Job Interview

by Trent Walters

— Drac. We meet again.
— I need a job, Doc. I’m so desperate I–
— I vant to suck your blood! Ha, ha.
— That’s an old joke.
— So you’re desperate for a job?
— An oldie but a goodie! Ha, ha. You got some delivery, Doc.
— Frankly, Drac…
— Name’s Dracula. The title’s Count. Say them together: Count Dracula…. But please call me Drac. My trusted associates do.
— Okay, Drac, but frankly a man of your qualifications isn’t needed in the hospital nursery.
— I’m overqualified?
— If you want to put it that way…
— What other way is there?
— Your experience in the mortuary, hospice, blood bank, ICU, and phlebotomy labs, don’t translate into work for a nursery. Besides, a few irregularities sprung up at your last positions.
— You’re discriminating. I’ll sue.
— Nobody’s said–
— Undead men got rights, too. You think I won’t sue?
— That’s nice, but it’s more your reputation.
— Have you checked my references?
— George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Thomas Jefferson were fine American citizens in their day but they’re dead now. Your reputation, I’m afraid, goes a little deeper than any man alive could dig.
— What do you mean?
— You were in jail forty years for murder.
— I’m a changed man. I was let out on good behavior.
— You were let out for the good behavior of the state of Georgia. The prison had trouble keeping inmates. The criminals disappeared, one by one, until only one mysteriously remained. The entire state of Georgia didn’t commit a crime during your sentence. They called the prison you stayed at, let’s see, “Death Row.”
— Aw, Doc. Give a fella a chance.
— With babies? These little fellas want to live. You’ve got to work where no one else wants to.
— I need youth. Rejuvenation. I need to savor the laughter of boys and girls. If you don’t give me a job, I’ll… I’ll…
— You’ll vant to suck my blood?
— I’ll show you! You… you…
— Speech impediment?
— Ow! What the heck?
— That? That’s my fang-proof turtleneck–a fine weave of cotton, wool, and sterling silver smelted from crosses found in abandoned sanctuaries. You like?
— I’d like a job.
— Youth ain’t what it used to be. Time to hang up your dentures and move on. Oh, Drac, don’t cry. You’ll smear your powder. Chin up. Listen, the unwanted pregnancy clinic opened a position in… What do you know? Gone already. Like a bat out of hell. Give the boy credit. A real go-getter.