#1144

I guess I’m feeling… unenthused these days. Restless. Unfulfilled. Bored, even. I think sometimes maybe I should quit my job, move somewhere new; shake things up a bit, you know? It’s just that when you’re young they make this job sound so important. Hard to pass up when you’re a wee thing trying to decide what to do with the rest of your long life. But the folks in charge of funneling you into a career commit the sin of omission (which normally I wouldn’t mind, but being on the receiving end is different). They don’t tell you about the paperwork. They don’t mention the long hours and Projected Quarterly Goals. They fail to bring up the sheer amount of red tape and bureaucracy (which we invented!) that bog down your everyday life. And it gets to you, man. No one wants to spend eternity trapped beneath a mountain of unfiled reports.

My business card states I’m an Outreach Coordinator for the Minor Mischief Department of the Consumables Division of the Ministry of Human Corruption. Sure, on paper it sounds great; I spend my days searching for morally malleable souls who might be easily convinced there’s nothing reprehensible about stealing coworkers’ food from the office fridge. In the beginning I enjoyed the work, too, even invented some new methods for inconveniencing mortals (yes, taking half a bite out a donut but leaving the rest behind was my idea, and I’m still proud of that one), but lately I just haven’t felt the same rush of accomplishment when one of my clients snatches someone’s lovingly prepared chicken salad sandwich or leftover Phad Thai. Maybe minor mischief just… isn’t enough for me anymore. Not when I have to fill out, scan, upload, and file eight separate reports every dammed time a can of Coke goes missing, at least!

Yeah, maybe a change of scenery would do my black heart some good. I heard there’s an opening in Possession and I’ve always fancied myself a good politician…

 

[ I woke up from a dream about being trapped in an asylum (thanks, American Horror Story) and somehow my train of thought lead to… this. Who knows. ]

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