"So 11am will work for you?" the bank teller asked. "I know it may be a bit of an inconvenience for a morning interview, but that's when our manager Mr. Homes will be free."
"No, not at!" Greg said.
"No? 11am won't work?" replied the teller.
"No! It will!"
"With Will? Will doesn't actually work here anymore ever since that incident with the salamander and the coffee pot. But I suppose I could give him a call and see if he'd like to interview you. I wonder what he's up to these days. You know, this one time Will and I met up with this woman who, well let's just call her a professional, and we-"
"No!" Greg interjected before he found out a little too much about a potential coworker. "I mean, yes, 11am is fine; No it's not a problem."
"Oh good! Well then we look forward to seeing you at 11am Mr. Miller. The manager that is, not Will. Maybe Will. We'll see after I call him. And please remember, business professional."
"Looking forward to it." Greg said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic to end the conversation. He hung up and immediately set an alarm on his phone. 7am would do. That would give him plenty of time to wake up, have a rich and fulfilling breakfast, get dressed and beat any traffic he might encounter along the way.
[[Part 2]]
He walked to the kitchen and prepared toast, eggs, and coffee for the morning. That way he could simply turn it all on with the push of a button and still go about his morning routine. After that, he headed to the bedroom to lay out his suit, looked over his resume one last time, and fed his dog Ruby.
This sequence of events held about as much excitement as one might find watching a wall of paint dry. And the paint is grey. But Greg had learned early in his life that it was important to be organized. It was one of the few lessons his father had ever taught him. He could still remember it as if it were yesterday.
"Son," his father wheezed from behind an oxygen mask. "Life's a bitch and then you die." Then he died.
While not the exact lesson he was trying to bestow upon his son, Greg learned from his father's untimely death that, had his father been more organized, he may not have sent flowers meant for his wife to his mistress by mistake. He also learned that the security at his father's office was rather lax when it came to firearms.
With everything ready for the morning, Greg set his alarm and went to sleep.
[[Wake Up]]
Greg slowly opened his eyes and rolled towards his side table to shut off his alarm. The smartphone was emitting calming sounds of the jungle. A tree frog bellowing from atop a rain soaked leaf. Off in the distance the call of a toucan echoed through the trees. Two chimpanzees were making what could only be described as particularly violent mating sounds. Such a peaceful way to wake up. He looked at the time.
9:54am.
Fuck!
[[Leap Out of bed]]
[[Get up normally]]
Greg launched himself out of bed, only to immediately trip. Apparently his first meeting of the day would be with Mr. Carpet and his beloved wife, Madame Concrete Foundation. Greg made this appointment on time and with a muffled thump.
He pulled himself up, untangled the sheet from between his feet and made his way to the kitchen only to be greeted with barking.
Ruby ran to his side whimpering and tracing figure 8s at his feet. The noise and dizzying movement did little to help his throbbing head.
[[Let Ruby Outside]]
[[Take a shower first]]
Greg took a deep breath. He could do this in an hour, he was sure of it. He untangled himself from the bed sheets and made his way into the kitchen. He still had time for everything, he just had to stay organized and focused.
Waking up late had stolen his appetite. Instead, he made his way to the shower. The hot water and billowing steam helped calm his nerves. He just needed to get dressed and he'd be on his way. Short of an act of god or, I don't know, some sort of cruel narrator, he would make it in time for his interview.
Fortune smiled on Greg that morning. After a rocky start, he had made it to the interview on time. He looked over his resume as he waited.
"Greg?" The voice belonged to a surprisingly short man dressed in a three piece suit. Thick glasses sat atop his bulbous nose and he wore his hair, what little remained that is, in a comb over style. Greg was certain that the only person he was fooling with that hair was himself. "Hi, I'm Fred Homes. We spoke on the phone. You all set?"
"Hello! Yes, I'm ready. Very nice to meet you sir." Greg followed the man down the hallway to his office. Mr. Homes sat behind a desk that was far too large for him while Greg sat in a chair so small that it had to be intended for children. Greg sat as professionally as he could while his knees were up to his chin.
"I'm a very busy man Mr. Miller as I'm sure you are too. I am going to present you with an option," he stared hard at Greg which, due to the nature of their seating arrangement, made him feel like a child being scolded by a teacher. "I hate interviews. They are all the same thing: 'What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses?' Short of you answering with 'Kryptonite,' I've heard it all before. We can do the standard interview if you'd like, or, I can simply ask you some questions to get at the heart of your personality. Thoughts?"
[[Take Personality Questions]]
[[Standard Interview]]
Greg opened the sliding glass door and Ruby bolted outside making a beline for that notorious brown patch of the yard by the tree. Greg looked at the clock.
10:05am.
Did he have time for breakfast? It was all ready after all.
[[Start breakfast]]
[[Jump in the shower]]
He wasn't sure if it was the nerves of racing against the clock or that smack to the head from earlier, but Greg was starving. He threw on the eggs, started the toast and made some coffee. Some breakfast would help clear his head and then he could start his day right. He poured a cup, then made his way to the couch. He was certainly sleepy, but all that would change as soon as he got some caffeine in his system...
The room was dark. Why was the room dark? And what smelled like smoke? Was that why the room was dark?
*You're sleeping you moron!*
Greg's eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply. He immediately begin a violent coughing fit thanks to the thick smoke that hung in the air. He had passed out! Hadn't he? Wasn't there something important about falling asleep after a head injury?
*You're not supposed to!*
"Well there is no need to yell. When has that ever solved anything?"
*Are you honestly arguing with yourself? The house is on fire!*
"All I'm saying is that I think you owe me an apology."
*To who?! Are you fucking kidding me with this right now?*
"No I am not."
