Who’s Got Grease in TireTown? – Kellan Jansen

August 1, 2026

I should start with the flyer.
Bread and Roses For Tires
I didn’t get it, so I showed it to Joey. He was real hush-hush, sweep-it-under-the-rug about it. Saying, basically, don’t let the boss see. But, I thought, if anyone knew what to do about it, it’d be him. We met again that evening. I worried about what Sara would say on the elevator up.

THE BOSS was staring at the television on the wall. It was one of those hallmark murder-suicide shows. A cop was saying something about the criminal mind being different on account of the crime it commits. It is what it is.

“You swear to me you’re not part of this?”
“Yessir,” I said. “I don’t even know what it means.”

He stood up and, quivering under the weight of himself, slapped my back with one of his bear paws. “Some jokers in manufacturing,” He said, “are trying to hold this company hostage. Billy Boy, do you realize the cost?”

I shrieked, “My God, I had no idea!”
I didn’t tell him my name is Tom. Don’t say anything to my wife.
He looked me up and down, licking his lips, and said, before shutting the door, “You’ll speak to their leader.”

Later that afternoon, I sat across from the leader in the manufacturing breakroom. It was a bad room, with a buzzing light and fault lines multiplying across a plastic table. The leader was a man called Wolfie, who had messy curly hair and big forearms. He looked at me severely, and I thought of my father.

“My grandfather built TireTown. They had homes. We live in studios.
*Nice grindset*, I thought.
He said, “We ask for wages that rise with the cost of living. Twenty percent.”
“Right on,” I said, in some accent.

I jumped up and ran to the boss’s office. He was listening to Mozart loudly.

“PEOPLE DON’T APPRECIATE MMM… THE CLASSICS ANYMORE!” He shouted.

I didn’t hear but nodded anyway.

“YOU TAKE TIRETOWN. MY GRANDFATHER BUILT THIS COMPANY FROM NOTHING. NOW SOME MMMM… UNEDUCATED FACTORY WORKERS WANT TO TAKE IT FROM US. I HOPE YOU TOLD THEM OFF, BILLY BOY. OH BOY, DO I HOPE MMM… THAT YOU MMM… TOLD THEM OFF.”

“Um,” I said.
He turned off the music.
“You didn’t tell them off?”
A shadow crept across his face, growing as he approached.
“Erm,” I said.
“Billy Boy…”
He was inches from my neck now.
“You better have a Damn. Good. Reason.”

“I felt kind of sorry for him.” I blurted, stupidly.
The boss backed off. As if the dead had spoken.
“Yeah. This part is never fun.”
My jaw must’ve fallen because he started smiling.
“Sorry about that, Tom.” He continued (using my name for the first time, maybe ever?) “It’s just – Michael likes us managers to be hard asses. Not really my style. Guess I go a little over the top to compensate.”

Then he said:

“Listen, I think we can do something workable with Wolfie. I mean, he’s right! They work and work making those mmm… tires for us. And they own less than ever.”

Okaygreat!” I cried, believing it.
“Just remember, Tom. Our interests matter, too.”

I nodded my head violently. Then turned to leave, making it a few doors before doubling back.
“Say, boss? What are our interests, exactly?”

He smiled. That was still strange. Then he got up on a little platform he apparently had hidden behind his desk and began –

“Well, we have to make a profit. Otherwise, none of this works. Wolfie and his friends wouldn’t make any money, instead of just less money than they’d like.”

That sounded reasonable to me.

“If we’re not efficient enough – “ He made finger guns while saying efficient – “Then we don’t earn a profit. And if that happens, well, all that we can do is cut costs until money flows again.”

That sounded reasonable to me.

“So, in summation – “ He was bobbing his head like a peacock – “We can’t give Wolfie and friends too much. Or else it’d be bad for us. Which would be bad for them. It’s all about… Efficiency.” He did the finger guns again.

I sat with Wolfie the next morning in the breakroom, which was starting to smell like catpiss, saying, “I’m going to level with you, Wolf. Can I call you that?”
He nodded.
“I feel for you guys. I really do. You’re working to the bone down here, making mmm.. tires. And you earn so little! If it were up to me, I’d give you the 20% raise and be done with it.”

“Let me guess.” Wolfie growled, “It’s not up to you.”

I nodded my head vigorously. Then continued.

“My boss sent me down here and said to give you guys 10%. Now, he’s expecting me to play hardball and get to 8. Let’s skip it!”

Wolfie said he’d need to talk to his guys about that, so we both went home – him to his good wife and children. Me to Sarah.

We ate frozen salmon on the rooftop.
She kept looking at the terrace across the street. I told her I’d get a raise.
I didn’t tell her about Rachel in accounting. She said nothing of the neighbor.
That was our little agreement. Neither of us knew anything about it.
And knew all about it.

The next day, Wolfie said –
“I talked to the guys. We need the money, but 10% won’t cut it.”
I said, uh-oh. And went and told my boss, who said, uh-oh, and went and told his boss.

