Microstory 1971: Team One

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software

Leonard: So, I hope this doesn’t sound judgy, because I’m genuinely interested. Who takes care of your kids while you’re out on stakeouts, and other missions? You have four of them, right?

Ophelia: My eldest stepson is 23, so he takes care of the two little ones. His sister’s in college right now. She’s in Baton Rouge, actually, so I’m geographically closer to her than the others in Kansas City. But I won’t be visiting her, of course. None of them has any idea where I am, or what I do now. I still don’t really know.

Leonard: What do they think you do?

Ophelia: They believe I’m a merch rep. I claimed that it was a promotion. I supposedly go all over the country, helping the satellite stores introduce new merchandise.

Leonard: Oh, that sounds nice. Nice and safe.

Ophelia: Yeah, no need to worry them. It was a bad cover, though. The idea was that I needed an excuse to be out of town all the time, which is why I volunteered for this assignment. Well, I didn’t know that I would be camped out in front of a restaurant, waiting for a mysterious possible traitor to come back home. I just asked to go in the field at the first opportunity, ya know, to sell the lie about having to travel for work.

Leonard: It’s not a lie. I have a feeling we’ll be doing more and more of this kind of thing as the department grows.

Ophelia: True, but I’m not so sure how I feel about it anymore. I miss them so much. I don’t mind the job itself, but I underestimated how much I prefer to go back home to them at the end of every day.

Leonard: Reese is a reasonable man. I’m sure if you asked for more domestic responsibilities, he would understand. We’re all trying to find our place here. Sasho thought he was gonna run the jail, because it was the obvious choice, but he’s been working hard with Sachs. He’ll be a spotter in no time.

Ophelia: Yeah. I’m sure you’re right.

Leonard: So, what about the other parents of your kids?

Ophelia: My first husband is dead. He was already a deadbeat, so it wasn’t much of a transition. My second husband and I drifted apart, but he’s still fairly involved. Mostly in a monetary sense, but we all have an okay relationship with him. He tried to go back to his girlfriend, who mothered my stepchildren, but it didn’t work out either. She’s still alive, and still a deadbeat.

Leonard: You care for her kids as if they were your own?

Ophelia: They are my own.

Leonard: *awkwardly* Right. Of course.

Ophelia: It’s all right, I know what you meant. They’re great kids. A lot of children in that position would idolize their birth mother no matter what, but they know who’s been there for them, and they consider me their real mother. They call me mom; just about always have. Wait, is that him?

Leonard: *holds up a photo* This is pretty grainy, but I think so. It looks like our guy.

Ophelia: *into the radio* Team Lead, this is Team One. We have eyes on the target. He’s heading upstairs.

Microstory 1814: Walking on Water

< > Table of Contents

My parents owned a ship-building company—specifically, barges—so I’ve been around the ocean my entire life. I know how to row, sail, tie knots; everything that’s associated with ships and boats. It pretty much consumed my being. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I started to get into hiking. I was kind of sick of the water, so I wanted to do something land-based, and that was the best I could come up with. I loved it, so I started doing it more and more. Meanwhile, my parents were trying to put themselves on the map by constructing the longest barge in the world. At 500 meters, it surpassed all others by a great deal, and they were proud of themselves for it, even if there weren’t many uses for the darn things. They were also faster than most ships of the day. With no cargo, they could reach a cruising speed of nine knots, which was pretty impressive. Oh, and they could move on their own, so that was cool. The company spent most of its money on these three giants, and they weren’t shaping up to give us much return on the investment. They needed to show the world what they were capable of. They needed to market themselves. They needed a big show. So I came up with a plan. It was ridiculous and silly, but if I could just get people to hear about the company, it would have been worth it. I decided to try to walk from my home country of Russia to the Nation of Alaska. Crazy, I know, but with these barges under my feet, I figured that there was no reason I couldn’t get this done. It’s good that there were three of them, because I don’t know if it would have worked with just two. They could be attached to one another back to front, allowing travel between them. They weren’t meant to move across the water like this, but they could stay together just fine for long enough to allow me to step from one to the next. Again, we were all well aware of how crazy the plan was, but it worked.

