My alarm went off at 5:30 am. It was still dark, but I
wanted to make sure I was clearheaded and prepared for my first day of work at
Biff Co. Of course, I needn't had worried, sleep wasn't really an option. Too
nervous. So instead, I just ended up just reading Jerry Van Dyke's
autobiography: Don't Forget I Exist Too.
Fearing my lack of sleep would come to bite me in the ass
later, I injected 300 CCs of caffeine straight into my jugular. A quick bowl of
muktuk for energy and protein, (yeah, I know it’s a dessert, but I wanted to
treat myself) and I was out the door.
I didn't have to be there until 9, and it was only a
15-minute trip, but I left my tree house apartment at 7:45 am just to make sure
I didn't get lost and because I wanted to get a good spot. Plus, the bosses
always like to see employees’ cars in the parking lot early, Never hurts to get
in those brownie points.
Imagine my surprise when I got to the lot and the guard
told me I couldn't park there because it was full. I looked through my front
windshield and through the wire fence in front of my car. The place was so
barren it looked ripe for two gunfighters to have a duel at any moment.
"Ummm, it looks completely empty to me, ma'am,"
I said.
"No, it isn't. Move along," she replied.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the early hour, but my
brain couldn't fathom her words. I looked again. It was somehow even more empty
the second time, like some kind of Bermuda Triangle of parking. In the end, I
just turned around and drove aimlessly until I could find a spot. I must have
been in the "Little Cybertron" area of the city, because both sides
of the street were occupied by vehicles. Busses, cars, hovercrafts, segways,
penny-farthings, there were no open spots. So I just put my car in neutral,
opened the door and bailed, tucking and rolling.
As my car crashed into the orphanage behind me and
exploded, I walked into the building and up to the main desk.
"Good morning. My name is Josh and I'm here for my
first day as a Snicklefritz-Enabler. I was told to meet Dr. Brooks here for
orientation?"
"Yes Mr. Hsoj. She's in her office on the seventh
and a half floor. When you get off the elevator, make a right and her office
should be the third door on the left. If you see Mr. Malkovich's office, you've
gone too far." the receptionist said.
I got on the elevator and stood there scratching my head,
trying to figure out which button to press until somebody else walked in and hit
the button for the eighth floor. As the elevator ascended, I decided to be
gregarious and make as many friends as possible, to start things off on the
good foot, as James Brown once said.
“Hi, my name is Jo…” I froze as I saw my lift companion, my
arm locked halfway to hand-shake position.
Firstly, I was looking too far up for eye-contact. And by
too far up, I mean eye-level. This person was short. I’d say approximately the
height of three apples stacked on top of each other. Secondly, he was blue.
“You’re a Smurf,” I stuttered.*
“No shit, Sherlock,” he said, extending his hand to shake
mine. “The name’s Ulcer Smurf. And don’t ask why,” he added, effectively
shutting me down just as my lips were about to form the interrogative. “What
department you in Fish?”
“Ummm, I’m in, in Snicklefritz Murders and Executions.
I’m the new enabler.” I managed to say to, until a minute ago, what I thought
was a fictitious piece of Belgian lore.
“Ha! Good luck Noob,” Ulcer said and then stepped off the
elevator because we had reached his floor. I then pressed the button for seven
and went down a level.
I eventually found the 7th and a half floor
hallway by flushing the third urinal in the women’s bathroom and opening a
hidden panel. I made my way to Dr. Brooks’ office and knocked. The was no
answered. So I knocked again. Again, silence was my only reply. As I turned to
walk away, there was a knocking on the door from the inside. So, with a shrug,
I said “come on in?”
Out walked a woman who had clearly stopped shopping for
office attire after seeing the 1988 movie Working Girl. Her shoulder
pads were big enough to make her a first-string blocker.
“Thanks for the compliment,” she said. “I have a special
guy from Cambodia. He only sells me the finest shoulder pads.”
What the hell? I thought. Can she read minds?
“No doofus, you’re speaking out loud. You must be Josh,
our rookie. Morning Rook!”
“Good morning Dr. Brooks. I’m just happy to be here
working for Biff Co. It’s been a lifelong…”
“Spare me Rook. Get off the nipple, I already pay a guy
to yank on my tits and he’s better at it than you. So let’s cut to the chase
and I’ll show you what you’ll be doing here at Biff Co. Both today, and (baring
any unfortunate circumstances) for the rest of your natural life!” she
chortled.
And with that, she took me by the hand and we walked into
an ever increasingly misty corridor. What was I in for?
*Wait a minute. How the fuck did a Smurf
manage to hit the button for the eighth floor?!?!
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