They had some things to figure out, so I had the chance to get back to my true job, which was mmm…. Not going well. The social media intern had posted what he thought was an artistic picture of a tire but looked mmmm…. more like Rachel’s ass.

Now I was fielding calls from Kalamazoo. Wichita. Salem. They wanted to know what was going to be done about it.

Later that night, I was half-asleep, dreaming.
Sarah was next to me, but I convinced myself it was Rachel from accounting.
She was awake enough to say,
“mmm… Do me.”
I said supercool and did her.
Then the phone rang, and the boss was telling me I had to get to work pronto.
I looked at the clock. 2:45.
There were sirens out front of the building.
Someone was shrieking – “The machine ate him! The machine ate him!”
Everyone wailed or wept, except for the checked-out.

The boss said there’s been an accident. It’s Wolfie.
I said, Uh-oh. He agreed and poured us whiskeys.
We sipped on them silently together. And then either he or I started speaking.
This is very tragic, we were saying. But it’s our duty to move on.
For the good of TireTown and everyone who works for it.
And can’t we turn this darkness into some light?
With Wolfie gone, negotiations could begin again.
We’d have another chance at 10 – better, why not 12%?
That was the right thing to do.
For Wolfie.

A few days later, I was sitting in the breakroom that smelled like feet, talking to a shy intern-looking kid named Sam.

I said we’ll increase our offer by 2% in honor of Wolfie’s legacy.
He looked on the fence about it.
So I said, hell, we’ll even throw in some help with childcare. Call it Wolfie’s fund.
He liked the sound of that. Wolfie’s fund.
We shook hands and left it there.

The boss patted my shoulders and said, Wa-hoo.
We drank more whiskey.
He turned on Mozart, and we danced.
I said, Is now a good time to get a raise?
He ripped the record off the player and waddled closer to me, quivering under the weight of himself. Gripping the table for balance.
I’ve got a better idea, he growled.
Let’s talk to Michael.
Bingo.

Michael’s office was on the floor above ours.
It smelled like wood and cologne.

“Mmmmm…. Whoa.” He was saying. “You are reallygood at talking sense into these people.”
My boss said, “mmmm…. Yeah.”
I said, “mmmmm…. Yeah.”
We were quiet for a minute. Then Michael said, “So let’s make it official then.”
I said, “Oh?”
He said, “Welcome to the 12th floor, Billy Boy.”
My boss’s – Trevor’s – mouth fell to the ground.
The BOSS and I shook hands.
I bought champagne and hurried home to tell Sarah.

She was in the bath and said I’d better bring her a towel.
But she pushed the door open with her foot this time and said, Come on in.
Not just into the bathroom. Into the tub itself.
It felt like bathing in sunlight.
I remembered what beautiful skin she had lathered in moisture.
Her smile and lips, and tongue working together on me…
There was just a moment, just a tiny sliver of time, then, when everything fell away.
Wolfie. Trevor. Michael. Rachel. The pastfuturepresent itself.
Until the only thing left was a buzzing all-over peace, washing me pure and clean, eternal.
But did I like her?

We went out for dinner after.
At a sushi shop on a hill outside the city.
Sarah sparkled like champagne in a flute.
We could see our building and my office looking small below us.
And just for a moment …. Just a mm..moment.

The next day, I moved into my new office.
It overlooked the city, like THE BOSS’S, but not such a nice neighborhood.
I would be traveling from plant to plant, making sure they didn’t unionize.
My title was Internal Union Rep.

trevor found me in an elevator later that day and whispered into my ear.
“I know what you did.”
I said Uh-oh. And gulped.
We met that night in a bar near the office.
Sarah was going to ask why I didn’t stand up for myself.
Trevor said, “You don’t think Wolfie just died, do you?”
I said, “I think that’s what happens, yes.”
He said, “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”
I leaned in close and whispered, almost intentionally, “So you killed him?”
He said, “No, the machine ate him. But did he get a push?”
I didn’t know the answer.
Trevor said, “My sources say yes. Video sources. Give me your raise, or I’ll say it was you.”
“To police?” I asked.
“To police,” Trevor nodded solemnly.
He said I had 72 hours.
We agreed that meant 3 days.

That night, I was lying in bed thinking about it.
I didn’t kill Wolfie, I reasoned. That much was clear.
But could a video show that I did?
Where was I when Wolfie died? Bed. Could that be proven? Does it matter?

Sarah was snoring, and I started thinking of Rachel again.
She really did have nice features.
And she was so kind. Always smiling at me in the hallway.
Was she that way with everyone? I tried remembering.
Then we were in a dark conference room together.
There were papers all over the floor. We had done it, maybe.
Now I was holding her, naked, in a blanket, standing behind, looking out over the city.
She whispered into my ear, “I love you.” Then kissed it.
I said, “Oohwee!” pulled her face toward me, and kissed thick lips.
Then I woke up.
—-

When I got back, I saw Rachel from accounting in the elevator looking like hate.
But it was hard to focus. There was this moth thing buzzing around us, making the same pattern.
It would zip up to the light bulb, konk it, fall, then zip back to the opposite bulb, etc.
I was watching it until Rachel hissed, “I thought you’d be on our side, scab.”
I said, “I think I’m doing fine.”
She laughed, pathetic-like. “You are anything but.”
I said, “My hands are tied.” And put them into a pretzel to illustrate. “See?”
She sneered, and I exited the elevator almost confused.
—-

I started hearing voices coming from underneath me somewhere.
Went down to investigate, found them in the breakroom.
Rachel was standing on the table.