After I stepped onto the second barge, the first one would be detached, and propelled past the next two. By the time I reached the end of the third barge, the first one was attached in front of it, and the second one was already on its way to getting in front of that one. It took a lot of fuel to make this happen. The idea was for me to walk all the way from the Easternmost tip of Russia to the Westernmost tip of Alaska by foot. If the barges moved  significantly forwards, it would have defeated the purpose. The drivers had to be really good at not letting them drift too much, and keeping the undertaking as authentic as possible. In total, I walked over 83 kilometers. I probably walked farther than that actually, because the rule was for the drivers to err on the side of Russia, meaning that if the ships drifted at all, they would have to compensate, and usually that meant they were overcompensating. The distance itself was obviously not that big of a deal. Fifty miles is a relatively easy trek for even an only moderately experienced hiker. Still, the barges weren’t the most comfortable surfaces to walk on, and it was pretty boring most of the time. Even so, I’m proud of myself for having accomplished it. The barges themselves didn’t get much use after that, since they were still so absurd, but the publicity stunt worked. I mean, just hearing about it put my parents’ ship-building company in people’s minds, and when they were in need of a ship, they thought of us before all others. The company thrived after that, and they were able to sell it off for a pretty penny. They knew that I didn’t want to inherit it from them, but I still got a decent cut of the sale, because they considered me so instrumental in its value.

Microstory 1718: The Cassiopeia Pivot

< > Table of Contents

In the United States, the prohibition of alcoholic beverages began in 1920, and ended in 1933. During this period, a number of bootleggers sprang up in order to both satisfy the country’s desire for alcoholic drinks, and also capitalize on the scarcity of this commodity. One such of these opportunists was a man named Dawson de Felice. He and his family started their new business in 1930, after The Great Depression devastated their farm’s produce sales. It became public knowledge in 1934, and grew into one of the largest liquor and beer companies in the world. For decades, the de Felice name was synonymous with high quality, low-cost beer and spirits. They were also known for fighting hard against anti-drug movements. They did not specifically deny the consequences of drinking, or underage drinking, but they did suggest that all those issues were the responsibility of their customers. Either the drinker was old enough to drink responsibly, or they were young enough to have a guardian who should have better controlled their alcoholic intake. They lobbied against laws that would raise their taxes, or otherwise limit their customer base, and they regularly dismissed any suggestion that they ought to help curb drunk driving, and other risks. Many pointed out that they actually would have saved money by producing an ad about responsible drinking, rather than spending it on a defamation campaign against their socio-political opponents. Despite these detractors, sales numbers continued to rise, along with their once affordable prices. Their method of rejecting all responsibility seemed to be working in their favor, and no one had any reason to believe that they needed to do anything differently. To them, the idea of recommending anyone ever not drink was irrational, and out of the question. Sure, dead people can’t buy beer, but if they died from the beer they bought from De Felice, then they probably spent a lot while they were alive. That was the unspoken reasoning anyway.

In the 21st century, a woman named Cassiopeia De Felice became majority owner of De Felice Beer and Spirits. She decided to take the company in a radically different direction, and there were good and bad consequences to her actions. She was a recovering alcoholic, and never would have wanted to take over in the first place if she had not gotten the idea to change its business model completely. They would continue to sell alcohol, but no longer for human consumption. They were going to sell rubbing alcohol now, as well as hand sanitizer, and even fuel. She figured there was plenty of room in these industries, they already had the infrastructure set up to accomplish this, and she didn’t want to endanger people’s lives anymore. Customers were bewildered. Shareholders were outraged. Everyone was stunned. Never before had a company attempted to pivot so drastically. It would prove to be their downfall, but also the beginning of a new trend. The world would thank them later. Perhaps her plan would have worked if she had started them out slowly, introducing themselves to the new products gradually, and eventually letting go of their beverage division. Instead, she tried to make one big move, and no one knew what to do with it. The failure would come to be known as The Cassiopeia Pivot, and while it began as a derogatory term, the term itself would pivot to become a point of pride. Other companies made similar moves, hoping to better the world, and the lives of their customers. Oil companies switched to renewables. Weapons manufacturers switched to plumbing. Even a ballpoint company began to focus on augmented reality devices. Though, that last one was less abrupt. The other examples happened quickly, but were just as successful. The world was ultimately better for De Felice’s sacrifice. It didn’t become a utopia, but they helped a little, and not much more could be asked of an alcohol company that just wanted to do the right thing.

