THE DCLS - Isidore (Izzy) Abrahami (classic novels to read .TXT) 📗

THE DCLS

By

Isidore (Izzy) Abrahami

No one knew how everyone did know that the DCLS (Deputy Certified Location Specialist) died in a plane crash in the jungle, though not a single clue of the small plane could be traced.
Nonetheless everyone wanted to become the new DCLS.
The weird thing was that only very few people knew that DCLS stood for a Deputy Certified Location Specialist, but nobody knew which location he was specialist on, and what sort of specialist he was supposed to be. People were sure that it was a directive from the political echelons not to reveal too many details about the DCLS for security consideration. In any case, the majority didn’t know what the DCLS position was, or how much money he was making, but still everybody wanted to replace the mysteriously departed DCLS.
One week after the DCLS’ symbolic funeral took place – as there were no remains -- some hundred mourners dressed in business suits and ties, attended his memorial, which took place in Manhattan’s Paley Park at 3 East 53rd street.
Everybody who was somebody was there.
The PFS (Personal Financial Specialist) and his wife whom everyone knew that she was suffering from FSAD, (Female Sexual Arousal Disorder) were there, the GAM (Gay Asian Men) accompanied by the NCCC (National Certified Career Counselor) walked around perturbed, many members of AITF (Audit Issues Task Force) were whispering to one another, the ALA (Associate of the Library Association) was by himself, constantly eating the cookies that were on display.
A group including the CISM (Certified Information Security Manager from ISACA), the respected ETF (Evaluation Task Force), people from the OTS (Office of Thrift Supervision) and those from the SSLLC (Shared Services LLC) and from the VGP (Virtual Grassroots Panel) were gathered around the TC (Team Captain) going on hash-hashing about something. Each one of the people present knew these acronym titles but except for those who held them, no one else knew what they stood for. But what they did know was that these individuals were the most important ones in attendance and that they could decide who is going to be the next DCLS.
A few sharp-eyed people could notice that everyone was moving slowly, as if not to be noticed. A number of small groups were trying to decode the acronyms with limited success. One guessed that the TC was the Team Captain but no one knew what sort of team he was leading, and who he was captaining. Another speculated that the sickness of the FSAD, which the wife of the PFS has got, was some sort of illness related to Fat Salads Disorder, but no one knew for sure what kind of salads consist of fat, what kind of fat, and what were the symptoms of this disorder. In short, everybody was playing the guessing game but what everybody knew for certain was that each one of the tens of people gathered in Paley Park wanted to become the new DCLS.
It took a whole week of meetings between the CFP (Certified Financial Planner), the CGFM (Certified Government Financial Manager), the CISA (Certified Information System Auditor), the CC (Comptroller of the Currency) and the DDiv (Doctor of Divinity) to finally announce that they weren’t fully authorized by the JEEP (Joint Ethics Enforcement Plan) to decide who would be the next DCLS.
The country was in turmoil. People wondered how would they survive without the DCLS, even though no one knew what was the DCLS function or how was he contributing to the survival of the country.
The notion that the WMD (Weapons of Mass Distraction) were spreading rapidly in among the terrorists was first proposed by the CSSD (Concealed Secretary of the Station Deputy), and it put the nation on high alert.
Now all eyes turned to the CSSD.
Everybody knew that the CSSD was the Concealed Secretary of the Station Deputy but no one could figure out what kind of Station he was a deputy to.
A committee was formed that included the IAASB (International Auditing And Assurance Standards Board), the IAFP (International Association for Financial Planning), the IAHA (International Association of Hospitality Accountants), the IAI (Independent Accountants International), the IASB (International Accounting Standards Board), the UEC (Union European des Experts Comptables Economiques et Financiers) and the VGP (Virtual Grassroots Panel)
Not many people knew that the TIC (Technical Issues Committee) and the TRPs (Technical Resource Panels) have put two options on the table of this committee: One was to attack Iran and the other was to do absolutely nothing.
But the sudden appearance of OOLAW (Officer of the Office of Laboratory Animal Welfare) in the middle of their deliberations, who proposed another two options, put the committee in disarray. One was to attack Syria and the other was to bomb Israel, which was causing all the problems in the region.
Before taking the final decision, the committee decided to read the book titled TIPS (Technical Information for Practitioners Series) by a member of the renowned GAQB (Government Audit Quality Center) and another book by the MSP (Member Solutions Partnership).
After a careful reading of the books, the IAASB, the IAFP, the IAHA, the IAI, the IASB, the UEC, and the VGP decided to recommend to the USTC (United States Tax Court) to attack Turkey. As a matter of routine they included a copy to the NAARS (National Automated Accounting Research System).
