C ome L ate A nd S tart S leeping

H alf O f M y E nergy W asted O n R andom K noledge

S ix C ruel H ours O f O ur L ives

“Ms. Willams, you don’t understand! I need this job, nobody else has hired me and I am on the verge of losing my apartment unless I get this job.” I begged with tears in my eyes.

Ms. Williams looks around the room before meeting my eyes and whispers, “Okay, I will give you this job if you give me those gorgeous red Wendy Chu stilettos you are wearing. I know they are worth at least 20,000 dollars.” Without hesitation, I take off my shoes and hand them over to her. She extends her hand to me and I place my hand in hers to shake.

“You start on Monday at 0700 on the dot, don’t be late! I like my tea with honey, and a swirl of cinnamon. It has to be made in that teapot on the corner desk at exactly 07:04. Not a minute earlier or later. Do you understand?” Ms. Williams asks me. I nod in agreement and leave with a smile on my face.

“I am the personal assistant to Ms. Williams, the CEO of my favorite magazine Fashionist. This will be my first job ever at the tender age of 35,” I think to myself as I head to the elevator. After walking out of the building, I take out my phone to send a text to my father rubbing it in his face that I got a job without his help and that I don’t need to rely on my trust fund anymore when I hear someone yell “Look out!” I look up to see a speeding bulldozer ram right into me.

(Author Note: I didn’t have any ideas on what to write using those words).

The clock had just struck nine when Bobby decided to make a kettle of tea, read, and head to bed. He put the teapot on the stovetop and rested on the couch, drawing a book from his shelf. He was tired, though, and fell asleep - and slept right through the whistle of the kettle. The smoke was what awoke him, billowing from the kitchen into his living room, discoloring the pages of his book, making him cough. He crawled to the kitchen to see it in flames; the teapot just barely visible on the stovetop, withering.

The bulldozer came the next day to clear the wreckage. Although not visible, Bob’s heart was part of that wreck. He had lived in his home for over thirty years and the teapot had been a gift from his mother, who was now deceased. He watched as the house was razed. His neighbor, a woman he had oddly enough never spoken to, came to stand by his side. He heard the click of her stilettos on the pavement for a while before she stood near him, arms crossed.

“Terrible,” she said, shaking her head. “I suppose you’ll need some extra money to clean this up, get back up on your feet?”

He thought it was an odd question, but he did. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’ll figure it out when the time comes,” said Bob.

“You know, I have a job I’m looking to fill. A … unique position, for a unique man?”

Bob smirked. “How can I say no at a time like this?”

The woman smiled. “I thought as much.”

---

Bob’s friends were shocked to see him as a sideshow attraction, flailing to grasp at bottles he was supposed to be balancing and juggling. “Is that really him?” They would ask, wondering. “Yes, after the fire, he become someone else entirely,” others would answer. They would shake their heads and go home, grateful for their fire-less kitchens.

The lid of the teapot rattled as though terrified. Dad is not the table-banger. No one in the house is. It’s a house of quiet, impatient table-tappers at worst, so Mom’s resilience is just as startling. Like a second startle, the bang and rattle followed by a pedal tone of ominous import previously unnoticed. She would sit back, hands in lap looking, a rock to dad’s crashing waves. “Fuck the teapot, it’s time” the looking would seemed to say.

One did not “have” to get a real job. Venetians would understand the scarcity of resources and the rationale, no, the beauty of a loyalty to one’s parents. They would feel honored to live in the ancestral home. To fight, stiletto bared, for the honor of one’s history - could there be some thing more noble? But this now was some western pastoral anxiety. One must leave the farm for one own land else risk familial competition - rattling of teapots.

One would not be a challenge to father’s janitorial supply sales empire. Expertise in Shoegaze and it’s influence on the fashions and music of 90s alternative does not impinge upon applications of hydrochloric soaps in commercial agriculture. One could argue that it enhances such ventures, though the extent of enhancement has yet to be examined fully. No need to unsheathe one’s stiletto, capulet-style, toward one’s erstwhile benefactor.

This is not the rhetorical strategy mom and dad would take. One is a “big, smart guy” with “potential” to be realized through one’s association with aforementioned commercial agriculture. Operating a bulldozer is an excellent entry to the ground level of a “good company” gracious enough to explore one’s potential provisionally, and without scrutiny of one’s potential bulldozer operating license.