Microstory 1695: A Whole New Meaning to Omega Male

< > Table of Contents

Most of the time, The Omega Gyroscope makes big changes to reality. It causes the global population to go back in time, or alters their perception of it. Or it instantly switches everything to a new timeline. Some of the time, however, it makes small changes, and it all has to do with the person wielding it. The Gyroscope is basically a wish fulfillment device, which reads its user’s mind, and makes changes to the universe in whatever way it’s capable of, getting as close to the user’s desires as possible. It’s not really trying to do that. It’s not really trying to do anything. Some people are just better at forming a psychic connection with it, and it accepts this input like a computer. That’s all it is, a very fancy and advanced computer with no buttons or monitor. The results of a user’s desires are often not what they truly wanted, but not because of a be careful what you wish for aphorism. It’s more that the Gyroscope has its limitations, and can’t just do whatever you want. Before the little powerful device ended up in the museum, where it would later be used by a number of people, it was discovered in an attic by three adult children who were cleaning out their father’s house after he passed. Since the Omega Gyroscope is so small and seemingly innocuous, the three of them thought little of it. They just threw it in a shoebox, and focused on the rest of his effects. It was only later when one of them, bored at the estate sale, idly spun it. At the time, she was thinking about her father, and how she wished he had never died. Apparently, the Gyroscope interpreted that to also mean that he wouldn’t ever die, even in the future.

The daughter stayed in her seat for the next hour or so before realizing that something had changed. The sale was still on, and she was still in charge of handling the money, but it was no longer an estate sale. It was just a regular garage sale. Evidently, in this new reality, the four of them decided to clean out the father’s house anyway, and sell what they could before donating the rest. He was still very much alive, and just as she was noticing that the sign by the street was different, he was returning from having helped transport his kayak to its new owner. Only she seemed to remember that he had died in the other reality, but by then, there was no way for her to make the connection that the Gyroscope had had anything to do with it. She didn’t even consider it as a possibility. She also didn’t try to explain what she could remember to the others. She kept her mouth shut, and decided to be grateful for the gift, no matter what had actually caused it, be it her magical powers, or simply a welcome relief to a bad dream. Since she didn’t know that the Omega Gyroscope was responsible for the gift, she let the thing be donated to an antique store, where it would one day be found by the curator of a museum. For the next ten years, the daughter watched her and her siblings continue to age while their father stayed the same. No one could explain it, and it was eventually decided it was best that they keep him a secret. Other people would start asking questions. What would happen in the next ten years, or the next hundred? They didn’t know if there was a limit to it, so they all moved, and started a new semi-anonymous life in a new city. Their intention was to move again, and start referring to him as their brother. Before this was necessary, the Omega Gyroscope precipitated a major global phenomenon, which saw the entire human population sent back in time to their younger bodies, and father and daughter would find themselves at the center of the action.

Microstory 1586: Leave For Dead

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

I was supposed to be watering my neighbor’s plants while she was out of town, but I completely forgot all week. When I finally get inside, all of her plants are dead...and so is my neighbor.

Botner

I’m not the only person who failed to water her plants. Over the past few months she’s had an extreme decline in her health. As her health deteriorated, she just kind of faded away. She became a shadow of her former self. I had a conversation with her one night that was the last I spoke with her. She said that she didn’t know how much longer she’d last. I think I’ll go visit her again tomorrow to say my goodbyes. I’d be okay with the fact that I don’t remember the woman’s face, but I do remember her voice. She used to sound kind of annoying...but now she sounds like an angel. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Bailey. Goodbye. RIP Ms. Bailey. I haven’t been writing much lately because I’ve been so busy. Every day I leave work and have to rush home and eat dinner, then rush right back to work until I go to bed. I feel like I’m doing nothing with my life. I wish I could be a professional shopper or a sex addict. I’ve been considering joining a couple of...

Conclusion

...support groups, but I’m too afraid to tell my story. I mean, am I responsible for her death? How long did it take? Was she lying there in pain for an hour? An entire day? Had I gone over there to water her plants like I promised I would, might she still be alive? No one knows what I did; how I neglected her, and I just want to put the whole thing behind me, but the guilt is eating me up. On my way to the funeral, I debate whether I should tell her family what I did, but I’m leaning towards keeping my mouth shut. It won’t help them, and will only serve to assuage my own remorse, and even that probably won’t help anyway. It does no one any good. I check my watch, and the obituary three times, but realize that I’m not early, or in the wrong place. It’s just that I and one other guy are the only ones who have showed up. I ask him how he knew Ms. Bailey, and he tells me that he sold her a lot of indoor plants over the years. “That woman was a serial killer,” he says with a laugh. “She just kept needing to replace them over and over again.” He also says he always enjoyed delivering them to her, even though it wasn’t a service that they provided, because they had such great conversation. He explains that she was agoraphobic, and never left the house, so it is unlikely she ever intended to leave town. It dawns on me that the whole thing was a ruse, and Ms. Bailey just wanted a second person to talk to. I failed her more than I knew.

