I am a vigilante in the city, fighting demons and vampires and politicians, when one day, on an anonymous tip that there is a gigantic underground ring of black market dealing going on---I move to Suburbia.
Business is low, however, and one day I wake up to realize my make-shift shelter has run out of its stock of bread and candy corn.
This is, however, understandable--I haven't had a real job since last summer.
I walk into town, feeling slightly less epic with a rumble in my superheroic belly, and decide to apply for work at the local supermarket-- and maybe sneak out some food in the process.
~ ......~
I shuffle into the interview office, happy and hopeful. The interviewer frowns as I hand him an application filled out mostly with the juice of wild beets I found on the way over. It is a little messy...
"You have very...interesting...credentials, Miss Moone." he frowns, adjusting his spectacles gravely. "You say your greatest talents are flight, telekinetic juggling, and witty one-liners. Is this true?"
"Well..." I fidget uncomfortably in the straight-backed wooden interview chair. "Witty one-liners, maybe not so much. I just put that on there because most superheroes are known for short and powerful comments, but really I'm more of an extended metaphor kind of person--"
"Do you have any actual skills in sales, or accounting, or cleaning? The position you are applying for specified a 'jack of all trades' willing to restock shelves, mop the floors, and take in the numbers when the janitors, movers, and accountants are away taking their many mandated vacations.... In short, you need to be able to manage every aspect of the store but still be subject to the criticisms of higher management. Do you think you can handle this?"
"Well...I really need this job, so of course I can take on a little extra work!"
"Great! Sign here, here, here and here. Just don't read the fine print. It leaves you feeling a little depressed."
I leave the interview with a huge smile on my face, thinking smugly how lucky I was that I actually got a job, and what little effort I had to put into it, too...Strange...
The realization of what I've gotten myself into only hits me later on. Yeah, it's a crapload of work- but what a great place to catch burglars!!!
Three weeks later, I am restocking the shelves at midnight, when the jingle-bells on the back door ring. There are jingle-bells because the supermarket is too cheap to buy locks and security systems. They get robbed quite often, or so the one other fellow on night shift tells me, but it doesn't cost them anything because all the goods are super-crappy anyways. The bells are just to let the workers know to get out of the way, to avoid any lawsuits posed by the obliteration of a worker by a masked bandit with a submachine gun, should the bandit get bored one night and decide to bring one....They pay all the workers off in handsome vacations, which are cleverly balanced to be under the amount it would cost to actually prevent robberies.
Phil (the other guy on night shift) slinks immediately away to his car, but I hunker down in the back amid stacks of Corn Puffins and Slinky Shoes to wait for the intruders...
But there is no bursting of the doors to reveal masked menaces. Instead, in walks a clerk in a grey suit, and several burly men in overalls behind him. The man in front consults a clipboard, then walks over to the Slinky Shoes stacked just to the right of my hiding place. He lifts each box in turn, and appears to be looking for some sort of marking on the sides. Those that have it, he tosses to the men behind him, who immediately start tearing into the boxes. Prying the shoes loose from their casings, they flip hidden catches in the soles, tossing out small grey bags of questionable nature into a larger velvet sack...
The store is in league with the black market dealers! No wonder they can afford to pay off their workers--they don't just sell cheap toys and plastic foods, they hide drugs and secret weapons in the "recall" boxes...serial numbers list the key, and as I sneak closer to peer over the clerk's shoulder, I can see that some of the items are things I didn't even know existed yet-- mind probes, matter replicators, rocket shoes, and more...
And then of course one of the henchmen finally notices my head peeking out from between the crates, and chaos ensues as they leap for me, snarling. I dash up the side of the wall and duck into the delivery van that's just backed up to the door. The driver turns with astonishment but I leap forward and knock him away from the wheel. Then I remember that I don't know how to drive yet and hand it back to him, only to realize that it has come off the steering apparatus...
Men scatter out of the way as the truck careens backward, and to my horror, a giant pile of Rocket Shoes looms in the rear-view mirror. Thinking fast, I grab the driver's waist and break out of the side door, propelling us toward the open sky beyond the warehouse door....
The other henchmen are already running for cover, and I am thankful that the delivery truck was going slowly, since it was in the process of backing carefully in. We all end up diving behind the same van, since it's the only other thing in the parking lot. The villains' back-up vehicle, in case the police ever manage to do something productive about catching the other one. A few more moments of silence ensue.
"Nice van," I say, trying to make small-talk while we wait for the inevitable explosion. The truck is painted like a hippie van to disguise its nefarious intentions, but I have to admit that, though clever, it feels slightly ludicrous to be hiding behind it in this particular situation.
"Thanks," one of the overalled men barks gruffly. "It was Cleo's idea." He thumbs over his shoulder at the thin man in ragged jeans. Cleo grins and says, "I always wanted to be a muralist--"
And then the world tears apart.
The storage warehouse explodes in a ball of pent-up shoe fury, and the superstore, since connected, catches as well, apparently being made out of quite cheap and flammable material. Bits of plastic toys rain to the ground softly, lit by the night lamps on the street.
We all applaud the reaction as well worth the wait, then I offer to take the gentlemen out for ice cream, and we crowd in the van. While I whisper directions into the clerk's ear, the henchmen start up a rousing song, and together we drive out of the story and Suburbia...
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