*Fine! I'm sorry! Now can you deal with the fire?*
"Wasn't so hard now was it?"
*Move already!*
Greg stumbled towards the kitchen. The toaster was billowing smoke and the blackened remains of the eggs were giving off an aroma of char and burning meat.
[[Throw it all in the sink]]
[[Throw it all outside]]
Greg decided not to risk it. He turned on the coffee pot and headed to the shower instead. Perhaps the combination of caffeine and a hot shower would help calm the aggravated hornets' nest that was his aching head.
10:20am
He would have to pick up the pace a bit, but this was fine. He was right on schedule. Well, right on schedule minus 2 hours, but this was not the time for complex algebra. He stepped into the shower and began rubbing his neck. His head was still ringing from that impromptu meeting with Mr. Carpet earlier. On top of that, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something.
*No man, you aren't forgetting anything.*
A chill went up Greg's spine. Who the fuck was that? Did he just hear someone say something?
*Well technically, no. I didn't actually say anything but yes, you did hear me.*
A little bit of pee made its way down Greg's leg and into the shower drain.
*Oh sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that. Don't worry, I'm you. You kinda knocked me loose with that fall you took. I'm basically a second you. Another part of you. The part you kinda keep at bay. But check it out, I can help you get shit done and take over whenever you want.*
Greg needed to call a doctor. He was hearing voices for Christ sake!
*Whoa, let's not do anything hasty man. I just got here! Listen, let me hang around for a bit. See if you like it. I promise I can be useful. Imagine only having to go to work two days a week? Hell I'll do weekdays and you can have weekends!*
[[Call the doctor]]
[[Let Second Greg Stay]]
10:07am
Ruby would have to wait just a little longer. Even without traffic he was cutting it close. He walked into the bathroom and started the water.
Greg exited the shower and looked at his phone.
10:20am
With no time left for breakfast, Greg walked into the bedroom and threw on his shirt. As he attempted to solve the rubix cube that was tying a tie, he could not help but detect the faint smell of urine.
That was odd. Had he forgotten to flush the toilet? He grabbed his slacks and began pulling them on. Perhaps there was a piping issue? Might be good to call a plum-
*Why are my pants wet?* He thought to himself
Ruby No! Bad girl! God damn it! a fresh stain with a yellow hue covered an entire leg of his pants.
[[Wear Jeans]]
[[Wear Tuxedo]]
It wasn't going to be perfect, but Greg supposed he rather look a bit more business casual than look like he wanted to ask the manager to prom in the hopes that he would put out later that night. Who knows, with how this day was going he may resort to that himself just to get the job.
Greg changed into his best jeans, grabbed his resume and headed to the car.
10:43am
[[Freeway]]
[[Surface Streets]]
Deciding that it was better to be over dressed than under, Greg donned his formal tuxedo. He may get a few curious glances thrown his way, but at least he looked spiffy. Best case scenario, he could say he had a wedding to go to later that day. Or he could say that he was just really into James Bond. Who cares? They way this day was going, so long as he wasn't assassinated by a Russian spy he would count it as a win.
He straightened his bow tie, grabbed his resume and made his way to the car.
10:43am
[[Take the Freeway]]
[[Take the Streets]]
Greg pulled out of the driveway and made his way to the freeway on ramp...
Only to immediately hit gridlock traffic. It was at this time that Greg felt like screaming.
So he did.
Greg finally drove into the bank parking lot at 11:26am. There was still time, right? *I just need to park.* A quick scan of the lot presented yet another problem on the merry-go-round of failure that was this day. There were no open spots. Well, there was one, a handicapped space right at the front of the building.
Did he really want to be that guy? There was almost no chance that he wouldn't be seen getting out of the car and *walking* uninhibited to the front door. But he was already late, and the next available parking lot was across the street.
[[Park in handicapped space]]
[[Park across the street]]
Greg was finally making good time until he rounded a bend where traffic came to a complete stop. An enormous section of the road was simply gone. In its place was a massive crater laying smack in the middle of the intersection like a beached whale. To his right stood a small construction crew who, based on their lack of movement, were apparently paid to simply stare at the obstruction rather than work towards repairing it.
Greg called to the nearest one.
"Excuse me sir!" The worker stood ridged, sporting a thousand yard stare and gazing off into the middle distance. "You. Sir!"
Nothing.
"The one with the sandwich. Hello? The man with the sandwich that's dripping onto his hand!"
This went on for several moments.
Maybe it was the ceaseless noise coming from the nearest car, maybe it was the feeling of spicy mayo making a lazy trail down towards the man's wrist. Maybe it was simply the word "sandwich." Whatever it was, eventually the construction worker woke from his living coma and turned to regard Greg.
"Yes you! What happened here?"
"There's a hole." the construction worker said in a voice completely void of emotion.
"Yes I can see that!"
"Then why'd you ask?"
"I mean what caused it? What happened here?"
The worker processed this question for a full minute. Greg knew it lasted that long because he kept looking at his watch.
"Well there wasn't a hole here before. But now, someone or *something* made one. Pretty much an open and shut case if you ask me."
"How is that an open and shut case?!" Greg yelled, nearing the edge of his patience for this day.
"Because there *is* a hole now."
"I know!"
"Then why'd you ask?"
Greg screamed.
[[Drive Through Park]]
[[Drive Over Curb]]
Greg pulled out of the driveway and made his way to the freeway on ramp...
Only to immediately hit gridlock traffic. *Why is there this much traffic? It's almost 11am!* It was at this time that Greg felt like screaming.
So he did.