One would, hard hat donned, apply counter-directionally levers cleansed with hydrochloric acid soap then rinsed before scoring began, twisting the bulldozer, tank-style, toward the hillocks of fragrant agriculture, then shift unidirectionally driving the erstwhile plant matter toward loading docks staffed by intrepid CDL holders, brimming with potential, nodding stoically, the roar all around of engine noise feeding back the growth of ancestral agriculture.

-My brain boiled over- -And my hands swiped all my belongings off The table- -My thought tapering, pierced like daggers-

This is what I wanted

Of course it’s what I wanted

I was one tracked in mind Like a -bull-seeing red And I -dozed- off into my thoughts The recesses of my mind To find some sort of comfort

This was not my cup of -tea- I realized And all of the jobs in the -pot- I really thought this was for me

But

I do love it

I would -still- -let- this job consume me Even -though- it hurt to think of

But in the recess of my bulldozer mind, my thoughts became still like my teapot Finished brewing And it not longer Felt as if I was walking with stilettos Too small for my feet

Stencil in hand

I am an artist

I am an artist

I watched as the beautiful, brunette woman calmly pressed one black stiletto onto the gas pedal. Her facial expression was one of nonchalant determination. There was no evidence of any nerves on her part, whereas my brow dripped anxious sweat watching her relaxed focus.

The bullzoer eased forward smoothly and soon she was turning in perfect circles, and pressing the correct buttons at the correct times. Buttons I didn’t even know existed. This woman knew what she was doing.

She pulled the bulldozer back into the exact spot she started in and hopped out, landing evenly on both heeled feet.

As she walked towards me and the hiring manager, she smiled. The manager did not smile back.

Soon, I was inside the bulldozer, my brow dripping even more sweat than before. The ride did not go well. I ended up going in the wrong direction several times, starting and stopping suddenly, and at one time, releasing the large shovel, or whatever it was called, while I was moving, dumping dirt onto one of the other employees. I jerked to a stop as close as I could get to the woman and the hiring manager, which was several feet in front of them. I hopped out and tripped, landing on my side.

I pushed myself up and walked towards the hiring manager, staring down in embarrassment. When I got close enough to him, he clapped an arm on my shoulder encouragingly. I looked up to see him smile.

“Nice driving man, you’re hired.” I stared at him in disbelief, as did the woman.

The hiring manager turned towards the woman.

“I have a job for you too, sweetheart. There’s a teapot in the break room. You can serve me in my office.”

The moment the notification email popped up on Megan phone, she knew instantly it was the moment of truth for her. As she tapped the email and the first word she sees was, “Thank you for….” She knew instantly that it was another rejection letter for her. Her heart turned cold, clenching her fist and flinging the phone on the bed. Again, this is the 700 rejection mail she had received in the last six month. It's almost as if the world ganging up against her. As she stood there staring at her hair, she pulled the front hair covering her eyes, staring at her face in the mirror, looking at the despair in her eyes.

She couldn't help but think about the ridicule that she was going to face again this week. "What is wrong with me?” , with tears in her eyes. Not wanting to think about it, she reached out for her phone on the bed, to scroll through Instagram, anything to get her mind off the rejection mail. By this time, she was expecting to feel numb to the rejection, unfortunately it is not the case for her. Staring at the first reel, she sees a new manufacturing company that specializes in creating and selling a bulldozer, were hiring for the role of a special assistant to the CEO.

Reading the job description and requirement, she knew instantly that she was not qualified for the job, but decided to make an attempt to apply. Done with the application, she continued from where she stopped, scrolling down. A few minutes later, she gets a mail, telling her where the interview is taking place and the date. Her eyebrow rose in an arch. ”So quickly, is this a scam or what?” Obviously everything about the jobs screams she is not qualified, and yet she is asked to come for an interview, Megan was beginning to think that this job was a scam. As she thought about the amount she had in her account balance, she felt there was nothing to worry about. She decided to read about the company and prepare herself for the interview.

The next day, Megan arrived at the company, she stared at the people that filled the building and began to doubt herself. The more she stared at the women dressed elegantly, the more she was certain she was not going to get the job. She was confused a both the interview process, she walked up to a lady wearing a black suit, dressed up as secretary. “Good morning, do you mind telling me what is going on here?" “Go to that door and collect your number”, she replied. "Alright, thank you for this” When she got to the door, she stretched out her hand to reach for her number to get her number. She realised she was number 99, “How unlucky” she was not surprised at the number here for the job.

