Humancorp Incorporated Read online

  Section B: Build yourself up. Play up your strong points, acknowledge your faults, and show willingness to improve when the interviewer discusses your weaknesses, and whatever you do, don’t argue with your interviewer, tell him that you want his job in five years, or kill him and hide his body in a closet. These are big no-no’s, and many companies look unfavorably on them because employees who are not willing to acknowledge their faults or argue with their interviewers come off as self-centered, stubborn, and not team players. Killing your interviewer is frowned upon because many interviewers do not monetize violence, or may even have policies against violence in the workplace, and your interviewer remaining alive will generally, but not always, facilitate a successful end to the interview process. If you have to kill your interviewer, hiding his body in a closet is one of the worst choices at your disposal, because it betrays a lack of imagination and initiative on your part. Successful job applicants will generally hide their interviewers’ corpses in unexpected places, like potted plants, air ducts, or underneath tiles. Choices like these will show your prospective employer the value you can bring to the company as a murderer.

  Section C: Calm! Many inexperienced applicants will panic during a job interview, particularly after killing the interviewer and realizing that there are no good places to hide the body. Panicking is one of the most destructive things you can do during an interview. Don’t. If you don’t feel comfortable in a job interview environment, ask friends or family members to quiz you on your qualifications, or apply for several jobs you don’t actually want to give you an opportunity to practice your interview skills. Remember to tell your practice interviewers that you don’t actually want the job and are just doing this for practice. They’ll appreciate your candor, and this will remove the tension from the interview, giving you a relaxing practice session.

  If that doesn’t help, there are other ways to battle panic and stage fright. Fortunately, panic is all in the mind, so you can remain calm through a handful of tried-and-true relaxation and meditation techniques. Clear your mind of all thoughts. Try not to think about the ruinous consequences of failing to get the job. Try not to reflect on your massive credit card debt or your mounting and overdue rent or your starving children and spouse who will die horribly if you’re not able to provide for them. Forget all that. Just relax and think about something relaxing, like ponies. Yes, nice, relaxing ponies. Ponies are pretty, aren’t they? Incidentally, did you know ponies cost at least $1000 up front and another $1000 every month in stabling fees? You can’t afford that, can you? No, you can’t! My god, just think of it! You’d be ruined! And all for a damn horse that doesn’t even like you! Whoops, wait, okay, don’t think about that. Just relax. Relax. There we go. If you remain relaxed throughout your interview and don’t panic, you may well be able to snag the position.

  And if all else fails to relax you, a few bottles of hard liquor should do the trick.

  So to recap: Remain calm throughout the interview, don’t kill your interviewer and hide his body in a closet, and above all else, smile!”

  Sean hadn’t been reading the document that closely because the motion of the cart was making him sick and he was therefore a bit busy retching over the side. He’d only really managed to get through the first section or so.

  Meanwhile, the donkey seemed to be picking up pace. It went from an amble to a trot to a gallop to a sprint, and the cart was now bounding down the highway at unlawfully great speed, weaving between lanes and scraping the paint off of nearby cars. The cart driver had stopped whipping it; the donkey was steering now.

  As his responsibilities diminished, the cart driver relaxed.

  “So you’re going to see Dinero, right?” he asked Sean.

  Sean nodded.

  The driver reached into his waistband and pulled out a large, heavy, high caliber pistol and handed it to Sean.

  “Take this,” the driver said. “You might need it if you decide you want to do society a favor and kill that bastard.”

  “No thanks,” Sean said. “The advice I just read said you shouldn’t kill your interviewer. Besides, I don’t think I should kill any more people than I already have.”

  “Suit yourself,” the driver said with a shrug, and tucked the pistol back into his waistband.

  Sean felt his motion sickness subsiding as he looked out over the freeway, as the madly charging Humancorp Turbodonkey hauled him rapidly away from the rising sun.

  “Where are we going?” Sean asked, realizing, all of a sudden, that he didn’t know. “Where is Humancorp anyway?”

  “A place only accessible by donkey,” answered the cart driver. “California.”

  And so, with the sunrise at his back, a donkey before him, and a drunk homeless-looking guy at his feet, Sean leaned back and careened recklessly towards his job interview with destiny.

  Chapter 4

  California is widely considered one of the fifty nicest, and dare I say, greatest states in the Union. From the sweeping majesty of the Sierra Nevada mountains in the east, to the loose morals of the city of San Francisco in the west, to the even looser morals of the halls of power and government in Sacramento in the center, there are literally endless places to hide an inscrutable megacorporation. It therefore shouldn’t surprise anyone that Humancorp is based in California. The turbodonkey that was guiding them careened haphazardly off of the freeway and steered them, at very high speed, into sparsely populated foothills in the shadow of the mountains, and there, while prodding the homeless guy with his foot, Sean caught his first glimpse of Humancorp Incorporated.