Microstory 1307: Metal Thief

< > Table of Contents

Property Crimes Detective: All right, Metal Thief. Tell me what you know about the Twin Hillside Burglary.

Metal Thief: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Property Crimes Detective: You expect me to believe that? It was all over the news.

Metal Thief: I’m not really into the news. I like history.

Property Crimes Detective: And money.

Metal Thief: Doesn’t everybody?

Property Crimes Detective: And metal.

Metal Thief: Metal makes money.

Property Crimes Detective: What did you do with everything you stole from that house?

Metal Thief: I told you, I didn’t do it.

Property Crimes Detective: Then who did?

Metal Thief: How the hell should I know?

Property Crimes Detective: Well, you must have contacts, what with everything we know that you’ve stolen.

Metal Thief: What did they take?

Property Crimes Detective: Everything.

Metal Thief: Everything?

Property Crimes Detective: Everything but the kitchen sink. They did take the workshop sink that was in the garage, though.

Metal Thief: They literally cleaned it all out? But just the one house?

Property Crimes Detective: Yes.

Metal Thief: You didn’t call me in because you think I did it. You called me in for help.

Property Crimes Detective: [sighs] Where would someone go to unload all that? I’m talkin’ bookshelves, couches, televisions, frickin’ photo albums. They took a lot of junk that was personal; I honestly don’t get it.

Metal Thief: They took photo albums?

Property Crimes Detective: Yeah. What does that mean to you?

Metal Thief: There’s always someone willing to take the valuable stuff. You don’t even need to go to the black market. All you would need to do is haul that stuff to your own house, and sell it on your lawn.

Property Crimes Detective: A garage sale?

Metal Thief: As I understand it, confidential informants get paid.

Property Crimes Detective: You give me something I can use, we’ll talk.

Metal Thief: [...] Detective, this crime is personal. Like you said, they took junk. Anyone willing to go to that much trouble is doing it for one of two reasons. A, it’s a prank, in which case it’s gone too far by now. Or B, the victim just went through a bad break up, or fired a disgruntled employee, or something. Find someone your victim has wronged recently, and see if they have a garage sale goin’. Or see if they’ve just purchased storage space somewhere in the city. They may not want, or need, to sell it at all, and it’s really just about hurting the victim.

Property Crimes Detective: That was actually kind of helpful.

Metal Thief: Next time you want a favor, don’t drag me into an interrogation room. Just ask.

Property Crimes Detective: Oh, it’s a favor? I guess we don’t need to pay you then.

Microstory 1281: The Little Fish and the Big Net

< > Table of Contents

There was a fisherman who was proud of his work. He did not care to go to the market and purchase the tools he needed for his trade. When the seas were too dangerous, or when he just wasn’t up for going out on the water, he liked to sit in his cabin, and create his own tools. He carved his own fishing rods, strung his own fishing lines, and even weaved his own net. He was so proud of his net that he couldn’t wait to go back out there, and give it a try. He dropped it in the water, and dragged it along to pick up as many fish as he possibly could. Now, the fish he caught were large, which were great, but he noticed that a great many smaller fish escaped his clutches. He was not happy with this. He wanted to get all the fish he possibly could, so he went back home, and started weaving a new net. He made it as tight as he possibly could, so barely a drop of water could pass through. “No fish will escape me now,” the fisherman said after months and months of working on it tirelessly. He dropped it in the water, and scooped up a hefty haul. When he took his catch to the market, he noticed that people were still only buying the larger fish from him. “Why don’t you take some of these instead?” he would ask. They always answered the same, that there was not enough meat for them to get anything out of those tiny little fish. “But I worked so much harder to get these ones,” he complained. It didn’t matter. His efforts were not just pointless, but counterproductive. Had he only focused on gathering the fish he would be able to sell, he would have been able to catch more than one school. No one cared how much effort he put into his profession; only the results of those efforts. They would have been just as happy with the larger net.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Fisherman and His Nets.

