6. Please keep this in mind when processing our results. Lynda, take the lead.”
Lynda nods and opens the rectangular box. Inside are three blue-colored tongue depressors.
She then uncovers the tray to her left. There are several samples of a pale yellow, goopy paste, lined up on a plain square plate and three tiny flat spoons. The dollops of paste are labeled A through E.
Last, Lynda uncovers the tray to her right, revealing a lexan with small-portioned samples of real life pork belly.
Chapman leans in, “Finally, something edible! Hah!”
Lynda grins wide, “Oh, I know, right? Three weeks of multigrain simulations for the “heart and hearth” line was starting to make me suicidal.”
“They really oughta just give us a whole rack…” Chapman adds.
Tikka reigns the group in before everyone starts salivating, “Okay, okay, chill, guys… Remember, this is being archived. Besides, if there was an entire pork belly in the room neither of you would be walking out of here without some bite marks.”
Lynda responds, “The jail-time’d be worth it, eh?”
They share a polite, professional giggle, then simultaneously grab a sample of the pork belly and savor it. In turn, they grab a blue stick and place it on their tongues, allowing it to neutralize the residual taste. Then, they each take one of the tiny spoons and sample a dollop of paste, making sure to use the tongue depressors to cleanse the palate between each taste.
All three have what looks like a sticker pasted onto their temple. The sticker has striations embedded in it that makes it clear that it’s a computer. Its function is to read the brain’s responses to various sensations, particularly taste. While the taste technicians are tasked with providing anecdotal responses to flavor samples, those opinions are reviewed alongside the data provided by the sensor. Negative responses to flavors don’t necessarily mean a sample will be rejected outright. They may actually introduce the possibility of tangential applications such as pest discouragement or a specialized tier of flavors for “refined palettes.”
While taste tests were done by focus groups in the past, the “taste technicians” employed by SLRP are tested on their taste-threshold and are trained to use specific vocabulary when describing sensations. In addition to their specificity in accurately describing flavors, SLRP also looks for a technician’s ability to describe sensations in poetic terms. The company tends to find this useful when marketing new products or pitching a line of products to investors.
Chapman, eager to impress, is the first to speak up, “A is gross- Treacly, I mean. The attempt at brown sugar curing is far too pronounced. It’s like syrup. They got the smokiness down, though.”
Lynda follows, “By that same note, for some reason, C is very saline or, well, has a hint of… well, it’s a fishy aftertaste. Like something went south in the mix.”
Tikka takes note, “Okay, Ellie, flag it in case it’s a safety issue.”
“Sample C has been flagged.”
“Thank you.” Tikka continues, adding his assessment, “Good catch, Lynda.”
Tikka pauses for a bit. The tight focused expression on his face flips like a switch to neutral.
“Uh, Tikka?” Lynda asks.
Tikka snaps back to life, “Oh. Sorry. It’s just the samples… They all taste the same.”
Lynda and Chapman both refocus, incredulous.
Tikka continues, “No. Really. They’re… all… chalky. Salty...”
Chapman interjects, “It’s a savory product. Maybe the chalkiness you’re tasting is the lab’s attempt at gristle?”
Tikka’s voice slurs, “No. Not like that. There’s iron in it. Lots of… iron.”
Lynda and Chapman no longer possess recognizable features. Where their eyes, nose, and mouths should have been, only a smooth, fleshy void. Tikka chokes. Tightly clasping hands to his mouth. A warm lump rushes up from the lungs, filling his mouth.
Tikka falls upward. His body reflexively anticipates the ground in front of him... but finds nothing. Panic triggers adrenaline. Adrenaline nearly pops his eyes out of their sockets. He gasps for air but the warmth fills his lungs prompting a cough so hard he doubles over in bed.
The palm of his hand is wet and red. His bandages soak up blood from his ripped stitches. For weeks his dreams have been haunting him with reminders of his life back in the giant, corporate ARCs.
Writing: Dan Stone @DanStoneArt
Editing: Gaius J. Augustus @gaiusdivifilius
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