Apologies, from Gary

Greetings, Friend, this is Gary!

I'll tell you, it has been quite the day! I'm sure you're wondering where I am, and to that end, I kindly ask that you read on so that you might have a more sympathetic understanding of my situation and judge my tardiness with such things in mind.

I woke up this morning, as most of us aspiring entrepreneurs do, at 3:52 A.M. This gave me the perfect amount of time for my usual morning routine; shaving, face-peeling, tooth-brushing, thirteen minutes in the sensory deprivation tank, reading two chapters of Battlefield Earth (rapidly approaching my hundredth re-read!), and another seventeen minutes in the sensory deprivation tank to cull the carnal desire that novel inspires in me.

This was followed, of course, by an ice bath to focus my mind further, and pore cataloging. After this, my morning stretches, one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, and a thirty-minute plank.

5 A.M! Time for breakfast. My doctor has recently diagnosed me with an iron deficiency, so I had been supplementing my usual morning orange juice with eight ounces of dodo blood (which hadn’t been much trouble to adjust to, as my titanium Maxwell Smart Juicer juices dodos as well as it does oranges). Alongside this, I ate a sixteen ounce cube each of tofu, feta, and raw spinach, garnished with three freshly picked Percocets (my preferred dosage ratio is 5 mg/325 mg). As the old saying goes, an opioid a day keeps the doctor paid!

While I ate, I meditated to free-fall into my Mind Labyrinth (I know many have trouble entering as quickly as I do, and I’ve found that listening to the final Heaven's Gate broadcast assists greatly in getting into the right headspace; if you have a busy schedule, I highly recommend it). After landing, I checked to ensure all the Doors and Windows were locked, the Pool Water is properly chlorinated, and the knives were all out of reach of the children. Before leaving, I attended a session in the Positive Affirmation Room. To drag myself back to reality quickly, I forced a leaf of spinach between my front teeth, which urged my waking mind to snap back to attention to floss it out.

After awakening, I finished breakfast, cleaned my dishes, and got properly dressed, all finished before 6 A.M. By 6 A.M. I should already be out the door, which I was!

Now, as you know from my resume, Friend, I live in Latticework's Concrete Condos. This sprawling complex mega-structure of bone and cement occupies a square one-by-one mile area, and as I live toward the center, it takes me a significant amount of time to navigate my way to the outer limits of my humble little gated community, around twenty-nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds. I try to structure my schedule down to the picosecond, however, this, unfortunately, leaves little room for mishaps and inconveniences. Such as it was that the elevator from my twenty-third-floor condo to the floor level had a slipped disc and fractured vertebrae, so I had to take the stairs, which tacked on an extra thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds. This unpunctuality made me feel like quite a stranger to myself if you'll excuse my Franz!

Not only this, but I had forgotten it was the tyrannically recognized holiday Day of the Fender, and as I finally reached the sidewalk outside my community, I was met with an oncoming hundred twenty-eight wheeler asphalt snake— which I frantically threw myself clear of, rolling into the street in my desperation.

However, as I’m sure you’re aware, this particular Day of the Fender also happened to coincide with the recent Manhole protests, and as such, when I continued to roll further towards the center of the street to dodge all the oncoming traffic, I slipped right into an open hole to our beloved septic system. Now, I have no earthly clue what the kids these days mean when they say that manholes are “torturous tools of toxic gate-keeping culture”, but their rebellious actions have once again had dire consequences in this case! I was certainly worried about how my finery was going to possibly hold up as my back hit the Sewer Slides, but as I would soon find out, I had much bigger concerns to contend with.

You see, as urban exploration has become a trendy hobby amongst teenagers, the local Sanitation Bears that inhabit the sewers had acquired a taste for human blood. Mind you, I'm no spring chicken (and we all know young blood tastes best), however, I'm sure they could smell my refined, aged A1-grade blood from miles away as if I were a premium wedge of Pecorino Romano. I could hear their webbed paws hurriedly splish-splashing down the tunnels and thus I made haste to spirit myself away from them, wading through waste and partially digested teenagers (though I suppose those are the same thing, but I digress!). I could hear their fiendish warbling howls drawing closer to me, their bodies far more suited to wading through this slimy bile and viscera than I was, their mouths suited for funneling up the meat that lines the floors while I had to do my best just to not trip over it!

I was met with a dead end as I continued on, the pack's breath at the back of my neck, my body shivering from their distorted growls. Behind me, the bears. Ahead of me, a gated drop engulfed by such darkness I could not hope to see the bottom. But, deciding it was better to go out on my terms than be devoured and egested into all-purpose cleaner, I took the plunge, a clawed hand just barely nicking the back of my suit as I lept.