[[Bank Parking Lot]]
Greg was finally making good time until he rounded a bend where traffic came to a complete stop. An enormous section of the road was simply gone. In its place was a massive crater laying smack in the middle of the intersection like a beached whale. To his right stood a small construction crew who, based on their lack of movement, were apparently paid to simply stare at the obstruction rather than work towards repairing it.
Greg called to the nearest one.
"Excuse me sir!" The worker stood ridged, sporting a thousand yard stare and gazing off into the middle distance. "You. Sir!"
Nothing.
"The one with the sandwich. Hello? The man with the sandwich that's dripping onto his hand!"
This went on for several moments.
Maybe it was the ceaseless noise coming from the nearest car, maybe it was the feeling of spicy mayo making a lazy trail down towards the man's wrist. Maybe it was simply the word "sandwich." Whatever it was, eventually the construction worker woke from his living coma and turned to regard Greg.
"Yes you! What happened here?"
"There's a hole." the construction worker said in a voice completely void of emotion.
"Yes I can see that!"
"Then why'd you ask?"
"I mean what caused it? What happened here?"
The worker processed this question for a full minute. Greg knew it lasted that long because he kept looking at his watch.
"Well there wasn't a hole here before. But now, someone or *something* made one. Pretty much an open and shut case if you ask me."
"How is that an open and shut case?!" Greg yelled, nearing the edge of his patience for this day.
"Because there *is* a hole now."
"I know!"
"Then why'd you ask?"
Greg screamed.
[[Drive on the curb]]
[[Drive through the park]]
It was with a resounding "Fuck it" that Greg parked in the handicapped space. With confidence seldom seen outside of Victoria's Secret runaway he strode up to the front desk.
"Hi, my name is Greg Miller and I am here for my 11am interview." He did his best to ignore the expression of mild contempt being shot his way by nearly everyone in the lobby.
"I'm sorry sir, but you can't park in a handicap space."
Greg attempted a disarming laugh. "Ha!" It was not convincing. "Well thank you. I will keep that in mind."
The receptionist stared at him. "Sir, you just parked there."
"Parked where?"
"In the handicapped space."
There was an awkward silence as Greg prepared his rebuttal carefully. "No I didn't." he lied.
"Sir, I just saw you. We *all* saw you. We have you on security cameras."
Greg's false smile slowly twisted into a look of fear as the flop sweat began beading on his forehead.
"I should go."
Greg pulled into the empty lot across the street, parked in the nearest available spot and sprinted towards the traffic light. He skidded to a full stop just as the friendly crossing man symbol was replaced by that obnoxious orange hand. He couldn't help but feel like that hand was holding up one middle finger towards him instead of a warning palm. At that moment all he wanted to do was punch that hand. Punch it right in its smug fuc-
A phone call interrupted his thoughts of petty revenge against an inanimate object.
"What?!" he barked.
"Uh, excuse me but is this Mr. Miller?" a stern voice replied.
"Yeah. What do you want?"
"Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes, the manager at the bank."
Greg's voice made the jarring shift from bubbling rage to feigned excitement. "Oh Mr. Homes! I'm so sorry! I am actually on my way to meet you now. I'm right outsi-"
"Actually Mr. Miller, let me stop you there. You are clearly a, 'busy' man who could not be bothered to show up here at our establishment at the agreed upon time. I'm sorry but we are moving forward with another applicant. Have a nice day."
A dial tone punctuated his last statement. Greg let out a long sigh. He spun on his heels and slowly made his way back to the car. Those few minutes walking would turn out to be the best part of Greg's day, as he was unaware that in his haste to get to the bank, he had locked his keys in his car.
As he drove into the parking lot, Greg found himself face to face with yet another problem along the parade of failure that was this day. There were no open parking spaces!
There was however a man standing to the side of the front entrance wearing a red vest. A sign by his foot read "Valet." Thinking it a bit odd that a bank would have a valet, he pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window.
"Excuse me sir, are you for the bank?"
"Not particularly. I believe banks are a corrupt institution. Keep all my money in a jar atop my fridge, so I do."
Greg stared at him for a moment.
"I mean are you the *valet* for the bank?"
"Oh! Er...yeah. Yes? Yes I am."
Greg continued to stare. "You seem uncertain."
"Certainly!"
"So you are not with the bank?"
"Which one?"
"This one! The one you are standing in front of!"
"Oh heavens no! I bank with Chase."
Greg wrung the steering wheel as he stifled a scream. "Listen. I have a job interview with this bank and I'm running a little late. I just want to know, are you a valet for the bank or do I need to park on my own?"
"I'd be happy to park your car for you sir."
[[Use the valet]]
[[Try to park it yourself]]
*To hell with it* Greg thought. Certainly the bank would not let someone stand out here all day like a lemon if they didn't work for them. He got out of the car and tossed the man his keys.
"Why does the bank have a valet?" he asked.
"Why are you wearing a tuxedo to a job interview?"
"Fair enough." Greg said and walked inside.
As he made his way through the glass doors, Greg realized he had left the copy of his resume in his car. He made a quick 180 degree turn and walked back outside just in time to see his car peel out of the parking lot and onto the street. Something told him he would not be seeing his car or the man in the red vest again unless it was in a suspect lineup at the police station. His phone rang.
"Hello?" he answered halfheartedly.
"Hello, Mr. Miller? Fred Homes here with Lehman Brothers. I'm calling to tell you we have a bit of an incident down here with a former employee. I am being told that he is attempting to steal cars. I don't quite know all the details but the point is, stay away from a man named Will. Also, I was hoping we could reschedule your interview for tomorrow."
Greg's gaze was fixed on his car as it crested the hill top and onto the highway.
Greg could smell the unmistakeable scent of metaphorical bs coming off this guy.
