When Julia started working in retail, she expected three things:
- Shit hours
- Shit pay
- A shit boss
She was even expecting to deal with shit customers, some verbal assault here and there. What she didn’t expect was to be staring down the barrel of a gun as a 7-foot tall, three-headed, faceless conglomerate retail god threatened to end her life if she refused to do overtime. But, there she was. In a past life she must have been cursed, or she’d severely pissed off the wrong person.
Every time she landed a new job she’d jump for joy. Finally! A new start, she would think. Until she realized that the landing she had made was into a dumpster. That was on fire. In a ditch. That was also on fire. After working for three weeks in a fast food restaurant, she quickly realized why the word “hospital” is in hospitality, and she found a paint drying video on YouTube more entertaining than her month-long office job. So when retail had reared its ugly head around the corner, she thought to herself, How bad could it be?
Apparently, life-threateningly bad.
“What are some skills that you would bring to the table?” the enthusiastic man asked her at the start of the interview. They sat far too close together in an all too tiny room with posters plastering the walls, all talking about company morale and family spirit.
“Skills?” she repeated his question.
“Skills!” he reiterated, his smile stretching painfully across his face, his eyes bulging out of his head. Something about the man didn’t look right, and this wasn’t Julia being rude. He really didn’t look right. Eyes slightly too far apart, a forehead that was too big, his hands, freakishly large and almost… slimy?
Why would they be slimy?
The… thing slammed its palm flat on the table, snapping Julia back to reality.
“I asked for your skills, miss!” he said again, with the same tight, painful smile. Julia forced a smile back.
“Right, skills, well…” she fiddled with her hands.
“I’m very… sociable, and I enjoy… people.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince this man or herself.
“I’m hard working… and dedicated to my craft?” Her voice came out as a question, but the man just nodded encouragingly.
“I care about others and strive to make their experience in the store as smooth as possible.” Julia nodded to herself, pleased with what she’d said.
The man didn’t say anything in response. He just sat staring at her, with the same damn smile. The same slime that was oozing from his hands was also collecting in little dots on his forehead. Julia tried not to gag, feeling both confused and concerned.
“Sir? Are you okay?” She leaned forward. His big, bulging eyes were slowly drifting in different directions, making him look more lizard than human. He cocked his head to the side aggressively, making Julia yelp in surprise.
“OVERTIME, HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT OVERTIME!” he was yelling, sounding like a corporate robot.
“Oh… yeah, no, I don’t do overtime, just contracted hours.” Julia let out a sigh. While she did hop between different jobs quite frequently, she’d never felt the sting of rejection from not getting one. She closed her eyes, waiting for the polite bullshit excuse this man would come up with to not hire her. But it never came. She just sat with her eyes closed for what felt like hours. Slowly, she peeked one eye open, and she really wished she hadn’t. All joy that was previously present on this man’s face had disappeared. Instead, he sat stoically, staring holes through Julia. She opened both her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.
“Shall we try that question again?” the man said, and Julia grimaced.
“Look, I’m sorry, but it’s a non-negotiable for me. I won’t do overtime—” Before she could get the full sentence out, a giant red button materialized in the center of the table, and the slimy man-thing slammed his forehead down onto it. The world around them disappeared as the table began to descend down into the floor. Julia jumped to her feet with a scream. She began to desperately claw at the walls, trying to climb them, but it was no use; she’d already begun her descent into corporate hell.
A simple, boring, awkward interview was what had landed Julia in this position. I should’ve just stuck with fucking hospitality, she thought to herself as she stared at the faceless, three-headed god. The room that she and the interviewer had been sitting in previously had disappeared completely, a giant, cold metal lair replacing it. At least the lair still had the posters about company morale and family spirit. Corporate, money-hungry gods were, apparently, consistent.
Despite the fact he had no mouth, Julia could hear the god’s voice clearly in her head.
“Overtime, yes or no?”
Julia looked at the god, flabbergasted.
“Excuse me? What the fuck is going on?” She threw her arms up in the air, exasperated and shaky. The god just “stared” at her.
“Overtime. Yes. Or. No,” he said.
She hesitated for a moment, staring at him, before she regained her composure and puffed out her chest.
“No, sorry, I don’t do overtime,” she said, rising confidently from her seat. The god said nothing to her, just stared holes through her with all three of his faceless heads, before he pulled out a gun. A big, three-barreled gun. Julia threw her hands up in defense, trembling, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“Shall I ask again?” the god asked.
Julia shook her head. “OVERTIME, NO, YEAH, LOVE OVERTIME, ALL OF IT, LOVE IT!”
The lair faded away around them as the interview room fizzled back to life. The god returned to his slimy, sweaty working man image. The same painful smile stretched out onto his face. He stuck his hand out toward Julia.
“Great! Welcome to the family!”
Madelin Gonzalez Franco has been an avid writer since she was able to pick up a pen. A recent graduate from University with a degree in Creative Writing and Screenwriting, she spends her time drumming up ideas for her next script, excited for what the future holds.
Featured image by Artificial Photography on Unsplash.
