Saturday, April 25, 2015

In which the magician tries out jobs…

“What is that sound?”

“You can hear it? Most new employees can’t –.”

“It sounds like someone who is very old. Screaming.”

“It is the Employee of the Year. It is the same one every year, without end. I don’t think anyone remembers their name anymore. Or what they did to get this – honour.”


“That is the security office. You don’t want to go in there. The door is never locked. The walls, they are made from the skin of would-be shoplifters. Word gets around. Upper Management likes paying little for security so they never ask questions. Not the ones that matter.”


“I don’t think,” I say carefully, “that this is a safe place to work if the employees need to don hazmat suits before entering the walk-in cooler.”


“I have heard stories, about people with eyes like yours. Knowing eyes, hunted eyes that see too much. But we have magic here as well.”

“You do?”

“We serve food to counters in under three minutes, and yet we can advertise ourselves as a restaurant. If that is not magic, what do you call it?”


“You want me to be a cook? I don’t even know what a sous chef is.”

“It is not a problem. You take the packages, put them on the plate, microwave it.”

“And the head chef does what?”

“Arranges it.”


i stare at the building, and I walk away. There are jobs no one should apply for, professions no one should touch. I have learned to count the monstrosity that is Insurance under that rubric.

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