"I'll park it myself, thanks."
Greg drove across the street to the empty lot, parked in the nearest available spot and sprinted towards the traffic light. He skidded to a full stop at the corner and starred at the bank entrance. A masked man was running out the doors carrying a duffel bag spewing money into the air. He ran straight to the man in the red vest who was now sitting in a black sports car. Two armed officers came running out of the bank, weapons drawn. The masked man dove into the open top of the sports car as the officers opened fire. The car screeched as it pulled out of the parking lot and up the street right.
To Greg's great misfortune, the two robbers stopped right in front of him as the masked one reoriented himself right side up in the seat. Also to Greg's misfortune, the officers rounded the corner just in time to see him, a man in a tuxedo standing calmly next to two armed robbers and their getaway vehicle. They opened fire as the sports car sped down the road.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 12:40pm.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes, the hiring manager here at Lehman Brothers bank. We want to sincerely apologize for our security officers shoot in your direction. Apparently from their angle you looked like some sort of Bond villain mastermind! Can you believe that? Any who, we are happy to hear that their aim is as bad as their security detail. Hope the arm heals up soon. We'd love to reschedule as soon as you are feeling better. All the best!"
Two of the wheels on Greg's 2009 Honda Civic lurched onto the curb. He drove along the sidewalk, past the line of cars still waiting for their chance to get on with their day.
*I can still make it!* he thought to himself as he sped lopsided around the corner. The bank was within walking distance now -
A small semi smashed into the side of his car. The Honda Civic spun violently in a circle until the momentum took hold of it, and the vehicle rolled over several dozen times. The shattered wreckage of the car finally rolled to a stop at the entrance to the bank. Greg slowly unbuckled and stepped out of the car. His tuxedo was covered in glass and a fair amount of blood, but he seemed not to notice. He limped to the bank and right up to front desk.
"Yes, my name is Greg Miller and I have an interview with Mr. Fred Homes at 11. I want to apologize for being late," He paused. "And for bleeding on his floor. Could you give him a call for me?" and with that, Greg passed out.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 12:54pm.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes with Lehman Brothers Bank. I heard about your accident and how you passed out in the lobby. I've gotta say you impressed us. You displayed exactly the kind of 'never give up' attitude we like here at Lehman Brothers. Plus we actually have a pretty big James Bond fan club here in the office and, I'm not gonna lie, the tux definitely helped your application. We'd like to offer you the position and we thought you could start as soon as you are out of the woods for possible brain damage. We hope to hear from you soon!"
Greg slammed his foot onto the accelerator as he yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. His car jumped the sidewalk and sped down the grassy park hill. Families and pets dove out of the way as the car rocketed down the slope set on a head on collision with the brightly colored jungle gym. Greg tried to turn out of the way and instead go up over the side in an attempt to cut through the park.
It was at this time that Greg learned that movie stunt driving is a poor imitation of real life.
In a last ditch effort, he opened the door and leaped from the moving vehicle.
It was at this time that Greg learned that actually performing a "tuck and roll" maneuver was far more difficult than action movies had lead him to believe. The world became a blur of tuxedo, grass, dirt and limbs that were definitely NOT supposed to bend that way. He landed facing the tangled wreckage of steel that was once his car.
It was at this time that Greg learned that, as impractical as it may be, sometimes cars can explode after an accident.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 12:54pm.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes with Lehman Brothers Bank. We heard about your accident after your nurse contacted us per your request. While we wish you well in your recovery, we regret to inform you that we cannot offer the position to those who have attempted vehicular manslaughter or to those who had a role in the destruction of public property. Something about 'corporate policy' apparently. Come to think of it, that's the same line they fed Will. Speaking of Will, I would like to put you in touch with him. He currently works as a stunt performer in Hollywood and he saw your accident on YouTube. He thinks he might have a job for you. He also said that the tuxedo was a nice touch. Very much a James Bond vibe."
Two of the wheels on Greg's 2009 Honda Civic lurched onto the curb. He drove along the sidewalk, past the line of cars still waiting for their chance to get on with their day.
*I can still make it!* he thought to himself as he sped lopsided around the corner - only to have small semi smash into the side of his car.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 12:54pm.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes, the hiring manager here at the bank. We heard about your accident after your nurse contacted us per your request. I've gotta say, you impressed us sir. Quite the display of initiative and daring! That's exactly the kind of attitude we look for here at Lehman Brothers! We'd like to offer you the position. We thought you could start as soon as you learn to walk again."
Greg slammed his foot onto the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. He wasn't trying to run the man over, but if that happened he would just consider it as a consolation prize. His car jumped the sidewalk and sped down the grassy hill of the park. Families and pets dove out of the way as the car rocketed down the slope set on a head on collision with the brightly colored jungle gym. Greg tried to turn out of the way to instead drive up and over the side and cut through the park. It was at this time that Greg learned that movie stunt driving is a poor imitation of real life.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 12:54pm.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes the hiring manager here at the bank. We heard about your accident after your nurse contacted us per your request. While we wish you well in your recovery, we regret to inform you that we cannot offer the position to those who have attempted vehicular manslaughter or those who partake in the destruction of public property. Something about 'corporate policy' apparently. Come to think of it, that's the same line they fed Will. I should give him a call. Anyway, we wish you the best of luck on your job search. Hopefully you find one soon! I know medical bills can stack up quick! Have a nice day."
Greg slammed the sink knob over to full blast, then grabbed the frying pan and threw it under the stream. Steam leapt out of the sink with a sharp hiss as the cool water submerged the blackened food.
He then grabbed the toaster and hurled it into the running faucet.
*You didn't unplug it first, did you?*
"I did not."
