Human Resources

This wasn’t the place I thought I’d be, and even getting here was hard.
        —Jennifer Jones, “Jordan County Park”

I thought it was a funny place for
a job interview; the floor was half-an-inch
deep in water, or something like it,
with galvanized garbage can lids
for stepping-stones. There were twitching,
sudden movements in the fluid; maybe fish,
but I didn’t want to stare. It was important
to seem completely at ease.

He was floating directly above an enormous
ebony desk in lotus position with his eyes shut,
and it didn’t seem fair that I had had to climb
the last twelve stories on a ladder made of
goat hair, as far as I could tell. Two dirty
porcelain plates, a fingerbowl, wine glass,
water goblet, demitasse, and assorted utensils
hovered in the perfumed, pink air, orbiting him
like deformed planets circling a dead sun.

I waited patiently, crouched on the last lid,
clutching my purple briefcase to my bosom,
admiring the view of the smoking ruins
of the airport and labyrinth through the bullet-
riddled floor-to-ceiling glass. Far out to sea,
I thought I glimpsed a vast, dark armada
moving toward the next continent.

He asked me if I’d be willing to relocate,
learn Unix, play golf, drive a Hummer,
insure my life in his favor, get a sex change,
and wear nothing but lime green. I said it
might be difficult to find hiking boots
that color. He told me I had to grow
my own wings.

first appeared in Asimov's SF