Microstory 1267: Harlan Baer

< > Table of Contents

Harlan Baer was a criminal, and he never tried to get anyone to believe that he wasn’t. He was a very low-ranking member of the Business Ends gang of Kansas City in the 21st century. When he was caught selling drugs on the corner, his superiors made no attempt to help him in any way. Nor did they ask him to do things for them while he was inside. He just wasn’t important enough to them, and this lack of mutual loyalty made him a perfect candidate for a new gang. While he was in jail, a very powerful temporal manipulator called The Cleanser pulled him out of his cell, and relocated him to several decades in the future, along with a small group of other guests. He had no strong feelings about these other criminals, and they had no strong feelings about him. The Cleanser had conscripted them for a mission, but because none of them was a salmon or choosing one, the trip itself could eventually kill them. And so the man they were asked to kill arranged for them to be transported to a special place called Sanctuary. There they would be allowed to recover, serve out their likely sentences in more humane conditions, and remain in the hotel forever. Harlan wasn’t interested in this, though. He wanted to go back to the real world, and armed with the knowledge that there was more to life than peddling drugs, do something good. So he asked to go back to Kansas City, where he soon became one of the first members of the Tracer gang. He never intended to start a movement, but more rehabilitating criminals followed suit over the course of the next few years. Harlan had few further interactions with people who could manipulate time, but he did help make the world a better place in his own special way.

Microstory 1264: Cecelia Massey

< > Table of Contents

When a choosing one discovers their abilities, they often realize that they can help others with it. They don’t necessarily think they should become philanthropists, or superheroes, but they do see a market for their abilities. And so they adopt jobs within the time traveler underground. Some take payment for their services, but generally only when their power doesn’t inherently give them free access to whatever resources they need. For regular people, like Cecelia Massey, being part of the workforce was not a choice at all. She was an average human who had no time powers, and no knowledge of anyone who did. She was born in Hays, Kansas and attended an in-state school, because it was cheaper. After graduating from college, she stayed out East, moving around the Kansas City metropolitan area for various reasons, like following a boyfriend who got a better job, or wanting to be closer to extended family. She might have pursued a career with that sociology degree of hers, but she barely passed her classes, and never felt competent enough to go for it. The truth was that she probably would have been fine, and her biggest hurdle was her own lack of self-confidence. So she played it safe, accepting only entry-level jobs, until one day she blinked, and realized that she had been a shoe store clerk for the last six years. She didn’t even always work at the same place. She applied to a new job while she still had the old one, and it wasn’t until she did a little math that she realized she wasn’t making any more money than before, because now she was spending a lot more of it on gas. It was around this time that she also realized that this was one of the worst places for her to be. She hated working in sales, but she knew it could’ve been worse. At least she wasn’t peddling something stupid or harmful. Still, her job’s only purpose was the keep her going while she looked for something better; for her wallet, and her soul. It was time she remembered that, and actually got back on those career sites. This proved to be extremely disheartening, as she kept failing to secure interviews, and the interviews she did manage to land didn’t get her anywhere. Finally, her family had basically had enough of this. They were fine with her spending the rest of her life as a clerk, but they weren’t okay with her being unhappy, and she wasn’t listening to their words of encouragement, so they needed to be clear with her. Her best course of action was to go back to school, and really think about what she wanted out of life. It took her a few months, but she finally made a plan. Her degree alone wasn’t enough to get her a job as a high school guidance counselor, but it was a good start. Being a senior sales representative gave her the freedom to adjust her work hours according to her new class schedule. It might have taken a little longer than it did for her peers, but she found her calling, and she didn’t even need time powers to do it.

