TBAY: Anger Management

[Cindy C.]

No: HPFGUIDX 58350

An ominous cloud of white smoke hung motionless in the still air, 
the ventilation system whirring pointlessly in the background.  A 
clutch of theorists sat in straightback chairs facing the bar, 
balancing small plates of cheap snacks on their knees, their sharp 
eyes darting suspiciously at their neighbors.  Outside, the wind 
screamed through the trees, a lone shutter banging helplessly 
against the side of the Royal Tavern.  Most of the townspeople had 
fled long ago, their meager possessions piled haphazardly into the 
back of their aging cars, their abandoned homes fortified against 
looters.  Only the most rugged and stubborn theorists remained holed 
up at the Tavern.  Those who had vowed to ride out Hurricane Jo, no 
matter what.  Those with valuable theories to protect.  Those with 
nothing else to live for.

Cindy rose slowly from her chair and lumbered to the make-shift 
plywood podium near the bar.  She reached for a pitcher of tepid 
water and poured it into her glass, her hands shaking only slightly, 
and took a small sip.  Placing her glass carefully on the tottering 
podium, she finally looked up at the crowd.  "My name is Captain 
Cindy, and I -–"

There was an awkward pause as the theorists waited expectantly.  "Go 
on," George urged patiently.

"I -–"  Cindy faltered, her eyes cast downward, her weathered hands 
gripping the sides of the podium.  "And I'm a Rage-aholic," she 
finished.

"HELLO, CINDY!" boomed the theorists in unison.  

"*Excellent!*" George exclaimed, his blue eyes sparkling.  "You're 
on the road to recovery, I can tell.  Now . . . ."  Relieved, George 
sat back in his own chair.  "Tell the group why you've come to us 
today?" 

Cindy drew a quivering breath.  "I am admitting that I am powerless 
over my unhealthy anger and rage." 

"And?" George prompted.

"And  . . . I am seeing that my unhealthy rage and anger have made 
my life somewhat unmanageable and miserable," Cindy said in a 
hollow, dead sort of voice.

"Fabulous!" George exclaimed, as the other theorists nodded 
vigorously, their eyes shining.  There was a smattering of applause 
from the back row.

"But Cindy, with OoP coming in just 30 days, why are you trying to 
deal with your rage *now?*" George asked.  "It's a little *late* for 
that, don't you think?  I mean, you've been one heck of a wildcat in 
the Bay for a good long time -– you tried to *kill* poor Avery here 
–- so why change now?"  Avery suddenly fumbled for a cigarette, a 
trickle of sweat dribbling down his temple.  Eileen patted him 
gently on the back and offered him a light.

"Well, that's the problem, George," Cindy said.  "I'm afraid that 
there will be something in OoP that will make me mad.  *Really* 
mad.  A spit-flying rage, in fact.  And you know what I do when I'm 
in a spit-flying rage, don't you?"

"Smash ketchup packets?" Dicentra volunteered cheerfully.

"Flip over tables?" said Pippin, wincing slightly.

"Contradict yourself?*" asked Derannimer saucily.

"Well, yeah," Cindy said.  "But I'm very concerned that something 
about OoP will enrage me and I will fling my brand new hardcover 
copy of OoP into a *roaring* fire in the Mother of All Hissy Fits."

"Ooooh," George said slowly, rubbing his chin, his brow knitted.  "I 
*do* see your problem.  Yes . . . yes, this could be serious –- 
those books are *expensive.*  Besides, what are the chances that 
*you* could read a book and not find something outrageous, something 
that offends you deeply?"

"I'm thinking about zero," Cindy said glumly.  "OoP isn't even 
released yet, and already I'm getting ticked off."

"Already?" echoed Gail, looking up from a FILK..