  A series of jutting skyscrapers, all shiny steel and chrome, and dotted with thousands of sky-blue windows, rose up into the sky before them. They were tall, very tall, seemingly so high that they might have touched the clouds, although they didn’t. Lower to the ground, there were huge buildings in a series of awe-inspiring geometric shapes - long circles, spheres, and toruses, blocky prisms and pyramids. However, despite the diversity in their shapes, they were all similar, somehow. They had a uniformity in their designs, and the shiny steel and windows eventually became so monotonous that the eye started to slide off of them. Sean goggled at them, but these huge buildings which made up the Humancorp corporate campus weren’t the only things for him to see. At the foot of the buildings, inside of barbed wire fences surrounded by armed guards and barking dogs, were a series of grubby shanties and tents, but they weren’t close enough for Sean to make out much in this sea of huts. He saw a few flashes of red flame and glints in the late morning sun before the donkey sped them quickly past.

  The cart careened through a massive metal gate of twisting wire and stopped on a grassy lawn at the foot of the largest of the many towers that dotted the Humancorp skyline.

  “Here it is,” the cart driver said. “Corporate headquarters. End of the line. Everybody out. Do not tip the donkey.”

  He whacked the sleeping homeless man, who sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily.

  “Hey, buddy,” the cart driver said severely to the homeless man. “Last stop. Out. I don’t want any trouble, now.”

  Muttering unintelligibly to himself, the homeless man burped on his filthy, matted beard, scratched himself under his rags, then hopped out of the cart, stumbling and tilting unsteadily as he went. As he did, something dropped out of his pocket and onto the ground. It was, Sean realized, a corporate ID card. Sean reached down and scooped it up.

  “Hey mister,” he called to the homeless man. “You forgot this!”

  Sean waved it after him, but the homeless man had already lurched off and disappeared. Sean frowned at the ID card.

  It bore a picture of the wild-eyed homeless man and said, “Bob Mullins - Executive Vice President of Worldwide Operations.”

  Sean stared at it.

  “You might as well keep that,” the cart driver said as he hopped off of the driver’s perch and started to feed the turbodonkey with treats from his pocket. “Give it back to him the next time you see him.”


  “Don’t you have a lost-and-found?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to give it to them,” replied the driver. “They’ll lose it.”

  Shrugging, Sean pocketed the badge. He probably would have stolen it anyway. Looking up at the huge gleaming buildings before him, he wondered where he should go.

  “Dinero’s office is this building, top floor,” the cart driver said, pointing to the huge building that jutted into the sky before them. “Ignore the rest of these. They’re all just decoys.”

  “Decoys?” Sean repeated in confusion.

  “The CEO’s paranoid. You’ll see what I mean soon enough,” the driver said, waving. “Good luck to you with your interview. Don’t let the corporation get any money off of you. Anyway, I can’t stick around and chat. I’ve got to file a report on the trip with my supervisor.”

  He grabbed a clipboard off of the cart, scribbled a few details on it, and then signed it and offered it to the donkey.

  The turbodonkey neighed at him and knocked it out of his hands into the grass.

  “Man, you are the worst boss ever, you know that?” the cart driver told the donkey grumpily. “Just sign the damn thing for once! We used to be equals!”

  Sean raised an eyebrow, then started inside the building.

  The Humancorp reception lobby was very different from the building’s exterior. It was completely vacant, and there were no other people in the room. The floor was cream-colored tiles, and the walls were wooden, possibly oak or rosewood. A few comfy couches in soft pink sat at one side or another of the lobby, and in the center of the room were a pair of elevators, shooting up into the ceiling. There was no reception desk or check-in, but as Sean entered, a mechanical voice started to play.

  “Welcome to Humancorp Incorporated,” said the soothing, female voice. “Humancorp thanks you for your visit and your interest in our company, but reminds you that loitering in the lobby carries a $5 per minute per person per organ surcharge unless you can justify your visit as value-added to the company.”

  Sean hurried forward to the elevator and started to mash the ‘up’ button.

  “Oh, you’re not getting away that easily,” the voice said pleasantly. “The elevator is for employees only.”

  Rushing over to the doors, Sean tried to open them, but found them locked.

  “There is no escape,” continued the amiable voice. “Don’t worry. We will release you once we have judged your bank accounts to be adequately drained. The Security Department is otherwise committed at the moment, but will be along eventually to ensure payment.”

  Sean darted back over to the elevators. He had noticed a little card slider by the door. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out Mullins’ ID and slid it through the reader. It flashed green.

  There was a pause.

  “Identity verified as EVP Mullins,” the voice said. “Apologies, Mr. Mullins. We should have recognized you by your foul odor. Please have a nice day, but as always we request you stay outside of smelling distance of our offices.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Sean paced inside. There were lots of buttons, and the floor numbers went up higher than he could count. Sean jabbed the very highest one. Doors swinging shut, the elevator suddenly careened radically upwards, yard after yard, floor after floor, with such massive acceleration it might have been a turbodonkey. Sean was practically flattened by the speed until finally it reached the top floor and opened with a ding.

  “Welcome to the top floor, Mr. Dinero’s office,” said the mechanical voice from the top of the elevator. “The Humancorp Headquarters building manager wishes to remind you that the cost of this elevator ride will be deducted from your paycheck.”

  Sean managed to gather himself together and stagger out. Then the doors slammed shut behind him.