Microstory 744: Credos, Convention Fourteen: Courtesy

< > Table of Contents

The child removed the penultimate canister from his neck, which was more of a ring, and smiled. He was near the end of his quest, and he was feeling good. The final canister was wide and round, perfectly shaped for a head his size. He was about to place his head inside of it when he realized how unusual that is. “The quest should be availed to all, so why is this one so small?” he asked the fish woman through the magic communication cup. “No one has gotten this far,” she answered. “The canisters know when a lesson has been truly learned. You are the first and only to understand what the stories are trying to tell you.” “That does not explain the size of this canister”, the now nearly fully-glowing child said. “The stories are long,” she replied. “You will have to hold your breath for a good while to finish this last one.” “That’s not what I asked,” he complained. “I will not give you what you ask for. You must experience it for yourself.” Seeing that he would not get a straight answer out of her, the wandering child took as deep of a breath as possible, and stuck his head into the canister, hoping this story would be quicker than the previous ones. It opened on a small shop owned by one of the nicest women you’ll ever meet. She barely made enough to stay open, and lived modestly on the second floor. This was a general store that sold a number of items that members of the community would need daily, or weekly. She struggled to maintain the business, but was dedicated to her policy of not refusing any business. If someone came in without the ability to pay full price, she would still sell it to them, at whatever cost they could afford. If someone came in with no money at all, she would give it to them for free. Her reputation was well known in the county, and people took advantage of this kindness, allowing the shopto stay open by the occasional kindness of a rich customer, who paid a little extra, and offset the overhead costs. Still, the shop owner could afford very little for herself. She had bedding that she laid upon the floor, but no bed. She had two chairs, one of which she had to use as a table. She scavenged food from nearby dumpster, and walked far away to bathe herself in a stream, because she did not have running water. Still her business stayed open, but this was about to change. A store opened across the street that ultimately forced her to close for good, because she could not compete. Though people knew they could purchase items from her for cheap, they could find so many more products at this larger store, and that was far more convenient. Eventually, people stopped entering her shop altogether, and that was that. She died just as he was born...with nothing.

Microstory 730: Credos, Convention Five: Congruence

< > Table of Contents

The fifth canister was deeper, and the wandering child had run out of hands and feet, so he stuck his whole arm into it. There was a man who owned a profitable organization. His business started out small, but grew when the demand for his product increased. One year, he decided he needed an explosion in production if he was going to be able to keep up with this demand. To accomplish this, he’d need to hire massive numbers of people, all at once. But he knew he would not be able to do this alone, and that he needed to hire the right people for the right positions, rather than simply gathering as many as possible. So at first, he focused only on building a team responsible for recruiting the rest of the factory’s labor force. This proved to be even more difficult than he thought, and was quickly becoming a bad omen for the planned hiring explosion. The recruitment team he chose argued and argued, and was unable to get any real work done. One recruiter valued experience over education, while another valued the opposite. One wanted them to all work on the recruitment together, while another wanted each of them to find their own fraction, and put them together. It would seem that they could not agree on a single thing. If the owner could not build a team to find all the other teams, how was he ever going to reach his business goals? This should have been the easy part. Overhearing his complaints at a bar, a woman he had not met before approached the owner, and offered her services. She claimed to know how to build the perfect team. “You have hired the best recruiters you could find, correct?” she asked. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “I only want the best.” “Well, that is your problem,” she said. “Just because they have had the most success independently, does not mean they will be successful together. Their ideals are incongruous. You must find people with not only the same goals as each other, but also the same as you. The team must be able to work together. Even a group of amateurs can come to great things when afforded the opportunity, if they find a way to work well together. The owner of the business let all of his new employees go, and instead searched for people who were a little more like him. And the business grew.

Microstory 498: Provider

< > Entire Story

The Provider, as you would imagine, is known for being incredibly generous. He spends most of his time worrying about others, and making sure they know that he’s available for them. He has leadership qualities—and is, in fact, placed in a position of power for the team—but chooses to have little to do with actual decision-making. Instead, he finds himself roaming from unit to unit, offering moral support and spiritual advice. He does not feel that he knows more about cooking than anyone else but gladly contributes in that area, ensuring everyone’s needs are met, both physically and emotionally. Think of him as a stereotypical bartender, pointlessly wiping down the bar...listening intently to your problems. He treats the people around him very much like The Counselor in that way. One thing that makes this easier for him is his excellent social memory. He never forgets a name, and never forgets a face. Nor is he likely to forget anything someone told him about themselves, no matter how insignificant. He’s the guy who asks you about your neighbor’s once-ill pet years after you mentioned it in passing during a brief conversation. He is very concerned with the quality of the group’s dynamic. Though they don’t really have any downtime, he sort of forces upon them his agenda of team-building and cooperation. With all these different types of people trying to work together, he understands the necessity of creating a healthy and well-balanced work environment. His life has not always been so great and fulfilling, though. His desire to provide for people was stunted while working at a dead-end sales job for a large corporation. He felt disgusting selling people things that they didn’t need, and eventually generated enough courage to quit and try to make something good out of his life. People were surprised when he joined the military, but he saw no greater service to his convictions. It is perhaps his actions that make the greatest impact on the future of the galaxy.

Microstory 458: Floor 28 (Part 2)

< > Table of Contents

Sales Team Leader: Bad Salesman, could you come step into my office?

