Your Notebook of Evil

I am a human resources professional.  It says so on my card.  I have done ...  horrible things.  But I suppress those memories in other people.  I have to.  For the sake of my financial mental health.  I have to force myself to enjoy my plunder.  I work contract.  I have to keep up the appearance of stability, relevance, and, integrity.  To make me look good, somehow, these office workers under my administration must demonstrate instability, irrelevance, and, pathological career arcing; makes me look good.

My nightmare existence begins with public transit.  Take yourself to Eglinton station during the morning rush.  I could not face it!  It was so bad today that I just turned around and came back home.  I can do that.  I am in Human Resources.  If anyone would ask me about it later, I would tell them I burst into tears at the lack of diversity.  I just do not want to talk about commuting today.  Instead, I hung out in a coffee shop watching chump taxpayers rush to the station to have their commute with spitting, stabbing, and, groping.  

The woke financial corporation I fleece celebrates replacement, as well as Vax shots.  So, cause and effect, the work force is divided into ethnic enclaves, spiced up by staff getting heart croak, freaking out at Stage four cancer test results, or just doing Biden impressions.   Something happens every week now, and senior management relies on Human Resources to silence, conceal, and, suppress.  That would be me.  I love the challenge.  I also have two ghost HR staff.  I collect their pay check.  One of them is the nurse.  Sometimes, I have to pretend to be the nurse.  And that would be today. O Feces. 

It was my boss on the phone.  McCullough.  This time of the morning he would be in his office, in his black latex fetish outfit.  I was sitting in the coffee shop, thinking of heading up to the Orchard View library to get caught up on People Magazine.

'Fenris!  Where is the nurse.  What's his name?'  he said.

He did not even say hello, or ask how I am.  My feelings, if I had any left after life's barrage of insults, would have been hurt.  

'The nurse? Uh ...'

'Yeah.  The nurse.  Some serf got sick, and the bone head supervisor took them to the nurse."

'Oh no!' I said.  

'I make it clear that sick people should be just pushed out of the elevator into the food court down at subway level.'  I could hear his rubber suit squeak. 'I do not want supervisors taking the side of staff.  Staff are the enemy, just like customers and the public.'  He paused to readjust his gas mask.  'Diseased staff are the responsibility of the Ontario Health Insurance Program, not me.'

'Mmmm,' I said.

'I do not know how they got to the nurse's office.  The supervisor is hanging out with the sicko.  Not working.  Two not working.  This is unacceptable!'  

'Elevator?' I asked.

McCullough shuffled his rubber ass in his leather chair.  'They were already goofing off in the nurses office before I found out.  That is on company time!'  I could not make out the rest.  McCullough hung up, or maybe the phone slipped out of this rubber gloves; maybe the one way valve on his gas mask got plugged, again.  

I finished my coffee and headed home, adding up the extras I would bill. Let us see: some phone calls (long distance) to the ghost nurse.  Her home line and her cell.  Perhaps an uber or two?

*   *   *

I used the secret door to get into the HR department.  There are secret rooms there.  One has one of the companies cash machines, and I took out a thousand in cash.  It just takes spits out money, and charges the company.  

The sickly staffer was in the nurses room, lying down on the sofa.  He had a towel over his eyes.  

I came out of the nurses office to nurses reception. 

'The nurse is looking at him right now,' I said.  I hoped I did not smell of the ether I had applied to a face cloth to help the sickly staffer get some rest.  

The supervisor breathed a sigh of relief.  She had been crying; she was holding a tissue.  

'Everything will be fine.  Thank you for being a good person.' I smiled a little, as if to cover the trembling in my chin.  I watched her got on to the elevator.  I could see a little red eye in the mirrored back of the elevator.  McCullough was watching.  I gave a little wave as the doors closed.  I would never see her again. 

One of my minions, Marc the maintenance guy, was waiting with one of those big garbage carts.  I told the passed out sick guy that we were taking him to the ambulance.  It made me feel better, even as we bundled him into the cart.  It had a good foot of shredded paper in the bottom.  You can move around people in one of these big garbage carts, real easy, even put a tarp, or shredded paper over them so you can roll through enemy held territory, like the staff kitchenette.  All of the new hires since Covid have the same blood type as McCullough, and this guy was a new hire, so Marc knew where to take him.

I put the envelope with the thousand bucks in Marc's pocket.  I like to reward his professionalism.  This is good Human Resourcing!

That was my awful day at work. Life calls for sacrifice.  But, I am home now, and I feel good.  Around 9 pm, I go off the clock, so four hours of O/T for me.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.