*Fuck*
Electricity popped as sparks shot into the air, transforming the cheap toaster into an illegal street firework. A handful of sparks landed on the curtain on the window above the sink. Within an instant the fabric burst into bright yellow flames.
*This is not an improvement*
"I know!"
[[Fire Extinguisher]]
[[Bucket of Water]]
Greg grabbed the blackened frying pan and rushed to the sliding glass door. He pulled it hard to the side and in a panic, tossed the pan and burning eggs onto the backyard grass. Without stopping to see where it landed, he turned on his heels and bolted back into the house to grab the toaster that, at the moment, better resembled Mount Saint Helens than it did a device for cooking bread. He ripped the device out of the wall, ran out the back door and hurled it onto the yard.
Greg slumped into one of his patio chairs, took a deep breath of fresh, smoke free air, closed his eyes and tried to compose his thoughts.
He didn't know how long he was out or what time it was but there was certainly no way he was making it to the interview on time now.
*Do you hear that crackling sound?*
"Not now. We just solved one crisis. The next one can wait until tomorrow."
*No seriously. Do you hear that?*
The distinct sounds of a roaring fire could be heard coming from the lawn. He reluctantly opened his eyes. The scene that greeted him looked like it could have been a B-roll shot for *Apocalypse Now.*
[[Grab the hose]]
[[Grab a fire extinguisher]]
Greg flung the cabinets open and began digging beneath the sink like a dog convinced that this was where he had buried his favorite bone. Bottles of cleaning solution were dumped onto the floor and began pouring out onto the tile. Finally he found the fire extinguisher! It was still in the original box, but it was wrapped in layers of tape. Not just any tape mind you, but clear packing tape. The kind that was chemically engineered by scientists to fuse with cardboard on a atomic level.
*Who the hell tapes up a fire extinguisher?!*
He clawed at the box as the flames consumed the curtains. In moments they began to spread along the ceiling and down the wall. He couldn't get the damn thing open! In a desperate, final attempt he raised the box high above his head and smashed it repeatedly against the granite countertop.
BOOM
Greg slowly sat up on his elbows and looked around. The entire kitchen was caked in the thick layer of flame retardant foam. The blown out casing of the fire extinguisher laid in a heap to his left. The explosion made it look more like the half eaten carcass of a dead animal than a safety device. His head was ringing, but at least he no longer heard a second voice.
Did he?
No?
OK, all good then.
He slowly sat up and took his phone from his pocket. Before he could begin to call a fire department, he noticed he had a voice mail. He pressed play.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 10:40am.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes with Lehman Brothers Bank. I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience, but we were hoping we could reschedule your interview for tomorrow afternoon. We had a small fire in the break room kitchen and we have both the fire department and an IT team out here now. Please let me know if we can reschedule. Hopefully your day is going better than ours!"
Greg grabbed the biggest bucket he had went to fill it. The toaster was still sparking and sputtering in its final death throws. He certainly didn't want to catch one of those sparks while elbow deep in water. He threw the bucket to the ground and ran outside. Ruby was barking madly at the plumes of smoke now coming out of the back door. He could almost hear her yell at him in a human voice.
"Dude! The house is sick! It's spitting up smoke! You should do something! Also unrelated to that, have you seen the hole I dug?"
He grabbed the garden hose and ran back into the house like the world's most poorly equipped fireman. The flames had consumed the curtains and were now making their way along the roof and down the wall. Greg aimed at the floor and pulled the trigger on the nozzle. A torrent of - fine mist gently floated in the direction of the flames.
*Change the setting you idiot!*
Greg spun the dial from "Mist" to "Full Jet" and tried again. This time water splashed onto the wall and beat back the encroaching flames. By the time he was done, water was dripping from every inch of the kitchen ceiling and the floor was completely soaked in dirty hose water.
*Not bad for a moron.*
He reached into his pocket for his phone to call for an ambulance to deal with the annoying voice in his head. Before he could begin to dial, he noticed he had a voice mail. He pressed play.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 10:40am.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes with Lehman Brothers Bank. I hope this is not too much of an inconvenience, but we were hoping we could reschedule your interview for tomorrow afternoon. We had a small flood in the break room kitchen and we have both a cleaning crew and IT team out now. Things are going to be a bit of a mess here so please let me know if we can reschedule. Hopefully your day is going better than ours!"
He leapt out of the chair and made a mad scramble for the garden hose. In a heartbeat the flames had already spread across the entire length of the lawn and were making their way to the edge of the house. He raised the nozzle on the hose and pulled the trigger. A fine mist gently sprayed from the hose with a disappointing wheeze.
*Change the setting you idiot!*
Greg spun the dial from "Mist" to "Full Jet" and tried again. This time a torrent of water splashed onto the grass, smothering the flames and finally bringing an end to the nightmare. By the time he was done his yard looked like he was trying to turn it into a backyard mud wrestling ring. At this point he simply didn't care.
*Not bad for an idiot who almost burnt his own house to the ground with toast.*
He reached into his pocket for his phone to call an ambulance to deal with the annoying voice in his head. Before he could begin to dial, he noticed he had a voice mail. He pressed play.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 10:40am.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes with Lehman Brothers Bank. I hope this is not too much of an inconvenience, but we were hoping we could reschedule your interview for tomorrow afternoon. We had a small flood in the break room kitchen and we have both a cleaning crew and IT team out here now. Things are going to be a bit of a mess for a bit so please let me know if we can reschedule. Hopefully your day is going better than ours!"
