Interview With Colt

The receptionist told me I had to wait for the manager to finish his telephone call, but I wasn’t going to wait any longer for the b*****d; I was hungry and tired and hungry and hungry and hungry. But I have to wait, I thought to myself, looking at the pretty receptionist, in her clean clothes and washed hair, with her white teeth and her smile. Things I wish I had. I sit down in one of the chairs the receptionist pointed to. She returns to her computer, taps the keyboard obnoxiously, ignoring my presence; she’s probably not even typing anything.

I try to make myself comfortable in the chair but it is too goddamn rigid. I look at the flashing faces on the magazines and grab one. I flip a page to a young beauty, long legs and no clothes. I close my eyes and toss the magazine aside.  Erections need blood flow, I need to breathe faster to increase my blood flow, I need more energy to breathe, I need more food for energy, I need more money for food. I have eighty nine cents in my pocket. An erections going to cost me at least seventy five cents.

The phone rings and the receptionist answers with the high pitch tone of a young female assistant. She answers and there is silence in the room and she eyes me and I shift in the chair and she sets the phone down and says I can go inside the office now. Mr. Colt is ready to see me. I stand and say thank you and open the door to the office.

 Colt has his clean shoes on his desk, few papers and less bills and more magazines and senseless buttons and screens and machines. He flashes his teeth and extends his hand. I accept the firm handshake and think to myself this guy is an a*****e. Look at him with his hair and his smile and his strong hand and his office and his desk and his receptionist. This whole goddamn building is his castle and he knows his position. He knows he’s king of the throne. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Rockwell?"

"I would like to work here, sir."

"Here? You want to work here? In this building? No, Mr. Rockwell, you can't work here. You would be working in the factory of course. You would be laboring."

"But I don’t want to labor. I want to work in here, in an office."

"Mr. Rockwell, these offices are for the managers and the founders of the company. The actual production of our product takes place in Hartford. You would be working there. Now, do you have your paperwork that I gave you last time?"

"No I lost it in a car accident."

"Really? Well if you don’t have your papers with you this meeting is entirely irrelevant."

"They burned man! I had no control over that! Now interview me right now, I can still answer questions, sir."

"Mr. Rockwell, you don't have your papers. You may leave."

"Please, sir,"

There was a silence and Mr. Colt sighed.  "Now, here at Colt's Manufacturing Company of Arms and Defense, we believe that responsibility is what keeps this business shooting. Responsibility and trust. I have to trust my employees; I have to trust them to be responsible and not forgetful. Now Mr. Rockwell, if one of my employees, say, forgot to put a screw in the ejection port, or tighten the hammer recoil, and somebody happens to buy one of those flawed guns and injures themselves due to the faulty weapon, I am responsible, and I could have a lawsuit under my belt.  I don’t like lawsuits, Mr. Rockwell."

I opened my mouth to say something but was cut off. 

"Now Mr. Rockwell, just based off of the three minutes you’ve been in here, I can tell that you are not the Colt employee. You are not responsible. You can’t even retain a silly goddam paper. If I were to hire you, your nonchalant, lazy personality could get somebody killed. It’s happened. Remington Arms had a couple faulty rifles that exploded when the trigger was pulled. Big f*****g controversy."

"I worked at Remington."

"Oh did you now. Well now you understand why I can’t hire you."

"Mr. Colt, please."

He pointed to the door. 

"I am not going to say another word."

I stood up from the chair I was sitting in, pulled out a prank gun from my jacket pocket, pointed it at Mr. Colt's face and pulled the trigger. The flag which obnoxiously stated BANG failed to eject itself and Mr. Colt swiftly revealed a pistol from his desk, a .45 I believe, and shot me in the chest.

 

Reviews

[Naraly Godinez]

BEAUTIFUL ! different inordinary and we'll just lovely! By good you've done it again..
Two things though
1- seemed a little rushed but then again it sorta coupled will with the urgency Rockwell had.
2- that ending!!!! Abrupt and short it had the perfect amount of drama I love it when you end then that way.

And lastly touching on an actual modern day economic problem was very clever I may add I love that you pointed out how even such a simple maybe even free "luxury" such as an erection has a price

[Ania L]

Fun ending I did not see coming! Felt a little unfinished though, almost want another paragraph or something but I can't think of how I would finish it... Sorry to be a little vague, I did enjoy it!