“WHAT DOES TIRETOWN HAVE TO HIDE?” She shouted.
“SWEATSHOP PRODUCTS MADE INSIDE.” They yelled back.
“ARE YOU READY TO FIGHT?”
“DAMN RIGHT! DAMN RIGHT!”

They went back and forth like that a few times. Then Rachel began speaking.

Brother Wolf died for this! They killed him!
If we give in now, we dishonor his memory.
We are strong. They are weak. And we know it!
If every TireTown plant comes together,
TONIGHT! TONIGHT!
If everyTireTown plant comes together, right now, tonight,
We will get the fair wages we deserve,
Or the company will die.
Not the undignified slow death we’ve been subjected to.
But the quick, merciless strike of the people.
It’s time to honor his memory!
We strike! We strike!

WE STRIKE! WE STRIKE!

Then she saw me standing in the hallway.
My heart beat real fast when our eyes locked.
“THERE! Brothers and sisters.” She shouted, pointing at me. “Is one who pulled the trigger.”

The room spun around and screamed.
I felt small.
Then Rachel was booing.
And I felt smaller.

The first thought that came to me was who I should ask about this.
Trevor would be useless. He was blackmailing me.
Rachel would be useless. She was booing me.
Sarah would be useless. She would insult me.
Michael would be useless. He was the opposition.

What did I think?
What did I think?
What…
Did….
I…
Mmmm…..

Rachel looked good; that was one thing.
I didn’t like being shouted at. That was another.
I wanted to make money. For Sarah in the tub.
I wanted Trevor not to turn me in…
I wanted Michael to keep paying me….
I wanted Wolfie to get some justice….

The booing continued, and Rachel was on the table, looking her way.
Maybe that’s the only reason I even did it; I don’t know.
But the next thing I knew, I had jumped on the table next to her and shouted:
“I want justice for Wolfie as much as you do!”
Thunderous boos.
“Tell me… what I can do to help!”

Silence. Then shouting.

“Quit!”
“Join us!”
“Sabotage!”
“Die!”

The room eventually settled on sabotage.
We discussed what that meant, together. Rachel, by my side.
Wa-hoo, I thought.

When I got home, Sarah was furious.
She had stayed up all night just to worry about me,
In full evening wear, smelling like wood and cologne no less.
I told her it was work. Money stuff. Capiche?
But that night in bed, it was weird. She wrapped her leg around me.
I fell asleep and woke to her hand on me
Then, after, I dreamt something stranger.

I was on stage, dancing in the spotlight. They took turns calling out moves to me.
There was a gnawing sound I couldn’t make out when Wolfie emerged from the darkness.
His children were behind him, shrieking….
There was a band playing somewhere, just loud cymbals…..
It was nonsense. Loud, chaotic, overwhelming noise and nonsense.
Haha, oh no, empty.….
Suddenly, and without warning, it stopped.
My head was free of thought and time….
And all of it came bubbling back at me.
The stage was a tire and the tire was going into a minivan
Sports car.
And I saw Rachel standing in the darkness, and she was looking good.
So I walked up and kissed her.
—-

Trevor and I met in the basement near where Rachel spoke the night before.
He duck-walked into the room like Groucho Marx, wearing a cowboy hat and holster with a cap gun in it for no clear reason.
I told him to show me the tape, and then I’d give him the money –
This, being a ploy to see the evidence he had.
Trevor said something about a game and pulled up the footage on his phone.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelled. “Who did it?!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Trevor said. “Now, how about the money?”
I said, “You showed me a hand, lil pal. Not my hand.”
He said it was mine. I said it wasn’t. Could’ve been his, for all I know.
We started laughing pretty hard about that and decided to go to Michael for a resolution.
Because if anyone knew what to do about it, it’d be him.
That’s why he was put in his position.

The first thing Michael said was, How’s the sabotage going?
I gulped and said, What do you mean?
He said, you know, breaking up union talk – like we said.
I said fine.
He asked, Was there some other kind of sabotage you were thinking of?
I said no, but my voice cracked at a ridiculously high frequency.

Trevor pulled up the footage on his phone and showed it to Michael, who said, “WHAMMY!” really loudly. We all laugh and drink whiskey.

Eventually, Michael said, “I’m sure you both can understand why this happened.”
We thrashed our heads up and down in agreement. I pulled a muscle.
The phone in my pocket captured him saying,
“We did it for TireTown. For our grandfathers who built this company.”

When I got the tape to Rachel, I stared openly at her chest.
Taking the elevator with her, I saw the moth konking against the lightbulbs again.
I asked Rachel why it did that.
She said it thinks every light is the sun.
I said, Uh-oh.