Greg ran back into the house and slid in front of the sink cabinet like a baseball player in a desperate attempt to reach home plate. He flung the cabinets open and began digging with reckless abandon, flinging bottles of cleaning solution and spare sponges to the floor. Finally he found the fire extinguisher! It was still in the original box, but it was wrapped in layers of tape. Not just any tape mind you, but that clear packing tape. The kind that was chemically engineered by scientists to fuse with cardboard on an atomic level.
*Who the hell tapes up a fire extinguisher?!*
He clawed at it as the flames inched closer and closer to the house. He couldn't get the damn thing open! In a desperate attempt he ran outside, box raised high above his head and threw it into the middle of the inferno.
*You unbelievable ass! What good is that gonna do us now?! You could have at least tried a-*
BOOM
Greg was thrown back and knocked out. He woke to Ruby licking foam off the side of his face. He slowly sat up on his elbows and looked around. The entire lawn was caked in a thick layer of flame retardant foam. The blown out casing of the fire extinguisher laid in a heap at the epicenter of the blaze. His head was ringing, but at least he no longer heard a second voice.
Did he?
No?
OK, all good then.
He got to his feet and took his phone from his pocket. Before he could begin to call a fire department, he noticed he had a voice mail. He pressed play.
Voice Mail: March 9th at 10:40am.
BEEP
"Hello Mr. Miller this is Fred Homes with Lehman Brothers Bank. I hope this is not too much of an inconvenience, but we were hoping we could reschedule your interview for tomorrow afternoon. We had a small fire in the break room kitchen and we have the fire department out here now. Please let me know if we can reschedule. Hopefully your day is going better than ours!"
Suddenly Greg's left hand was pointed at his temple in the shape of a gun.
*Sorry man, but I can't let you do that. I'm finally free and I don't intend to go back in the box. Let's not make this ugly, ok?*
Was he really holding himself hostage?
*You're goddamn right you are! Now not another word! We are gonna get ready, we are gonna nail this interview, and then we are gonna talk about a shift schedule and what days each of us gets to be in charge of our body.*
Greg didn't have time to think.
[[Agree to the terms]]
[[Fight for the gun]]
"All right." Greg said with a strange calm to his voice. "Let's give it a shot."
*That's what I'm talking about! Now, what do you say you let me handle the interview? I guarantee I can land us that job. No, scratch that. I'll do us one better! Promise. What do you say?*
[[Let Second Greg run the interview]]
[[Do the interview yourself]]
Reluctantly, Greg agreed to Second Greg's terms.
*Good! Now let me take it from here.*
Then everything went black.
When the original Greg Miller finally woke up he was lying in a hospital bed with a respirator over his face. Everything hurt and it was hard to breathe. He raised up a hand to his face that he didn't recognize. It was old! Wrinkled and wracked with arthritis. Liver spots dotted the paper thin skin and varicose veins bulged across the top of his hand. He pulled the mask down.
"He's awake!" A host of strangers ran to his bed side.
"What's happening?" He stammered. He didn't recognize his own voice. "Where am I? What year is it?"
"It's 2068 Grandpa." A little girl no older than 5 with bright blonde hair and rosy cheeks stared at him with love in here big blue eyes. He didn't know who she was. "You've been asleep for a long time."
"What?!" he gasped in horror. The translucent futuristic heart monitor started beeping frantically.
*Yeah, sorry about that old man.* said Second Greg. *Turns out once I was in control, I kinda liked it. Didn't want to be around for this part though so I thought I'd give it back to ya, one last time.*
"What part?! What's happening?"
Silence.
"Hello? Hello?!" Greg couldn't breathe.
"We're right here Dad, its ok now." said the forty year old man to his left. The man who called him "Dad' may as well have been a stranger in line at the coffee shop.
"No this isn't fair! This isn't fair! We had a deal! You promised!" But now there was no voice answering back. Despite being surrounded by people, Greg was completely alone. His heart began racing. Why now? What was happening now? He deserved to know god damn it! It was his life and it was taken away! Greg's world slowly faded to black once again. This time it felt different. The heart monitor was screaming as a doctor and team of nurses rushed into the room.
There was nothing they could do.
Greg's right hand shot out, grabbing his left by the wrist.
*Oh, you want to fight for it huh? Fair enough!*
With a sudden burst of strength, his left hand lurched back towards his head, trying to get a clear shot at his temple. Greg pulled down hard, overextending his balance. He slipped on the slick shower floor.
BANG!
Greg heard a muffled shot as he hit his head against the side of the wall. At least he thought he heard it.
Didn't he?
*Well played you bastard. Looks like you win this onuckkk-ackk gack! Oh god my lungs! It's getting dark!*
The voice in his head struggled for breath between gasps of blood for a few moments, then there was silence.
Greg stood up and looked around. He felt strangely alone. He stepped out of the shower, and made two phone calls. One was to the bank to reschedule the interview. The second was for a mental health assessment.
*Alright! trust me, I got this one.*
And with that, Greg's world went dark.
When he woke up, he found himself dressed in a suit that easily cost more than a month's rent, sitting behind a desk in the penthouse suite of the corporate offices of Lehman Brothers Bank. The phone intercom buzzed.
"Sir, your two o'clock is here."
"Thank you Rebecca." he replied. How did he know her name?
*I told you I had this one under control man.*
"Are we-"
*President of the entire bank my friend! I said I'd take us places!*
"How did you do that?"
*You know, the usual tactics. Corporate espionage, some blackmail here and there, a few assassinations. The old business one, two punch!*
"You killed people?!"
*Weren't you listening? I hired other people to kill people. It's completely different. Don't tell me you're mad?*
Greg thought about it for a minute. Whatever they had done, they had clearly gotten away with it.
*That's the spirit!*
"Wait, how long did all that take? How long was I out?"
*About six months.*
Greg paused. "That's actually rather impressive."
