You wouldn't think that being an expert on ancient Sumerian greeting cards would have much market value in the current world, and you'd be right, which is how Gordon Primpt found himself applying for a job with MaximoCorp, world-wide seller of pornography to tapirs. He regretted everything as he sat in the waiting room, waiting, as should be tautological, for his number to be called. He sat and he waited and he regretted everything.
It wasn't that he'd had a bad life up to then, nor had he made any truly incorrect choices other than being interested in historical greeting cards in an era when most people thought greeting cards were for the elderly and/or insanely wealthy. In fact, had that been true, Gordon might have found a patron for his fascination. The reality was that greeting cards of ancient Sumer weren't applicable to modern life, mostly being about hoping the terror of life ruled by capricious and cruel gods would be short. No one wanted them.
So Gordon Primpt was forced into seeking a job with global tapir-pornography concern. It wasn't that he felt it was immoral. Tapirs need pornography too, and MaximoCorp was well-regarded for their fair business practices and their ethical treatment of their actors. And this job would have nothing to do with the production of pornography anyway. It was an accounting job. For a global tapir-pornography concern, it is true, but beggars can't be choosers.
No, Gordon regretted everything leading up to this moment because he was a profoundly unhappy person and was unable to admit to himself that he would have been happier as a forensic dentist, but also because forensic dentistry had been widely debunked as junk science and so he'd gone into ancient greeting cards, which had been his minor in college until the aforementioned debunking.
Then his number was called and he walked through the door and found himself face to face with an all-powerful sorcerer.
"I am Vomana the Burned, Keeper of the Sacred Runes of Rakhesh," said the sorcerer. She was wearing traditional ermine and sable robes of her calling, carrying an orb in one hand and a staff in the other, and the air about her crackled with invisible flames.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Gordon Primpt." He could never afterward recall why he'd said it, or how he'd managed to overcome his surprise at seeing her. Perhaps he'd merely thought it and her almighty puissance had plucked it from his brain.
"Gordon Primpt, you seek audience with me to ask a boon." Then Vomana paused. "Hold on. Gordon Primpt from East Grinnell?"
"Um... Yes?"
"Do you have a mole on your left shin that changes color with the tides?"
"No, afraid not."
"Ah. My mistake. I must have been thinking of someone else. Well Mr. Primpt, I'm sorry to say that the vacancy has been filled, but we'll keep your resumé on file. My apologies for wasting your time. Unavoidable." And with that, Vomana the Burned, Keeper of the Sacred Runes of Rakhesh, snapped her fingers and the office faded away, leaving Gordon Primpt standing alone near the front door of his house.
The mole on his right shin, which changed color with the position of Venus, was a particularly brilliant blue that day.
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