And so I fell,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀plummeting,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀down,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀down,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀down,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀nothing but the sulfurous smell of rot and methane

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to keep me company

For what felt like eons.

But, checking my watch, it had been only forty-eight minutes and twenty-eight seconds!

At the end of which, I finally landed into a massive cube of something unidentifiable and gelatinous. It was clear and cubed, so I hurriedly "swam" out of it, gasping for air as I crawled onto the floor. Before I could even catch my breath, however, I was met with the light of a dozen torches. Looking up, I found myself bridled with a newfound, looming threat.

It was the "Grand Suewer Wizardz" (misspelling on their part, not mine), in their detestable, conical headdresses, and scatologically themed robes. I had assumed the Sewer Purge last year had properly cleaned out the foul-smelling rascals, but were I so lucky…

Anyhoo, they swiftly descended upon me, binding me by the hands and feet and dragging me to their lair, lambasting me with all manner of curses, slurs, and words I can only assume were also slurs as they were spoken in a mystifying accent, but a recognizably hateful tone. Now, I did my best to inform them of the storied histories of those words and the harm they cause, but they were interested little in what I had to say and hooted and hollered over me the entire time.

They brought me to a table and strapped me down, interrogating me in their incomprehensible garbled dialect of hate crimes and bitter colloquialisms. After several minutes, the dullards realized I could barely understand them, and left as a group to either grab a translator, or torture tools, neither of which I was eager to meet. Due to my recent plunge in the mysterious slime, however, I was very slippery, and thus shimmied out of my binds, making a break for the door. A Wizard wandered back into the room as I did, shocked and enraged by my escape attempt. Now, being a man who is well-versed in the art of negotiation and debate, I calmly expressed to him the importance of open-mindedness and self-awareness, as well as how integral safe-words and safe practices are when it comes to bondage. Not understanding a word I said, he reached for my wrist, so I further iterated the significance of consent to him with the blunt end of a very large brick.

As I left the room coated in more blood than when I had entered it, I found the scat mongers huddled near what appeared to be a freight elevator, what was likely my only ticket out of this place. I snuck my way carefully closer to the elevator, and while huddled down, did my best impression of the howl of a sanitation bear (which I had time to practice in the fall here). It appeared to be rather effective, as they started screeching and skedaddling toward what I assume was likely an armory.

I made a break for the elevator, sliding inside and hurriedly slamming the button to the lowest numbered "floor" I could see. They came back, spear guns in hand, firing shots through the elevator floor as it rose, which I managed to narrowly dodge utilizing the skills I had learned from my recent tango lessons last Tuesday. I attempted to further admonish them for their hateful ways while I was still in earshot, but I find it quite likely it did not reach their blackened (browned?) hearts, unfortunately.

After twenty more minutes on the dot, I finally reached sea level. Or, rather, lake level, as I was now in a drainage tunnel that led directly into the Black Lake. Now, I happen to have a crippling fear of ink worms after an ill-fated encounter with them as a wee lad, so I can't say I was too thrilled with this being my most expedient way out of these sewers. It was what it was, though, and I had to take it. As I entered the tepid waters, a harsh tide immediately dragged me out deeper into the opaque lake. I choked and sputtered in the staining waters, the taste of formaldehyde sharp on my tongue. Thankfully, it wasn't long until I was picked up by a group of passing harpooners, right as my watch hit 9 A.M.

"In a spot of trouble, old sport?" one teased, kicking a ladder down for me to latch onto and climb my way up. I nodded my head and thanked him for the assistance, they patted me on the back with strong, rough hands, and assured me I was welcome to stay with them until they got back to shore. I communicated to them I was in a hurry and needed to get to land as soon as possible, and they looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

"Well, I suppose it's early enough in the day for a quick trip to shore, old sport." they collectively concluded, changing course to the White Beach. It was smooth sailing for a considerate portion of the voyage... until we were in sight of the shore. As we approached the familiar ivory sands of my youth, a great cylindrical beast rose from the lake. Its body was lacquered with red and white stripes, its nose a rapidly spinning, blinding light. It was at least a hundred feet long, and the very act of it breaching disturbed the waves enough as to almost topple the modest boat we were on.

"There, old sports! The Lighthouse! Fire away!" one of the harpooners cried out over the cacophonous horn of the spiraling beast.

Their harpoons were not effective.

"The Lighthouse", as they called it, however, was incredibly proficient in shattering little fishing boats with little fishing men on them into hundreds of little fishing splinters.

