Momma made Macabre Macaroni, and I helped

This is the last Thursday in October, and marks the last of the Macabre Macaroni stories. You guys have been great, and I really appreciate your support and encouragement.

A Downward Economy

A dainty hand with a small flag came up from a low walled cubicle. The voice over the speakers said, “Number thirty-seven. Now serving number thirty-seven.”

He stepped forward and took a seat across the desk from a petite brunette.

She looked over the papers, taking her time before she spoke. “It says here that you’re looking for work as a tour captain, or possibly in the fishing industry. Is that right?”

“That is correct. I have a lot of experience around boats.”

“Your experience is admirable, but those are hard jobs with long hours. Quite frankly, you’re getting on in years.”

“That won’t be a problem, I assure you. My experience is–

“Yes, yes, it’s impeccable. Why don’t you tell me why you’re looking to change careers.” She steepled her fingers and leaned forward.

“It’s all about the money, you see. When I first started off, things were very good. They paid in gold. Sure, the artwork varied from coin to coin, but they were all gold. Silver eventually took it’s place. I was told that everyone had to tighten up. There were layoffs too, and I was told to be happy I still had a job.

“The silver wasn’t all that bad. I liked the engraving on the crowns and dollars. There were single eagles, double eagles. The occasional bit of gold came now and then. The twenty dollar gold pieces were always appreciated around the holidays.

“Then some idiot came up with the sandwich coin. Cheaper metals were blended in to reduce the amount of silver. The engraving didn’t wear off as fast, but the value just wasn’t there. It was a reduction in income, you see. The executives refused to admit it, but my bank account showed it all the same.”

“Your job seems to have stability though. Maybe you ought to consider keeping it. I mean, every day I counsel those whose jobs have been outsourced, replaced by computers, or the whole company declared bankruptcy.”

“The job is stable, the income is the problem.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any seafaring jobs available today. Now I notice you’re carrying a scythe. Perhaps something in the agriculture industry? There are some good opportunities in beekeeping and craft cheese.”

“I suppose, if that’s all you have. I just can’t take it anymore. Yesterday, someone came to the river and offered me Bit-coins to take him across. Now what am I supposed to do with those?” He jammed a bony finger to the desktop. “My family has real needs and I can’t feed them with virtual food, or put virtual clothes on their backs. I left the son-of-a-bitch on the shore, and sailed into the sunset.”

“I understand, now Mr. Charon, please fill out this form and we’ll circulate your résumé among the agricultural community. We’ll have you milking cows or spinning honey in no time at all.”

She raised her flag back up and the speaker called the next candidate.

**oo**

If you’ve enjoyed my Macabre Macaroni this year, tell someone. It really helps bloggers out, particularly authors. My newest book, The Experimental Notebook of C. S. Boyack, offers a selection of micro-fiction and short stories. It’s priced at 99¢ and there is bound to be at least one story in there to enjoy.

Back on the Soapbox

My bachelor weekend is almost over. I went to the writing cabin early with a few goals in mind. I want to make some headway on the next Dresden Files novel, and to edit more of Arson.

My main character in Arson is a firefighter who loses everything. Others take control to help guide him. He’s at the point where he must stay the course to see some kind of Justice served, even if he doesn’t have all the skills he needs. It’s a point of no return. He’s my afternoon plan.

I settled into my office and Lisa* brought round some coffee and mini muffins. I dug into Harry Dresden with relish. There’s just something about winged monkeys throwing flaming poo, you know.

I found myself rereading sections. It isn’t Butcher’s fault, he a great writer. I was distracted. I had a conversation with my daughter yesterday that stuck in my gizzard.

“Lisa! Bring me the soapbox,” I yelled.

“Right away, boss. It’s in the basement,” she said.

Her rushed steps reverberated through the cabin as she left her upstairs room and rushed to the basement. She tromped in wearing heels, those tight knee length jeans, and a bathrobe.

“Don’t you put the shoes on last?” I asked.

“No. Nobody taught me any protocol on how to get dressed. You’ve never complained about my work attire.”

“Good point.”

She placed the soapbox in the middle of the office floor and went to finish dressing.

Here I go again

My daughter is 20 years old. She hasn’t been in the workforce that long, but she still has the first job she ever had, and has worked as many as three places at once. She holds three jobs, she doesn’t work them at the same time. She’s the kid who comes to work; rain, snow, piss or blow. She pulls extra shifts and covers people who call in sick. These are mall jobs, and she’s set a few sales benchmarks at a couple stores. In other words, she’s a good employee.

She’s into clothes and cosmetics. She’s starting beauty school in a couple of weeks. When she found out that Lush cosmetics was opening a store here she was manic.

She called them and explained how she’d been ordering their products for years and loved them. She’s very familiar with their line and can talk knowledgeably about it. They made an appointment for an interview, and for a sales lead job too.

She got dressed and fixed herself up for the appointment. It turned out to be a group interview. She said that’s kind of common in retail, but was shocked to find twenty people there. She said there’s usually about five. Lush held three such sessions that day too.

They started off by asking if anyone knew anything about Lush cosmetics. She said it turned into some kind of Jerry Springer fiasco with everyone shouting over everyone else. She doesn’t play that game and sat patiently, and professionally.

They wanted them to split into groups. One group had to role play between customer and salesperson, while the rest of that group critiqued what they saw. She said the critiques were catty and insulting.

She wound up in the drawing group. They were told to draw a picture of how they were feeling today. The drawings were going to be presented and critiqued too. Then the groups were going to switch. She doodled on her page for a bit and walked out. They asked what she was doing and she told them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

She explained it to me this way. There is no situation where any sales people are going to have to draw while on shift. She knows it’s an assessment tool, but it proves nothing. It doesn’t show salesmanship, knowledge, or work ethic. The role playing had a smack of reality TV, including being booted off the island. She felt like the human beings who showed up were being made to dance like puppets on a string.

I don’t know about you, but I’m open to new ways of doing things. I appreciate that getting through about 60 or so applicants might require some creativity. Isn’t that what resumes and applications are for? Interview the ten or so that look the best on paper.

Assess their skills using some role playing. The interviewer can play bad customer. I just don’t get it.

I’m sure Lush will open on time, and stock their shelves with products my daughter genuinely loves. They’ll have a full sales staff of extroverts who love attention, and possibly a lot of drama based upon what my daughter saw.

What they won’t have is one introvert who’s a lot like her old man. They won’t have the kid who loves the product and uses it herself. They won’t have the girl who set a few sales records. They won’t have the dedicated employee who goes to work despite the weather, bloating and cramps, and last minute invitations from friends.

I don’t get it at all. This reality competition interview process should have failed at the beta stage. I’m sure they’ll land a few decent employees, but I doubt they’ll get all that many. In around 13 years American Idol managed to find two legitimate stars. They only went through about a billion hopefuls to do it.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest, I’m back to my scheduled plan.

* Lisa is the main character in Wild Concept. She’s a robot and works for me at the writing cabin these days.