I'm a writer. That's the beginning and the end of my story. I'm a writer. I write.
I have stories. I have things to say.
I am not a Refinance Document Analyst 1. Maybe you are, but not me.
My wife - bless her - is an honest, earnest woman. A doctor. She works hard. She's very smart. But still, smart people can be blinded by their own logic sometimes. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes smart people see the world in black and white - where you're either making money or you're "unemployed." Not realizing that there's a middle path. The path to enlightenment. The path of the Writer.
So she tells me to get a job. Is my making money truly necessary? I would say no. I would suggest that my words - as seemingly monetarily valueless as they may presently appear - are greater than any paycheck. I would suggest that she's a fucking doctor, so let's be real for a moment. This is not about a paycheck - this is about the creative process. And a boat. She wants to buy a boat.
I don't even like the water.
So when I apply to jobs, I do so out of marital duty. To show that I am trying, even though I am not. I am a writer, after all. Writers can only be counted on to try during moments of great inspiration and/or the waning hours of a deadline.
I understand this. You understand this. Why Barry Blankenshop of First Fourth National Bank of Wattsborough doesn't understand this is anyone's guess.
You see, I applied to the position of Refinance Document Analyst - which is exactly the Lovecraftian nightmare it sounds like - knowing full well that I was neither qualified nor capable. But my wife checks on these things and it's good to have references - or, more accurately, the names of sample HR directors to curse out over the dinner table.
These days I curse the name of Barry Blankenshop, though for significantly different reasons than usual.
For starters, how in the world was my application ever picked out of the pile to begin with? I have a number of tactics that I employ with regularity to prevent just such a calamity. In this case, I:
Provided no prior employment history
Intentionally misspelled my own name repeatedly
Listed only deceased celebrities as my references
Left no personal contact information
Perhaps Barry Blankenshop is illiterate? Perhaps he loathes his job as much as I loathe the idea of working? Who can know?
He tracked me down somehow, apparently through some combination of Google searching and yellow page cold calling. My wife was present when I answered the phone and I was so caught off guard I didn't think to pretend that Barry had reached the wrong number. We agreed to a time and place for an interview. I did not show up.
I have to assume this happens often. But I also assume this is the sort of thing that usually disqualifies someone from the offered post. No such luck. Barry called back. I ignored him. He called my wife and offered to reschedule.
I was trapped.
There was no avoiding the interview then. I went, my wife watching me as I slouched out to the car. It was a dire situation. Fortunately, I had not exhausted my tried-and-true tactics.
Unfortunately, I had deeply underestimated the otherworldly lunacy of Barry Blankenshop.
He was a smallish man, perma-sunburned with curly hair the color of uncooked rice noodles. He smiled as he greeted me, smacking his lips and saying something to the effect of, "Aha! Here is the man! The man of the hour!"
We sat down. He offered me a coffee. I requested a Coke Lemon.
"Ah! Another lemonhead?" he exclaimed. Apparently he had stockpiled the long-since discontinued drink. I received my can, which I opened but did not drink.
"How did you hear about First Fourth National?" he asked.
"My weed dealer banks here."
Blankenshop laughed. "We are very discreet! I see you've no experience in document analysis, right?"
I nodded. "Screen blindness. I can't look at a computer screen for more than five minutes at a time without going temporarily blind."
"Pity," said Blankenshop solemnly. "Lucky for you, we are entirely computer-free here at First Fourth. All hard copies, all the time."
"How...is that even possible?" I asked.
"Much safer," said Blankenshop. "No cyber terrorists this way. Saves money, too - a ream of paper costs less than any laptop!"
"That's not...quite comparable."
"Now," pressed Blankenshop, leaning across the desk, conspiratorially. "What would you consider to be your biggest weakness?"
I considered myself. I considered the man. "...cocaine?"
Blankenshop laughed, slapping his hands on the desk. "A sense of humor! I love it. No, no, I know the effects of cocaine. Firsthand. Lost my grandmother that way. Tried to fight a city bus. She was special. Cherish your loved ones. Anyway, I can tell you're a straight shooter. How do you deal with turmoil in the workplace?"
The man was insane. The usual tactics were powerless. I was swinging wildly now, just looking to make contact. "Segregate out all the Jews?"
Blankenshop's brow furrowed deeply. He looked angry for a moment. I had a glimmer of hope. "They are a clever bunch...I need to be careful with you! You'll be gunning for my job in no time!"
"I would literally rather throw myself in front of your grandmother's bus," I replied. Blankenshop hooted.
"Gallow's humor! It's a difficult industry, certainly. You seem well-suited to it."
"What is this job?" I half-shouted. "What the hell does a Refinance Document Analyst even do?"
"You know...I'm not sure," said Blankenshop. "Training Department should be able to give you the layout. I'm just tasked with finding a good fit."
"A good fit for a job you know nothing about?"
"Attitude is everything at First Fourth," said Blankenshop. "And you've got the right attitude."
"I hate you."
"Ah hahaha! You can't turn it off! I love it. You'll be very popular. If I'm being honest, morale is not what it ought to be. No idea why." Blankenshop stuck out a feeble little paw. "What do you say? Join the team?"
Now, obviously I said yes, and I said yes because I love my wife and don't enjoy being yelled at.
The work is awful. I do very little of it. I manage every interaction with enormous, open disdain. I do not even clean up the office microwave after I am done.
I am a monster.
I am also, likely by no coincidence, now a Refinance Document Analyst 2. Because the world is a dark satire, much stranger and crueler than anything I could ever write.
True story - this is the second most popular thing I've ever written on Reddit. Just a couple of weeks ago I literally said the same thing about a different story, but now that post is a lie, because BEHOLD THE NEW SECOND PLACE! Really had no idea this one would take off, but, honestly, I never do. There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reasons to these things.
No fan art this time, though...