Where to begin? It would take too long to explain the ins and outs of this new place I’m working for … so why even bother? I’ll just cut to the part that any sane human being can relate to.
First, the drive — it takes a year and a quarter just to get to work every day … if that even makes any sense. My right hamstring is stiff from shifting the thruster pedals during rush year traffic. I space walk for about a day to loosen up before walking into the office.
When I started there, Mr. Lafontaine hired a receptionist named Gidra to handle calls and do some minor clerical work. She had grown tired of doing stunt work for Godzilla, so she found a job at this far off place.
I don’t know — maybe Mr. Lafontaine liked Gidra’s work in the old Toho movies. He surely didn’t test her skills with a computer, or ask her if she had any relevant work experience!
I mean, just because she played a bandit in the Seven Samarais remake doesn’t mean she can file!
And … boy, could she talk! And not about the old days on the film set — that might have interested me, since I love movies.
Oh, no. All she could do was talk politics — about how bad a president George W. Bush was, and how his actions led to … man, it just infuriates me just thinking about it. I mean, there were other people alive at the time! There were senators who went along with Bush … there were other nations that could have done their part … it’s not all one man’s fault. That’s all I’m sayin’.
But not her — she railed against him for hours. She bragged about a paper she wrote about him in High School before moving to Japan to pursue a wrestling career.
“Wrestling? Wow, I love….”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
Of course not.
No. She would rather talk about humanity’s effect on the solar environment, who won Martian Idol, how funny Keith Obermann is after all these years (talk about a matter of opinion!)….
She was killed in a freak asteroid smash-up two months ago. Can’t say that I miss her. Sure, that’s mean — but so is talking to someone endlessly to the point they can’t think straight!
You know what her endless talking was? An injustice — a part of the endless cycle of injustice that is my life.
I mean, what could I do? Complain about her? Call the police? Come on! It’s not a crime to talk, especially in a casual atmosphere like this far off place. Heck, Mr. Lafontaine and his son, Angelo, joked with me about how she kept prattling on and on.
They really got a kick out of it.
Good for them.
You see? INJUSTICE.
The asteroid spared my brain … but I wouldn’t call it justice. I would call it winning the lottery, “Blind, random, doo-dah luck,” as an ancient movie character once said.