Bad Salesman: Sure, boss. You want I should close the door?

Team Leader: Don’t worry about it.

Salesman: Sure thing.

Team Leader: Do you have any idea what I wanted to talk with you about?

Salesman: Are you finally going to fire me?

Team Leader: Look, you’re a great guy. Everybody loves ya. You really keep us sane in this crazy world we’re livin’ in, I’ll tell ya that much.

Salesman: Of course, thank you, I appreciate it.

Team Leader: Well, we’re not quite at the end of the year, but it’s been decided that you just gotta go. We’re gonna be workin’ real hard to make this company more modern, and the old ways of cold calls just aren’t working.

Salesman: I understand.

Team Leader: Make no mistake, Salesman, the department, and even this team, is going to be sticking around. But it will be smaller, and I’m afraid you just can’t be a part of our new vision.

Salesman: Yeah, I totally get it.

Team Leader: I know you’re hurt. I know you’ve given us all you could. You’ve always come in on time, and I’ve listened in on your calls; you’re really good at making the customers feel like you’re one of them.

Salesman: Sure sure.

Team Leader: Everyone here at Analion is going to miss you a real lot. You’re the heart of this department, you really are. We think it’s just time for you to move on...be the heart of another place, ya know? It’s time for you to spread your wings and—

Salesman: Is this gonna take much longer?

Team Leader: I just hope that you’ll continue to refer all your friends and family to our business. That’s what’s truly important; family, ya know? I think I’ve lost my train of thought, but you see what’s going on? You understand?

Salesman: Can I go now, or is the lockdown gonna keep me trapped up here? I kind of feel like visitors should be able to leave.

Team Leader: Sure, buddy.

Salesman: I’m taking a handful of these decorative water marbles for my niece.

Team Leader: Perfect.

Salesman: Thaaaanks.

Team Leader: [...] Ahh, he’s a cool dude. Don’t you think?

Human Resources Representative 3: What the hell did I just experience?

Microstory 415: Floor 28 (Part 1)

< > Table of Contents

Five years running, I’ve been given the distinction of being the company’s best worst salesman. It’s a kind of recognition that most people would be afraid of, but I consider it an honor. At the beginning of every fiscal year, the department hires a new gaggle of salesmen. And at the end of the year, they fire the lowest earners, no matter what. We could all sell very well, but they would still trim the fat. I’ve always kept my name on the black side of the leaderboard. Why do I do this? Why would I work so hard to succeed so little? I dunno, probably because I don’t care about the organization I work for, or the products we sell. There are tons of other companies who sell the same thing, and I honestly can’t tell the difference. They’re just windows, dude. Just windows. Do I earn lower commissions than the other people on the sales team? I sure do, but not by that much. Ya see, one day some bigwig was reading about how detrimental the commission sales model was to productivity. He decided to make a change, but instead of going all the way, he just capped commission earnings. His reasoning was that he wanted to meet in the middle of two extremes. He figured it would lower labor costs while maintaining just enough incentive for us to do a good job. But of course that doesn’t work, because once anyone reaches the cap, they just sort of check out. The only reason anyone works hard is to stay out of the red side of the leaderboard and keep their jobs. Has this contributed to Analion’s recent scandal with deadly defective products? I don’t know about that. In fact, I imagine the death toll would have been higher if more people had bought our crap. So, ya know what? I’m actually a hero, aren’t I? That’s right, I saved lives by preventing people from buying things that could kill them. They should make me president of the whole company. I’m sure there will be a spot opening. Word is that the current president is about to fall from grace.

Microstory 253: Perspective Twenty-Eight

Click here for a list of every perspective.

