By Joshua Ryan
I woke up pretty slowly the next afternoon. Mike wasn’t there. He must have seen how passed out I was and figured it wasn’t safe to get me up. He was probably at his office. Maria had left some coffee and a tray of croissants and fruit and little slices of ham—very tasty, despite her being a bitch. I gradually recalled what had happened the night before. I was just as mad as I was then, thinking about those mean things Jerry had said, and how he’d taunted me. And what I’d agreed to do. I’d agreed to become a workie! How did that happen? How could that possibly have happened? I was confused . . . . And at that moment, my phone went off. Jerry, of course. Why not?
“Carson? Mike’s not there–I guess I can talk to you. You remember what we talked about last night? Vaguely? OK. I called the guy at WORC that I mentioned last night, and he was free for lunch—actually, I think he always is. Some people are. So I fed him some drinks and he said sure, you can be a workie. Just like we planned.”
“Uh . . . ” I said.
“I left him a couple minutes ago. It’s all fixed up. All you quote need to do unquote is write something on social media about how great the WORC program is–great, but demanding. I know you won’t do that, and he knows that too. But it’s all set up. You’ll have your two days as a workie.”
“I . . . uh . . . .” Long pause.