After waiting for so long, it got to her turn. She walked inside the office, she could not help but gasped at the aesthetics, the interior of the office was nothing like she has ever seen before. For no reason, her heart began to beat fast, it was here, she sat down and stared at the person about to interview her. The lady introduced herself as the CEO and began with the fearful question, "tell me about yourself”. Like a practised robot, she poured out everything she knew by heart. "I am impressed", The CEO said. "Now I have a task for you, if you get this task done, you get the job” "Yes, ma" Megan didn't think it would be anything difficult, so she squinted her ears to listen. "There is this land that we are trying to acquire, unfortunately, the owner of the land is not willing to listen.

Your task is to get the owner of the teapot company to sell his land to us." The more Megan listened, she laughed in her heart, If you don't want to offer the job, just don't. What type of task is this, something you didn't get, you expect me to convince him. These were the thoughts of Megan, as she smiled at the CEO, nodding her head to agree. She got up with all her strength, feeling weak, knowing there was a catch when she accepted the interview.

As she stepped inside her house, she asked herself, why is it so difficult getting a job, she strolled into the kitchen to snack on a chocolate. As she mulched on the chocolate, "What is the big deal, the highest that is going to happen is she might be rejected. She picked up her phone to read about the Teapot company refusing to sell their land to the bulldozer manufacturing company. The more she read about the Hitiko, the woman behind the teapot company, she felt it was impossible to achieve.

After finding the location of the Teapot company, she wore the green stilettos that she got at a pawn house shop five years ago, wearing a white shirt and black skirt, she felt could take the world. Staring at herself, "You can do it, Megan”. She took a breath to calm down. She arrived at the Teapot company, she realised she needed an appointment, which was not going to be happening anytime soon. It's at the end of the month, Megan asks herself “Why have I not given up yet?" Sitting at the secretary office, the owner of the Teapot company walks in and the first thing she notices is the stiletto. The stiletto was the first item in her collection she sold to start her Teapot company. She walks to Megan," Hi, where did you get this stiletto from?", she asked. Megan responds,” Good morning, I got this from a pawn shop. “When?” “Ten years ago” The Teapot owner signed and, asked her to come in her office. She gestured for Megan to have a seat. "Why are you here?” Megan began to think of the words she had crammed to impress the CEO. After saying everything she wanted, Megan stared at the Teapot owner, her heart began to thump faster. The Teapot owner was not impressed, she looked at Megan indifferently.

Just when Megan was expecting the Teapot owner to chase her out of her office, she agreed to sell the land. Megan eyes opened wide, with her mouth open, did she hear wrong, as if reading Megan mind," I agree to sell the land on one condition, you become the middleman. Megan, feeling excited, forgot where she was and jumped, screaming. The Teapot owner grinned, staring at the excitement of the young woman.

Megan left the office to the bulldozer manufacturing company. When she arrived, she demanded to see the person who interviewed her. "Come in" Megan opened the door to walk in. "I have achieved the task you assigned to me after a month, The owner of the Teapot company is willing to sell the land". The interviewer eyebrow rose, “so quickly?”. She was not expecting Megan to complete the task, especially when many others have failed and given up.
"How did you convince her?" Megan told her everything that happened, showing her the stilettos that made it happen, the interviewer listening was shocked, mouth was opened agape, she never in her wildest dreams thought this would be the reason.

Going through Megan resume, she realised that she was not fit for the position and was not willing to employ her any more. Megan, not knowing this, told her the agreement with the Teapot owner wanting her to be the middle man or the deal will not be successful. The interviewer heart thumped faster, she had no choice to offer the job to Megan.

The teapot sat between us on the table, porcelain and expensive. 𝘐 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘐 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘱𝘵... The man with the briefcase across from me yawns, covering his mouth unapologetically until his eyes water. I reach for the tea and he shakes his head as if he was disgusted by the innocent pot. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘖𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘳. 𝘗𝘧𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬-𝘶𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳.

“What makes you think you can do this job?” I wanted to plunge a screwdriver into his ear, and make it mush his brains out of the other ear; but I kept it to myself.

“I’m good with… machinery, I know how to… control people, strength. I usually get what I want; good deals,” I mutter, looking into the palms of my hands as if I might find the right answers there. “Plus I’m pretty hot, don’t you think, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes?” He makes a face, like a cringe. 𝘚𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴. 𝘕𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘴?

“Look,” he sighs, bringing a hand to the bridge on his nose. “I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.”