Perspective Twenty-Seven

I’ve had more jobs than I can count over the years. I had to consult an expert to figure out how I could trim down my résumé, because it was just too many pages. I was worried about it, because potential employers don’t want you to have such a long a résumé, but if I just cut things out, would they not wonder what I was doing during all these gaps? It’s all worked out, though, because now I’ve found what’s turned out to be the best job ever. Sure, driving a school bus doesn’t sound glamorous, but it’s incredibly rewarding. They say that, if you want to meet new people, you should be in sales. But if you want to observe people, public transportation is the thing to do. The kids are extremely loud and rambunctious, but they’re also more respectful than you’ve probably been led to believe. They have a lot of fun, and they break the rules sometimes, but they don’t fight, and they’re not destructive. Kids are a lot more understanding and caring than you probably knew as well. There is one little girl in second grade who has trouble fitting in. She wears very thick glasses because she’s practically blind, literally never speaks, and spends almost all of her time drawing. Though she doesn’t have any friends, her peers are exceptionally protective of her. Students who don’t already know her have tried to tease her in the past, and other kids rally to put an end to that nonsense. She’s very loving and pleasant to be around. Somehow, her classmates figured out that, although she does not generally interact with others, she is not bothered by human touch. She allows them to hug her if they’re feeling down. They affectionately refer to her as their class pet. She’s given me some of her artwork, and a not insignificant amount of it involves cats. And I suppose that makes sense, because cats are similar in certain ways. Unlike dogs, cats do not like being pet, or touched in any way, really. They tolerate it because they know how important it is to their feeders. There’s a special kind of nobility in that. I learned this all from my son. He hates school, but likes to research random things.

Perspective Twenty-Nine

Microstory 243: Perspective Eighteen

Click here for a list of every perspective.
Perspective Seventeen

I’ve been called a “wretched busybody” by different people, on multiple occasions. Such a strange phrase, so people must be talking about me behind my back. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be sweet and understanding, and even a little submissive. That all stopped when my husband revealed to me that he’s been having an affair with the same woman for the entire fifty years of our marriage, and then some.  I never really liked the man, and was a little relieved that I finally had a reason to let him go. I actually wish he had told me the truth sooner. For the first few weeks, I felt free and alive. I even went out to the clubs a few times. I stuck out like a sore thumb at an amputee convention, but I had a lot of fun. Pretty soon, though, the novelty of single life wore off, and I reverted into the bitter, irritable old woman I was destined to be. My neighbor feels the brunt of my wrath. He runs a small business out of his home, selling custom wares with a cadre of hoodlums and delinquents. They all seem like nice people, but they all have problems. I don’t know if any of them have been to jail, but they just don’t look right to me. I don’t trust them, and I worry that their presence is bringing down property values. I had a real estate appraiser come out and confirm as much about neighborhood small businesses. Okay, that’s a lie, but I still heard that it’s true. He’s a great guy, and I’m glad he’s helping those kids out, but I just don’t think I should have to suffer them. Sure, they’ve not done wrong by me...per se, but they might. You don’t know. My daughter says that I should hold onto the youth I was recapturing just after the separation. She’s been not so subtly emailing me information about cruises, saying that women my age do this all the time. Apparently there’s this entire subculture of old people who just live on cruise ships for the rest of their lives. I’ve always found that kind of thing to be rather pathetic, but now it’s looking a bit appealing, to be honest. She recently sent me a brochure about a cruise for older singles. I’m still thinking it over.

Perspective Nineteen

Microstory 242: Perspective Seventeen

Click here for a list of every perspective.
Perspective Sixteen

I kind of hate my job, but I kind of love it. I’m known in certain circles for taking in employees with personality disorders or other emotional problems. Some of them qualify for assistance from the state, while others simply applied and earned their positions independently. I’ve seen how hard it is for people diagnosed with disorders and syndromes. They can sometimes have trouble interacting with others, and so neurotypical employers tend to just not bother with giving them a chance. I didn’t start my business with the intention of supporting my community in this way, but when I saw how hard it was for my autistic nephew to relate to his classmates, I guess I had this instinct to reach out. I didn’t realize how tough this industry would be, or how much I would learn to absolutely detest the work. Make no mistake, helping people in need is extremely rewarding. It’s just all the other stuff that I’ve stopped caring about. We sell custom merchandise. You want your company’s logo on a mug; on a sweater, on a pencil? We’ll do it. Ya know, as long as we have the time and the resources and the capital. So many other businesses handle this sort of thing, and I just can’t stay afloat. I thought it would be interesting, and that every day would be a new challenge, but it’s turned out to be so incredibly tedious. What I’ve discovered after working with these people is that I want to make it my job to help them get other jobs. But that requires education, training, and for me to close the business, which would mean putting the people I already am helping out of work. I’m working on a way to step one foot on the boat while keeping the other on the dock, so I don’t fall in. But that’s even more difficult than you would probably imagine. There’s not really a way for me to slow down production, while one by one letting my people go, because I feel an obligation to find them other work beforehand. And so I laugh, because at this point, I’m the one who needs a state counselor to help me figure out what I’m going to do to achieve my career goals.

Perspective Eighteen