Greater than The Void -- more ominous, far reaching and capable of reducing a grown man into little more than a blubbering mess of past regret and failure-- is the temporary staffing specialist.
How I hate these bitches.
I jest. To be certain, The Void would devour such prissy pollops... and their faux leather day planners and office photos of doofus husbands or elderly relatives. Yet these harpies have undeniable power, keeping me chained like Prometheus while they dissect my resume -- the vulture devouring the liver.
Over and over and over.
A fitting punishment for my sins will be a carpeted cubicle with a perky staffing specialist and never ending questions. "Where did you go to college?" "What was your typical day like?" "Do you have experience with Outlook?"
I grind my teeth behind my smile. Unfortunately ghost busting doesn't pay the bills. Today's spirits don't lead you to buried treasure. We live like cannibals where the young symbolically eat the deceased in the way of wills and inheritances.
Tammy the staffing specialist asks, "Is my grandmother's cancer going away, doctor?"
What The Void hears is, "Die bitch. The family wants to go to Disney World with your savings."
By the way, granny knew what you were up to, Tammy. The very elderly (death) and toddlers (life) are strangely attuned to The Void's broadcasts. (Pets too, but that's a whole seperate post.)
Ghosts are the poorest cats on the block, poorer than me even. Hurt feelings and a loathing of the living are all ghosts got, but it's enough to get an interview when The Void is hiring. So there boring Tammy sat. Seriously asking me to describe my most rewarding experience answering a manager's phone, and utterly ignorant that her deceased grandmother's soul sat perched in the form of a greasy turd atop her pigtailed head.
"I just enjoy being a help around the office..."
I trailed off as the angry turd-soul let out a teensy fart and resettled, gunking up Tammy's hair with a caramel chutney of regrets and accusations.
"You never visited me in the hospital!" "You dress like a whore!" "It was your fault you were raped!" "I hate you!" "I HATE ALL OF YOU!"
And then I had a seizure.
People with epilepsy tend to speak to the dead easier too. It's a chicken or the egg kinda thing: do epileptics see ghosts or does seeing ghosts give you seizures?
Anyways, I woke up and the paramedics had been called. Tammy was being consoled because of course it was such a big, fucking drama FOR HER! Stupid bitch. I tried spinning it into a sympathy thing like I totally need money for my medication, but no luck. Tammy was too freaked out, and I didn't get the job.
The turd mocked me. Her grandmother knew she caused my seizure. The realization gave it more control over her fragile Tammy's psyche. Whatever. Back to Craigslist...
Update: Turns out maybe The Void doesn't have as strong a grasp on my life as I previously believed. One of Tammy's co-workers actually arranged for me to begin work on April 1st with a small public relations firm as an event marketing associate. I love bullshit titles.
Ever cynical, I'm prepared to be greeted with an overture of "April Fool's!" upon my arrival, but the promise of a paycheck is one tiny glimmer of hope in a darker than usual universe.
Hope Tammy (and granny) enjoys the trip to Orlando.
