Evil Editor in the Wrong Line

Evil Editor does not have a current exercise in play right now, so I invented my own.

This is based on something which actually happened to me about fifteen years ago. I went to one of those government centers, but I got into the wrong line.

What if that happened to Evil Editor? He goes to renew a license, but winds up in a line for the severely unemployable.

Evil Editor shook out his impatience with a sigh. It was bad enough to have to wait forever, but now it also appeared he was getting a sleaze attendant. Coarse, black hair with tints of grey hanging down like moldy overripe bananas. Black moustache. Bulges oozing from the shirt like mustard from one of those tiny restaurant packets after it’s been stepped on. Unlit stogie hanging from the mouth. No smile. She looked rough.

He decided to go against his nature and actually be polite. “Good morning,” he began.

The woman sized him up. He felt like a Sunday roast awaiting carving. When she spoke, it wasn’t to him. She didn’t even take the stogie out of her mouth.

“Boy, do I get the losers. Grey hair. Overweight. Overaged. Completely overdone. That rules out anything physical. Oh, well. Let’s get this over with. From the look of you, I’m guessing I should check for cognitive ability.” She pulled out a form, placed it before her on the desk and took a pen in hand. “How’s your memory?"

“Memory? What -"

She hunched over the form and began writing. “Evidence of dementia. Now, how much is twelve times twelve?"

“Twelve times twelve?"

“No math skills. Oh, what’s your name?"

“I’m Evil Editor. Perhaps you have heard of me. I -"

“Delusions of grandeur. Buddy, you are going to be hard to place. You got any people skills?"

“Now look here!"

“No people skills. Hmm. You know I just may have the thing. County Social Worker. How does that sound?"

Evil Editor shook his head. “What -"

“Oh, it’s an easy job. People in need of assistance call you and ask for help. Your job is to tell them why they don’t qualify. Any reason will do. If you get stumped, just tell ‘em their income is too high."

“Too high?"

“Hey! I don’t care if they find money on the street. It’s income. Sure, they moan and they cry. But that’s life!" She looked at him, an odd smile twisted on her face. Was she trying to be alluring, or annoying? "You got any trouble with making people moan and cry?"

Evil Editor stood straight and proud. “Madame, I am Evil Editor. I have spent my entire life rejecting the life blood of authors around the world."

She sat back and took the stogie from her mouth, rolling it delicately between her fingers as she viewed him with a hungry, approving smile.

“My, you are evil, aren’t you?"