Thankfully, it was not quite as proficient in shattering Garys!

I barely managed to dive out of the way, hitting the lake again and spinning in the pitch-black waters from the force of the nearby impact, the sour, briny liquid in my ears just barely drowning out the screams. As soon as I could orient myself, I put those hundreds of hours swimming at the Pools to use, propelling myself through the water as fast as I could manage, rasping for air and praying no ink worms would slip into my mouth.

I was safe... this time.

I dragged myself onto the pristine White Beach, ejecting whatever odorous lake water had made its way into my body onto the sand, wiping my mouth off, and heading back toward the city. As I checked my watch, it was 10 A.M. now. This day was most certainly not going to plan, and I cursed myself for not waking up earlier. The quickest way to get Downtown was by passing straight through a nearby construction site, and while I would normally never trespass in such a dangerous area, I deemed job security to be a critical element of Gary security.

I noted a sign on the outer fences: "WARNING: THIS IS A TRANSITIONAL CONSTRUCTION SITE. TRESPASS AT YOUR PERIL", and, well, I felt like I was already swinging for the fences when it came to peril today, so what danger was one more spot of trouble? I suppose I should have put more thought into what that sign meant, however, as it had left me in an even bigger pickle.

You see, after climbing the fence and checking my watch, I noticed that it had stopped ticking. Now, I have a very grand, very expensive, very durable watch that I take very careful, very meticulous, very regular care of. As such, I knew that an occurrence like this could only be the work of the Devil.

And, what awaited me ahead was devilish indeed.

As I looked up from my watch, I was met with a mountainous, non-Euclidean entanglement of packed rusty dirt, construction vehicles, and steel girders that stretched as far as I could see, a whirling mass of towering cranes spinning at the very edge of the horizon.

Turning around, the fence I had just climbed was rapidly fleeing from me, the ground it had been guarding stretching with it, leaving me alone with the consequences of my unfortunate decision. There was no going back now, only forward. The past stretched endlessly behind me, and the only certainty I had in any true destination lay ahead. So, I started walking.

I walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Sometimes, I walked sideways.

Sometimes, I walked v

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀l

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.

My shoes met dirt, rusted iron, and mud. Occasionally, I would pass a flock of construction workers, roosting on their orange girders, hoisted thousands of feet into the air. They had no ears to hear me with, or eyes to spy on me. Just hardened, chitinous beaks to feast on day-old sandwiches their wives had packed for them. I wondered how OSHA might feel about such a precarious violation of workplace safety, had they not been de-established one hundred years ago.

Or was it two hundred? By the time I passed the tenth flock, it felt like I had been marching in this place for at least a century. I could only assume that wasn't factually correct. After all, my watch had stopped. Watches are far less likely to lie than your own mind.

So instead of questioning what I was doing, I kept walking.

And walking.

And walking.

And walking.

I walked past the point I could feel my feet, or my legs, the air on the skin, the ink in my blood, or the slime of my tongue. An unfeeling, shambling apathetic beast in a suit two sizes too big, gruesome and terrible, and horrifyingly fluorescent. My eyes melted to jelly, replaced by blinding floodlights. My blood turned to freshly mixed cement. My arms were great Cranes, made for lifting ever precious Cargo, and my legs were treads to deliver this blessed vessel to its intended Lot. I was a glowing machine with a glorious purpose; paving over the past, building bypasses and highways over the graves of the dead, and demolishing sites of heretical heritage to construct more empty warehouses and condos that no soul will ever live in. To simply live is to decay without purpose, but to build is a great, holy thing. When the walls wear down and rot, we demolish, pave, and build again.

Thus is the purpose of the Singularity of the Crane, ever swinging, ever swirling, the sounds of rolling cement drums loud enough to burst your ear-drums, the rumble of bulldozers thunderous enough to turn the bones in your legs to glue and bind your knees to the ground in reverence to progress. I piloted my vessel forward across one last Girder, feeling my metal components spaghetifying as I fell into the event horizon of the Holy Core. I was woven and spun like taffy by an immeasurable number of steel hooks, my warped, rusted chassis ripped asunder part by part for recycling and tossed to the cold and unfeeling winds of the wonderful, everlasting void.

Non-existence was bliss.

But, as I cherished this merciful deconstruction, I realized that I hadn't checked my watch in the previous ten minutes.

In front of your offices, I saw that you had just closed, and I was two minutes late.

To summarize, that's why I was late for the job interview today, Friend!

I hope you can find it in your heart to accept my most humble apologies, and give me another opportunity for this position!

Would this Friday work for you? Please let me know at your earliest convenience. Thank you for your time!