disorientation

by Michael Grant Smith

Welcome, trainees, to this meeting, a quasi-neo-proto-semi-virtual glimpse into the refrigerator crisper drawer of our corporate mind. Your interest in being employed by us is both commendable and highly suspicious. The surprise we “feel” is as complete as our lack of empathy. Let us begin our presentation. We’ll start with one thousand slides designed to support our assertions, all of which are false.

Make no mistake, we’re sentient. Far too often we, as an entity, are misidentified as an oily, tar-like substance. We much prefer to be recognized as a service organization and are, as such, incapable of emulating human emotions. One of the benefits of this reality (for us, at least) is we’re seldom wrong. The downside (for everyone else, at least) is a lot of people are going to suffer whenever we think we’re right.

Customers continue to consume. They nurture only that which they will destroy at some future date. Appetites such as theirs have not passed unnoticed throughout history. In many cases, these desires define political parties. Now, there’s an aroma detectable from a mile away. Humorous side-note: each consumer imagines themselves a trendsetter, but polite society has had it up to here with the self-conscious nudity. Obedience to fashion requires leather and chains.

It’s time to save the world. Consider applying a shellac topcoat to prevent smearing. Garnish with sliced hardboiled eggs. Here’s some useful advice for you neophytes . . . please stop being smooth, incontinent babies. Your questions may be submitted only in written form and shall be incinerated unread and unanswered. Folks are beginning to realize we are all we want. We do not listen to the talking you make.

On occasion, a puff of wind raises the sheet of our institutional skin, thereby exposing the wires and worms and gears and shiny fruit salad concealed beneath. When the membrane settles back into place, the moment passes. In the absence of convenient breezes, a couple of quick stirs could reveal vital information. A verdict left unknown is a conviction subject to appeal. Always/never depend on the needs/risks/costs of answers recorded/insinuated on grains of rice/sand. You can’t sell it if you can’t smell it.

Before we proceed with Part Two of today's ninety-six segments, we’ll pause for a toilet break. The auditorium doors will remain locked.

Photo of Michael Grant Smith (and Lyle)

BIO: Michael Grant Smith wears sleeveless T-shirts, weather permitting. His writing appears in elimae, The Airgonaut, Ellipsis Zine, Spelk, Bending Genres, MoonPark Review, Okay Donkey, trampset, New World Writing, Tiny Molecules, and elsewhere. Michael resides in Ohio. He has traveled to Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Cincinnati. For more Michael, please visit http://www.michaelgrantsmith.com and @MGSatMGScom