"Yeah.  Just the other day, I read in the Wall Street Journal that 
JKR is *not* going to tour the U.S. to promote OoP.  What is up with 
*that?*  She takes three years to write the darn book, and then she 
can't be bothered to leave her mansion and hop in her private jet 
and chat for 10 minutes with Connie Chung?1  Is she taking the 
American market *for granted* or something?  Is she writing us off?  
Does the woman not *care* about us!?  Well, isn't that *SPECIAL*?!!  
She has 8.5 million pre-sold copies in the bank, and the first thing 
she starts doing is behaving like a total **GOLD BRICK?!**  You know 
what I think?  HUH?!  I think all 7000 of us should all *cancel* our 
orders and *BOYCOTT* OoP!!  Old JKR will feel *that* in the wallet, 
I guarantee it!! That's wha--"

"Whoa there, cowboy!" George broke in, leaning forward in his 
chair.  "Take it easy.  I can certainly see why you're here."  He 
turned to the theorists.  "Can anyone think of a way for Cindy to 
deal with her feelings right now?"

The theorists muttered softly to themselves, shaking their heads in 
confusion.  The pause dragged on awkwardly until the room eventually 
became silent once more.

"She should just get over it already?" offered Elkins brightly.  The 
other Elkins next to her elbowed her sharply.

"Well," George paused, "that's not bad, Elkins -- if that's your 
real name.  I might phrase it a bit differently, though.  I'd say 
that since you've already bought both the American and British 
copies of the book, Cindy, you shouldn't take JKR's refusal to visit 
the U.S. and talk you into it quite so personally."

"Fine, then," Cindy conceded grudgingly.  "Then how about this?  I 
think JKR is going to *BOTCH* OoP!  How about *that* for a reason to 
be angry?"

A horrified gasp filled the room, and one theorist raced out the 
side door, her trembling hand covering her mouth.

George flashed his brilliant smile and gestured for the theorists to 
remain seated.  "Come on, Cindy.  What the blue blazes are you 
playing at -- are you trying to start a panic?  How on earth could 
JKR botch OoP?  She's a story-telling *genius.*  She took her time 
on the project.  It can't happen."

"Oh, yes it can!" Cindy insisted, leaning her elbows on the podium, 
which rocked dangerously under her considerable weight.  "I think 
OoP will suffer from 'Low Hanging Fruit Syndrome'!"

"Low Hanging Fruit Syndrome?" Amanda echoed blankly.

"That's right," Cindy said.  "OoP will be filled with wonderful 
opportunities for JKR to do the unexpected.  But she won't.  She'll 
go for the safe bet.  The easy way out.  *The Low Hanging Fruit.*"

"But she's never done that before," objected Jo Serenadust from the 
far left part of the room.

"That's true.  But we have a situation where JKR seems to have set 
up the obvious, and I'm thinking she is just going to go for the 
obvious.  Like MemoryCharm!Neville.  It would be so much more daring 
and interesting for her to go with ReverseMemoryCharm!Neville or one 
of the other complex Neville theories.  But she won't, will she?  
You know she won't.  She'll give us MemoryCharmButtKicking!Neville, 
who is as *PREDICTABLE* as he can possibly be!" she shrieked. 

Cindy whipped around and launched her water glass with all of her 
might in the general direction of the fireplace.  It exploded 
against the wall, spraying the mantel and pool table with razor-
sharp shards.  "And that," Cindy howled, "is what is going to make 
me *CRAZY!*  Mrs. Figg will be Good!  Real Moody will be Good!  
Hagrid will be Good to the bitter end!  If JKR takes the Low Hanging 
Fruit, I will scream a long and deadly scream that will pierce the 
walls of her big ol' Scottish mansion!  And then I will throw my 
book straight into George's fireplace!  But it will do no good.  
Because OoP will already be *RUINED!*"

"Look," said the other Elkins.  "If JKR goes with MemoryCharm!
Neville, as you and I both know she will, then you can just do what 
you did with ReverseMemoryCharm!Neville –- just make up some canon."

Cindy bolted from the podium and lunged for the other Elkins, only 
to have George jump quickly between them.  

"And we'll probably have to wait *four* years for the next book, so 
you'll have plenty of time," taunted the other Elkins, hovering just 
inches out of Cindy's reach.  

"Uh . . . unless someone has some suggestions for Cindy that might 
actually be helpful," George panted, "maybe we should take a 
break."  He shoved Cindy hard in the direction of the fireplace and 
gave her a withering stare, daring her to move.  "And *you!*" he 
hissed.  "You stay right there!  I'm going down to the basement to 
see if I have more glasses.  *Plastic* ones this time!"  

******************

Cindy