I stand, without saying a word and walk to the kitchen sink. I pull the drawers out and start unloading my stashes there. The guns, stiletto knife, blade sharpeners, bullets, matches— and lastly— the powder. No, not gun 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 powder. Capital P; Powder.

“I beg to differ,” I murmur, opening the Dr. Pepper on the counter. “I beg to differ.”

“I don’t care what tools you have at your disposal,” he stands, a hand outstretched, “I don’t think you’re cut out for the job.” Right then, it felt like a bulldozer ran over my rat sized dreams and flattened them smooth as paper.

“Excuse me?” 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬? My glance wanders to the smooth knives on the marble countertops. I turn back to him with a nasty grin, “You’re going to wish you prayed, my friend.”

“You can have the job.” “Too late, beautiful.”

“Come on, Auggie! Stop being such a fuss bucket,” grinned Candi, pulling August along into the tea shop. “I come here all the time and the people don’t care that I’m superhuman.”

August shot a glare that could have made a grown man shrivel up in fear, but Candi beamed and laughed light-heartedly. A bell chimed as they entered the petite shop and aromas of sweet, floral teas and the earthy scent of black tea wafted around the place. August loved tea, especially green, but had not seen a teapot in years because it reminded her of good times lost.

August feared her past and this tea shop was an extreme trigger for her, it reminded her of her loving, late father who would take them both for a fresh cuppa every morning. She peered outside the window pane at a construction site across the cleanly paved street as her reflection stared back at her. Even working as a bulldozer driver would be a better job for me, August thought.

Candi was trying to convince her to become an employee here at the shop to overcome this irrational trigger, but August knew sometimes even positive peer pressure could go too far.

“Candi, please!” She hissed. “I can’t do this! Even if I did get the job, I’m an antisocial, I hate people.”

“Well, then I guess you’ll have to start liking them!” Candi smirked. “You owe me a favor, remember? This is how you can pay me back!”

“I do not owe you anything…”

“Hmm… let me think. Saving your butt after you snuck away to hide from the cops after you were discovered using your superhuman abilities, very carelessly by the way…”

“It was not careless, I just lost control!”

“Same difference. There was also that one time you left that one store in ruins because you got in a fight with one of those self-proclaimed heroes and I blamed it on someone else, then helped you escape.”

“They charged me, I had to protect myself somehow.”

“Okay, fine, but what about the marker incident?”

“You told me you’d never ever mention the marker incident.”

Candi folded her arms and stopped in the middle of the tea shop, giving August the dude-you-aren’t-gonna-win-this-argument look

August knew it was hopeless, she definitely owed Candi for being a good friend. Maybe she could overcome her fear just for her friend.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

Candi squealed and hugged August in pure delight. August couldn’t resist a grin, she could never stay mad at her friend for long. But as she glanced behind her quickly, she noticed a familiar stiletto and her smile vanished quicker than air. She knew she was about to suffer consequences of not paying attention as a fugitive superhuman.

In the quaint town of Willow Creek, Emily found herself at a crossroads, desperate for a job to pay the mounting bills. With an unassuming degree in literature, she felt woefully underqualified for any openings that came her way.

One fateful day, as Emily sipped tea from her mismatched teapot, she overheard her neighbor bragging about a peculiar job opening at the local construction site. Driven by desperation, she decided to apply, hoping to somehow charm the interviewers into hiring her.

As she arrived for the interview, Emily tried to project confidence despite her nerves. She met with the burly construction manager, Mr. Jameson, who seemed amused by her lack of qualifications.

“You’ve got a degree in literature?” He chuckled. “Tell me, how does that prepare you to operate a bulldozer?”

Emily’s mind raced. In a moment of desperation and panic, her eyes caught sight of the teapot on the desk. Inspiration struck her.

“Actually, Mr. Jameson,” She began “I believe my appreciation for precision from literature translates well to the operation of heavy machinery. Just as a poet carefully crafts each word, a bulldozer driver must wield their tool with finesse to create a precise and level surface.”

Intrigued, Mr. Jameson leaned forward. “Go on.” He prompted.

Emily continued, embellishing her connection to the bulldozer’s power and grace. She even suggested that the teapot’s delicate spout reminded her of the bulldozer’s claws hydraulic lines.

Mr. Jameson’s skepticism gradually gave way to amusement. To Emily’s astonishment, he offered her the job.

Weeks later, Emily stood proudly before a towering pile of dirt. With a determined smile, she orchestrated the Earth into a newly graded construction site, proving that even with the most unconventional of qualifications could pave way to unexpected success.