*Like I said, I've got a plan for us. Just you watch.*
"I've got this one," Greg said, standing up a bit straighter. Something about having a little back up in life gave him a new sense of confidence. "After all, how hard could it be?"
It was harder than Greg thought. He walked out of the bank, shoulders slumped and head hung low.
*Why did you feel the need to complement his bald head? Why would you think that would be something he'd want to hear?*
"I panicked alright! It's been a bit of a trying day. And if you hadn't noticed, someone kept making odd sexual remarks about everyone who walked past us throughout the entire interview!"
*Well excuse me for indulging myself. Here, let me make it up to you. Let me take over for a bit and I promise you I will walk into that bank and when I come back out, we will be a lot happier than we currently are now. What do you say?*
Greg supposed it couldn't hurt. Besides, Second Greg was still a part of Greg. He wouldn't do anything too risky. Right?
The next time Greg woke up he was laying down on a worn mattress that smelled faintly of sweat and other body odors. He was wearing an orange jump suit with a number on the pocket. He sat up on his elbows and looked dead ahead.
Prison bars.
*Hey buddy! So, funny story.*
"You tried to rob the bank, didn't you?"
*Correction, WE tried to rob the bank. The dual personality bit alone knocked the sentence down by 10 years. Pooping in the courtroom cut off another 5!*
"God damn it."
"Let's try the personality questions," Greg answered, not sure if he had just passed the first test, or if he had condemned himself at the word go. "No need to waste our time, right?"
"Fair enough. Question 1: You are at a restaurant ordering food. The waitress has been getting everything wrong so far and you have to make sure the food is right in order to prevent a deadly allergic reaction. What color is her hair? Blonde or brunette?
[[Blonde]]
[[Brunette]]
Mr. Homes let out a long sigh as he slumped into his chair. From the angle of the children's seat, Greg could only see his eyes and the top of his head.
"Fine," he spat. "What would you say are your greatest strengths?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
While this certainly was unorthodox, Greg was determined to land this job.
"I believe that when it comes to the work place, I excel at-"
"OH MY GOD!" Mr. Homes shouted "I'm so bored!" He sat forward. "Have you seen *The Deer Hunter?*"
"Um, no but I-"
Mr. Homes slammed a revolver onto the desk.
"Here's what we are going to do," he said as he opened the revolver. He slid a single round into one of the chambers, spun it, flipped it shut, and placed the barrel against the side of his head. "Every time you bore me I'm going to pull the trigger. Either you will be interesting enough for me to want to hire you, or BANG! Sound good?"
Greg's eyes bulged as he starred at the madman behind the cartoonishly large desk. "You know what sir, I don't think this position is for me. I should probably just see myself out."
Homes pointed the revolver towards Greg. "Oh come now, sit down, sit down! You just got here!" He sounded as if Greg was trying to leave a dinner party early rather than trying to escape a room with someone who was clearly unstable. "If you can't handle a simple interview, I don't know how you expect to survive in this business." He produced a small glass vial. "Now do this blow with me and we can get started."
"Sir I'm not comfortable with-"
Homes pulled the trigger. A dull *click*, then nothing. Greg was certain that he had just peed a little.
[[Do the drugs]]
[[Don't do the drugs]]
"Blonde." Greg answered with confidence.
"Wrong, it's black and dyed blue. One of those damn hipsters that can't keep a job for more than a week without giving up and claiming unemployment. I told her not to get an Art degree, but does she ever listen to her father?!" He started scribbling notes furiously on the desk. It was too tall for Greg to see anything from his seated position.
"Question 2," he said without looking up from his notes. "On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday nights I partake in a Dungeons and Dragons get togethers. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I go to the movies, and on the weekends I play golf. With that in mind, when do I spend quality time engaging in carnal pleasures with my wife?"
Greg shifted uncomfortably in his miniature seat. Was this some kind of game? Why didn't he just take a normal interview? How was he supposed to answer this?
[[Weekend Nights]]
[[Weekday mornings]]
"Brunette." Greg answered with confidence.
"Wrong, it's black and dyed blue. One of those damn hipsters that can't keep a job for more than a week without giving up and claiming unemployment. I told her not to get an Art degree, but does she ever listen to her father?!" He started scribbling notes furiously on the desk. It was too tall for Greg to see anything from his seated position.
"Question 2," he said without looking up from his notes. "On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday nights I partake in a Dungeons and Dragons get togethers. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I go to the movies, and on the weekends I play golf. With that in mind, when do I spend quality time engaging in carnal pleasures with my wife?"
Greg shifted uncomfortably in his miniature seat. Was this some kind of game? Why didn't he just take a normal interview? How was he supposed to answer this?
[[Weekend Nights]]
[[Weekday mornings]]
"Sorry no. The correct answer is 'That's what I pay the pool boy for.'" he said with a disturbingly calm tone. "I don't even own a pool."
Greg stared with wide eyes at the man. Did he just get that one wrong or right? Was there even a right answer? He had the growing sensation that this was not going well.
"Last Question: Red or Blue?
[[Red]]
[[Blue]]
[[Fuck it, Green]]
"Sorry no. The correct answer is 'That's what I pay the pool boy for.'" he said with a disturbingly calm tone. "I don't even own a pool."
Greg stared with wide eyes at the man. Did he just get that one wrong or right? Was there even a right answer? He had the growing sensation that this was not going well.
"Last Question: Red or Blue?
[[Red]]
[[Blue]]
[[Fuck it, Green]]
Mr. Homes shook his head in disappointment.
"Damn. And you were doing so well." He rose from his chair and immediately disappeared behind the desk. After a few moments he appeared around the side. "I'm sorry Mr. Miller but it's just not going to be a good fit for us here at Lehman Brothers."