All this aside, the most urgent decision yet to be made was who would be the next DCLS.
Manhattan’s Paley Park at 3 East 53rd street was, as it has always been, a home to the homeless. But during the summer of 2009, surprisingly, only two of the homeless people Lenny Bach and Chris Burger appeared in the park.
Chris (75) has been a USA army Capitan, piloting the plane of the OSS team (Office of Strategic Services, forerunner of the CIA) that parachuted in 1945 in northern Vietnam, which saved the leader Ho Chi Minh who was ill with malaria and other tropical diseases.
After the OSS team parachuted, Chris’ small plane developed serious problems and crashed in the jungle. He survived miraculously but got seriously wounded. He managed to climb up onto what was left of the plane’s cockpit where he had first-aid kit with which he could take care of his wounds, and had a small supply of water and canned food.
He knew that the dense jungle around him and being a thousand miles from any human habitation would foil any attempt to find him. Death was looking at him in the face.
On the third day at sunrise he woke up from a strange noise he heard. He opened his eyes and saw a most extraordinarily small person, who stood there examining him with great seriousness.
Chris stared at this sudden apparition in astonishment. He had crashed in the jungle a thousand miles from any inhabited region, and yet nothing about the man gave any suggestion of a person lost in the middle of the jungle.
When at last he was able to speak, Chris asked him: “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The strange person looked at Chris and said as if he were speaking of a matter of great consequence.
“I’m here to help.”
And that’s how Chris met Lanh Ba.ch, which in Vietnamese means quick-minded, street-smart, peaceful and humane.
“Do you believe in afterlife?” Lanh suddenly asked.
“I’m a pilot. I was piloting the OSS team,” retorted Chris, “I’m a rational person.”
“And in reincarnation?”
“I told you, I’m a matter-of-fact guy.”
For a few months Lanh Ba.ch was nursing Chris’ wounds with particular leaves and rare trees’ bark.
It was apparent that Lanh believed in the healing powers of the natural world, and indeed, after five months Chris was back at his full health.
During these months Chris learned that Lanh was a self-imposed exile and a happy hermit living in the jungle. But what’s more, Chris developed a strong bond of friendship with Lanh and decided to stay with him and live in the jungle. Not meeting anyone else, Chris lived in the jungle for one year under Lanh’s guidance.
“I can feel that you’ve become pretty unhappy here,” one day Lanh told Chris, “and that you’re missing the company of people of your country.”
“I miss New York,” Chris admitted.
“You lived here for a long time,” Lanh said, “if you want I’ll join you and we’ll go to your country.”
After many adventures that can’t be revealed at this time because many of the details are still top secret under the laws of SAVE (Systematic Alien Verification for Entitlement) and UNSI (Undisclosed National Security Institute) Chris and Lanh reached New York.
Chris changed Lanh’s name to Lenny and his family name from Ba.ch to Bach.
Upon arrival Chris discovered that he was listed by CADAPSO (Clandestine Association of Data Processing Service Organization) and by the OTS (Office of Thrift Supervision) as a missing person. And until the PAC (Political Action Committee), the GASBOC (Governmental Accounting Standards Board Organizing Committee) and the PRC (Peer Review Committee) would decide otherwise, Chris Burger would be considered by the HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) and by the CGFM (Certified Government Financial Manager) as a missing person who’s not entitled to any benefits.
This is how Chris Burger and Lenny Bach ended up as homeless people in Paley Park.
When the hundred or so mourners entered Paley Park for the memorial of the deceased DCLS, Chris and Lenny retreated to one of the parks corners.
Even though they heard fractions of sentences that indicated that it was a sort of a memorial for someone who had recently died, they couldn’t know that all these people dressed in business suits and ties didn’t come here caring for any memorial. Chris and Lenny couldn’t know that all what these people cared about was to be seen and to be chosen to replace the departed DCLS.
An hour into the memorial, a man about sixty years of age, approached Lenny Bach and Chris Burger.
“Do you want to eat or drink something?” he asked them kindly.
“No thank you,” they answered almost in unison. “What’s going on in here anyway?” asked Chris.
“It’s a memorial for the DCLS.” “For whom?” wondered Lenny.
“He was our Deputy Certified Location Specialist.”
“I understand,” said Lenny in sorrowful voice, “and who are you?
“I am the DMDGEFC,” the man answered without a hitch.
“And what do you do?”
“I’m the Deputy Manager of the Division of Global Environmental Facility Coordination.”
“But what do you do?”
“I coordinate the Division of Global Environmental Facility,” and lowering his voice he added, “my major problem is that I want to move from my job and become the new DCLS.”
“Why? What was his job?”
“He was a Location Specialist.”
“What location?”
“That’s the problem. No one knows which location he was specialist on.”
“I understand. And you want to become it?”
“Everyone here wants to become the DCLS.”
“But why? What’s the big deal?”