PROMO: "What is the SWF like?"

[A Happy Medium 0]

Deep in the bowels of the University of Phoenix Stadium, the site of Sunday’s Genesis Pay-Per View, the unmistakable sound of a rolling dolly, or two-wheel truck, echoes through the nicely air conditioned hallways. Pushing the device are two twenty-something males. They are hard to make out at first, due to the sheer size of the package. Two men aren’t exactly needed for this assignment, yet it is a slow day in Phoenix. A superfluous supervision is decided for the box, and the two men make their way down the long corridor, both in matching shirts and pants.

 

“So what is this damned thing we’re moving?” asks one of the men, his hand firmly attached to the top of the box as he advances the package.

 

“Something for that Pay-Per View the SWF is running on Sunday. You know, it’s their eighth edition of Genesis. A lot of history,” the supervisor responds.

 

“Oh yeah. Is Stubby McWeed still wrestling?”

 

The supervisor gives a long look to the striped wall next to him, and sighs.

 

“No. No he’s not.”

 

“What about Toxxic?”

 

The supervisor pushes up his glasses with his pointed index finger.

 

“Yup. He’s wrestling in the main event.”

 

“Nice…” exclaims the workhorse.

 

The two continue down the hallway, slowly reaching their objective in this massive stadium. They pass a few intersections, waving to coworkers as they pass them. Finally, the worker inhales a sharp wisp of air.

 

“Is Ralph working security during this?”

 

“Yup. And he can’t stand wrestling events.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Well. At football games, all that he has to worry about is a fan getting on the field, stealing the ball, and high stepping around as if they were Deion. At wrestling events, he has to worry about a fan attacking a wrestler and injuring someone. Of course, because of that, he can inflict bodily harm on someone without answering many questions, and Ralph looks like he needs to hit something or somebody these days.”

 

“Yeah. Ralph needs to inflict damage to feel that all is right with the world.”

 

“Here we are.”

 

The two men arrive at their location. The location is the SWF locker-room.

 

The room has been cleaned out of Arizona Cardinals equipment, yet still retains the luster of a high class changing room. Heavily padded chairs sit in front of each locker, but one. The supervisor takes a look at his clipboard to find out just where this package is going, and the directions for delivery.

 

They lay down the box next to the open locker. The supervisor produces a box cutter and tears it down the seam of the box. A few packing peanuts fall out followed by many more as they bring the object out of the box, and quickly discard of its bubble-wrap. The object is a large easy chair, with an adjustable leg-rest. After putting the chair in position, the two workers take a look down to the armrest, where names are stitched on the plush material. The name “Rane” is first to be seen. However the name is crossed out.

 

Right next Rane’s name is another. “Arch Griffon” it reads.

 

“Who the hell is Arch Griffon?” The confused workhorse asks.

 

The supervisor just shrugs his shoulders.