In the United States, we make a big deal out of Halloween. It seems like it must be a federal law that kids have to dress in weird costumes and go door-to-door begging for candy. A lot of adults wear costumes and make-up to work and to parties, some of which can get pretty wild. Another thing people like to do is go to theme parks whose sole purpose is to scare the shit out of people. This story is about a young man who gets a job at one of those places.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"But, Doc, I just don't understand why I'm in so much trouble," I said. "I mean, it isn't like I was the first one to...."
My advisor, Doctor Patterson, put his hands on his desk and leaned over toward me. "David James Michaels, don't even start that shit with me about how everyone's fucked Teri Richards. I'm sure almost everyone has -- hell, she asked me if I wanted a blowjob at the department Christmas party!"
"Yeah? How did you like it?" I asked.
"David! I'm not that damn stupid! Don't you know who Teri's grandfather is?"
"No."
"You're dumber than I thought. Her grandfather is Dr. Miles Hemmings, the Dean of the College of Surgery here at the university. YOUR Dean, David! The man that has made or ruined the career of every resident surgeon here for the last twenty years. He knows what you did. You are officially fucked with your pants on, my boy."
"He knows? How the hell did he find out?"
"Dr. Hemmings seems to think posting the video you two made on Spring Break on a porn site wasn't appropriate. He roasted my eardrums on the phone about it an hour ago. As I remember, the nicest thing he called you was 'that deviant med student'," Doc said.
"What am I going to do?"
Doc looked at me hard for a few seconds before he said, "I suggest you drop out of school."
"Drop out? What am I supposed to do then?" I asked. "Sell medical supplies to doctors' offices? Carry around cases of free logo pens and memo pads in the trunk of my car? I'd rather go back to working construction!"
"Okay, calm down," Doc Patterson said. "There's some good news in all of this. Old Doc Hemmings is retiring at the end of this semester. Some of the school's trustees are very glad to see him go. He won't be missed."
"So? He retires but doesn't get a big party. Woo Hoo. My career is shot before I ever get started," I moaned.
"David, listen to me. I'm sure that, once he's gone, it will be very easy to get you back in here. In fact, I'll give you my word that I'll call in a few markers to get you re-instated in the program. You just need to take the semester off."
"Do you really think I can get back in after the New Year if I drop out?" I asked.
"It's a very safe assumption that you will make a fine surgeon with the training you'll get here after your few-month 'vacation,' Doctor Michaels. Keep in touch," Doc Patterson said, gesturing toward the door.
Well. I have been working hard. I haven't had more than four hours sleep a night for years. Maybe it really is time to take a vacation from all this and spend some time in the real world.
I went home to my little apartment. Flopping on my bed, I decided I'd worry about what I was going to do to fill my time until January after I took a nap.
Except for a one-minute break to take a piss, I slept until dawn.
After a long shower and a decent breakfast at the odd little coffee shop around the corner, I began to consider my options.
It went without saying that I would still spend a lot of time reading the stuff I was going to need to know. I wanted to be a trauma surgeon -- one of those guys who really makes a difference in the length of someone's life.
But what was I supposed to do with the time I had spent in lecture halls and labs, or in the hospital itself? I had conditioned myself all these years to working twenty-four hour shifts. I wasn't going to be doing that until after the holidays? Four months? I was going to go nuts.
Pretty soon, it became apparent that I needed to find a job. It wasn't a case of work or starve, so the type of job was more important to me than the hourly rate. Maybe I could find something that would actually be fun.
On my third day of casually surfing the web for jobs, I saw an odd little posting: "Persons needed for seasonal work at Halloween attraction. Work includes maintenance, trouble-shooting and repair, ticket sales, operating concession stands or rides, or working as an actor in vignettes and short skits. Apply online, if you dare, at www.grim_reapers_farm.com."
The Grim Reaper's Farm? I know that place! The Barn of Death, the Silo of Torture, the Hayride of Horror, people running around with chainsaws or dressed as vampires! What a cool place to work!
I filled out the online application, and then called the office. Apparently, the posting had only gone up a few minutes before I saw it, and I was given an appointment for an interview in the morning. All right!
After breakfast, I drove to the farm. The parking lot was deserted, so I parked in a spot right at the main gate. I could hear sounds coming from somewhere inside, but I didn't see anyone. When I walked past the empty ticket office, I was startled by a voice calling out to me, "May I help you?"
An enormous young man wearing bib overalls and a John Deere hat was walking toward me. His hair, face, and clothes were matted with gore. Even in daylight, the sight of him made my blood run cold.
"Don't worry, it's make-up, dude," the guy laughed. "Our people have to do some actual work when they're in costume, so some of us wear the stuff all the time in the pre-season to test it.
"Oh. Sure. Right" I said. "Well, I have an appointment with Mrs. West."
"Seth West's my name," he said sticking out a meaty hand.
I took his hand, surprised by the warm, firm, but gentle handshake of this giant. "I'm David Michaels."
"Mom's going to interview you. My family owns the place. Come on. I'll take you to her office," Seth said.
Mrs. West's office was in a large, windowless building hidden behind one of the fences of the theme park. The only clue patrons had about it was the locked door in the fence. We walked into a long hallway, at the end of which was a tinted glass door.
"Hey, Mom!" Seth called as we entered a small, lushly furnished, dimly lit reception area.