  Before Sean was a setting much like the lobby, except a huge, hardwood door loomed large in front of him. The words “Richard Dinero,” were plastered across it in large, sweeping, and disgustingly sans-serif golden letters. Obviously, whoever used this office thought he was very important indeed, which he probably was, because he was the CEO. Sean marveled at the big letters, awestruck by the font choice for a few minutes, before approaching the door and loudly knocking. A nearby wall clock showed it was exactly 11 AM as he did.

  From inside the office, there was the loud sound of an interrupted snore, then some quick shuffling, like Dinero had just woken up.

  “Come in,” he shouted. “Door’s unlocked!”

  So Sean opened the door and walked inside.

  Chapter 5

  Sean cautiously advanced into the office.

  It was immense. The huge, sweeping expanses of the office defied description, unless you were to call it really, really big, which I will. It was really, really big. While patches of the floor were marble tiles, much of the room was also carpeted with a greenish meadow color that did not at all complement the hardwood walls. There were multiple windows and, Sean noticed, a strangely large number of mirrors. Portraits and pictures, Monets and Da Vincis, hung from the walls, and strange metal contraptions and sculptures sat on pedestals around the room, giving it more of a feeling of a gallery than an office, but an office it was. Not far from the door, there was a desk where a thin woman in glasses sat hunched over behind a computer screen, irritably cross-checking something on her screen with a long list of numbers in a handwritten ledger. She took no notice of him.

  Sean started towards her happily, but as he did, he caught sight of a second desk. It was much larger and stately, centered in the room left-to-right, but placed towards the back, so that any visitor would have to make a long walk down the aisle of contraptions and sculptures to approach its occupant. Its occupant was a tall green-eyed man wearing a dark suit jacket and slacks. His hair was blond and possibly dyed, and swept back over his head in a way that made Sean think it must have been gelled. His face was handsome, and he looked fairly young, impossibly young to be the CEO of this large company. He was leaning back in the chair, yawning, his feet up on his desk which was otherwise completely empty but for a few executive desk toys.

  This, Sean assumed, was Richard Dinero. Dinero had yet to catch sight of him.

  Quickly, Sean felt a wave of panic wash over him. Sean slumped into a corner where Dinero was unlikely to be able to see him, took his job interview advice out of his bag, and reviewed the contents. What were those tips again? Right. Stay positive, friendly, and smile. Play up your strengths but acknowledge your faults, don’t argue with your interviewer and don’t shout at him, don’t panic, and don’t kill him and hide his body in a closet.

  Sean read these over two or three times and nodded. Right. Smile. Smiling came very naturally to Sean because it tended to distract people from whatever he happened to be doing at the time. Sean conjured up a big smile, straightened the golden pin on the lapel of his jacket, put his interview tips away, and turned the corner to approach Dinero’s desk.

  Dinero was busy taking a few swigs out of a bottle, but he caught sight of Sean and lifted his feet off his desk as Sean approached.

  “Hi,” Dinero said. “Take a seat.”

  He kicked out a chair for Sean to sit in.

  “Thanks,” Sean said, then immediately tripped over his own feet and fell face-first into the floor.

  Bad start.

  “Whoops,” Sean said, rising and smiling sheepishly as he sank into the chair.

  “Not to worry,” said Dinero, bearing a much more genuine smile. “I find it very funny when job applicants injure themselves to try to get a job. Now, let’s get this interview started.”

  He reached into his desk and took out what Sean knew to be the letter Sean had sent - Sean knew it was his because he recognized the crayon writing across the front.

  “You are Sean Gregory Woods?” asked Dinero, leafing through the crumpled-up sheets of paper.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Mr. Woods - or Sean, can I call you Sean? Of course I can. Anyway.” He clasped his hands together and le
aned forward. “I would like to begin our little chat by impressing upon you that I am very, very rich. It’s extremely important to me that you understand this. I am much, much richer than you are, or ever will be.”

  “Okay,” Sean said, maintaining his smile.

  “No, I don’t think you quite understand. Let me give you an example.” He turned in his chair and gestured to one of the paintings behind his desk. It portrayed a vast, beautiful, sweeping palace with the French tricolor hanging prominently in front of it, with fountains and gardens and elaborate 17th century architecture.

  “This is the palace at Versailles,” Dinero said, pointing to it somewhat lazily. “It was Louis XIV’s great palace, the better part of a million square feet. Versailles has 700 rooms, and is capable of hosting 20,000 people. The palace took more than fifty years to build, and was so expensive that it required the entire rents of French Canada over that period to pay for it. At that time, it was quite possibly the most beautiful and costly construction project in the entire world. Everyone in France knew about the palace at Versailles. It was a new wonder.”

  Dinero turned back to Sean and leaned forward.

  “I have three of them for my dog to poop in.”

  “Your dog must be very well-off,” Sean said politely.

  “He is,” confirmed Dinero, leaning back in his chair. “My dog is richer than your whole extended family. In fact, my dog is one of the richest people in the world. That’s one of the reasons I enjoy his company. You see, when you’re as rich as I am you tend to prefer the company of other rich people, because any poor people or dogs you might encounter are always asking you for money... but I digress. The point is that I am very, very rich. Let me give you another example.”