Greg walked back to the lobby confused. What exactly had just happened?
For quite some time Mr. Homes simply starred at Greg. For the first five seconds he thought it was an intimidation technique. For the following 30 seconds he thought he was being pranked. After a full minute Greg had pulled out his phone and started to call for an ambulance.
Slowly, a smile crept onto Mr. Homes' face. "A perfect score," he said, his head nodding enthusiastically. "I've never had anyone get a perfect score before! The best anyone ever got before you was a 5 out of 7."
"There were only three questions..."
"I'll draft up the paper work and send it to you via email. You can bring it in on Monday. I think you are going to be a great fit here at Lehman Brothers. Yep, you're Wall street material alright!"
Mr. Homes' eyes narrowed.
"Well played Mr. Miller. Well played indeed."
Greg, not knowing what else to do or even what was happening, met his stare and narrowed his eyes as well.
"Thank you?"
"You keep your mind on what's important: the green. The money. I'll draft up the paper work and send it to you via email. You can bring it in on Monday. I think you are going to be a great fit here at Lehman Brothers. Yep, you're Wall Street material alright!"
Greg inhaled sharply. The powder burned like someone had lit a firecracker off in his nose. Homes pulled a flask out of his breast pocket and took a swig. He offered it to Greg.
[[Drink]]
[[No Thank you]]
Homes pulled the trigger again. Another hallow *click*.
"God you are such a pansy! You can't be a total puss out there Greg! They're like a pack of wolves!" He was waving the pistol around as he spoke, pointing it at Greg, the wall, the lamp, then back at Greg. "Hungry wolves just waiting to tear you apart! You gotta show them whose boss!" He pulled the trigger.
*Click*
Mr. Homes starred at his desk in silence for a moment.
"I think my wife is sleeping with someone else."
After what little he had seen of this man, Greg was almost certain that was true. Still, no need to upset a man with a gun.
[[Don't think like that sir. I'm sure she has only been with you.]]
[[Well, have you been spending time with her lately?]]
Homes pulled the trigger again. Another hallow *click*.
"I knew it! 'No one can tell.'" she said. Last time I take the advice of a prostitute. Do you know how stressful this job is? Do you have any idea?"
"I'm beginning to get a sense of it, yes." Greg replied.
The phone on the desk rang only to be immediately answered with the roar of gunfire as Mr. Homes opened fire on the phone.
*Click. Click* BANG! The echo of the shot rang in Greg's ears as plastic and wood shrapnel flew across the room in every direction. Now he was certain that he had peed.
"Oh. Sorry about that," Mr. Homes said with a chuckle, still starring at the shattered remains of the phone that had frightened him. "I always get a bit jumpy when I drink."
"You know what sir, I want to thank you for your time but this job is just not right for me." Without another word Greg grabbed his things, stood out of the ridiculously small chair and made his way to the exit. No matter how well it paid, it simply was not worth this kind of crazy to work on Wall Street.
Homes looked at Greg through bleary eyes. He opened the desk drawer and placed the revolver neatly within.
"I like you Greg. You understand people. And you are smart enough to lie to someone when you know you can get what you want out of it! That's the kind of attitude we like here at Lehman Brothers." He held out his hand. "Welcome aboard!"
Greg shook the man's hand weakly as he wondered, if this was just the interview, then what was his first week here gonna look like?
Greg reached for the flask, but Homes' arm made a full swing around, passing his open hand and returned to the old man's lips. He took another drink. The scent of whisky lingered in the air and some of the brown liquid dribbled down the corner of his mouth. "Do you think people can tell I'm going bald?"
Greg wasn't sure whether he was still being interviewed or dealing with a desperate man's first steps into madness, but he thought it best to answer either way.
[[I mean...maybe a little bit...]]
[[Bald? You? Why would you say such nonsense?]]
"Good man. It's a bad habit to start drinking before noon."
He took another drink. The scent of whisky lingered in the air as some of the brown liquid dribbled down the corner of his mouth. "Do you think people can tell I'm going bald?"
Greg wasn't sure whether he was still being interviewed or dealing with a desperate man's first steps into madness, but he thought it best to answer either way.
[[I mean...maybe a little bit...]]
[[Bald? You? Why would you say such nonsense?]]
"Don't think like that sir. I'm sure she has only been with you." Greg said, hoping those wouldn't be his final words.
Homes looked up at him confused.
"Me? Of course not! That's what I pay the pool boy for. No, I think she is sleeping with our gardener. But if she is gonna do that, than why am I still paying for a pool boy every week? I don't even have a pool!"
Greg had no answer for this. Instead he simply sat and hoped that an opportunity for an escape would present itself soon.
"Do you think people can tell I'm going bald?" Homes asked.
Greg wasn't sure whether he was still being interviewed or dealing with a desperate man's first steps into madness, but he thought it best to answer either way.
[[I mean...maybe a little bit...]]
[[Bald? You? Why would you say such nonsense?]]
"Well," Greg considered his next words carefully. "Have you been *spending time* with her lately?"
Homes looked up at him confused.
"Me? Of course not! That's what I pay the pool boy for. No, I think she is sleeping with our gardener. But if she is gonna do that, than why am I still paying for a pool boy every week? I don't even have a pool!"
Greg had no answer for this. Instead he simply sat and hoped that an opportunity for an escape would present itself soon.
"Do you think people can tell I'm going bald?" Homes asked.
Greg wasn't sure whether he was still being interviewed or dealing with a desperate man's first steps into madness, but he thought it best to answer either way.
[[I mean...maybe a little bit...]]
[[Bald? You? Why would you say such nonsense?]]