Ducky Park
Taking tickets at the gate can't be a hard job, right? Just taking money, handing out tickets, stamping hands, and putting those little paper bracelets around wrists.
Seems easy enough. The real challenge for you will be giving correct change, you figure. But the register should do all the math for you, so all you'd have to do is count it out and hand it over. That shouldn't be so hard.
Your Uncle Jim still stares at you, waiting for an answer.
"Oh," you say, "Sorry... I wouldn't mind working the gate."
"Right-o," He says, letting out a frustrated breath. "Well, let me introduce you to your new boss then."
As he starts to walk to a little office next to the main gate you spot some Ducky Park employees rooting through the coolers of some of the customers.
"Uncle Jim," You say, quickly alerting him to the crime that is underway so near by. Why they would do such a thing in front of a crow is beyond you. "Should they be doing that?"
"Huh?" Uncle Jim says, turning his head to look at the crimes scene. "Oh yeah. That's their job."
You think about this for a moment, and as you think it over you see one of the young men pull out some drinks and containers and set them aside before allowing the patron to pass through the gate. "So it's their job to steal?"
"Steal?!" Uncle Jim says. "Hell, Ricky, they're just surveying what is brought into the park. No alcohol, drugs, or firearms are permitted."
That doesn't sound like a bad job either. You think for a moment about it before Uncle Jim begins moving again and you rush to catch up.
He steps into the little office that looks like a miniature house and holds the door open for you. You step in after him and find yourself standing beside him in front of a large dask. Behind the desk sits an older, bald headed man with thick glasses. His yellow teeth smile up at the two of you and you are amazed at the amount of light his head is capable of reflecting. You wonder if he waxes it, or if it is naturally that shiney.
"Ricky," Your uncle says, "This is Herbert. He's the man in charge of the gates."
"Hi," you say, trying not to let your disgust with his teeth show in your own smile.
"Hello," he says in a voice like gravel raining on a tin roof.
"Herb, this is my nephew Ricky. He wants to work here and would like to work the gate."
"Very good," Herb says, bobbing his head up and down madly in an overly emphasized nod. "Where did you want him, Jim?"
Uncle Jim looks at you then back to Herbert. "We had discussed the ticket counters. It's an easy enough job, and he would like to start there."
"Wait," You say. "What about those guys that dig through everyones stuff before letting them into the park?"
"Bag check? You want to do that?" You uncle asks, a little surprised.
"I don't know, maybe."
"Well it's yours if you want it." Your uncle slaps a hand on your back. "You think it over, and when you make your decision, just tell Herb where you want to work and he'll get you started."
He reaches for the door. "See you later, Herb."
"Bye, Jim."
Uncle Jim leaves the two of you alone in the office. Herb stares at you, his yellow teeth sucking the light from the room and utterly captivating your focus. The yellow is thick, almost three dimensional. You can see layers of the caked filth and wonder how long it's been since he brushed.
He just keeps on smiling, occassionaly licking his lips, but then returning to the same stare and the same retched smile.
You can't take it any more. You must make a decision.
Seems easy enough. The real challenge for you will be giving correct change, you figure. But the register should do all the math for you, so all you'd have to do is count it out and hand it over. That shouldn't be so hard.
Your Uncle Jim still stares at you, waiting for an answer.
"Oh," you say, "Sorry... I wouldn't mind working the gate."
"Right-o," He says, letting out a frustrated breath. "Well, let me introduce you to your new boss then."
As he starts to walk to a little office next to the main gate you spot some Ducky Park employees rooting through the coolers of some of the customers.
"Uncle Jim," You say, quickly alerting him to the crime that is underway so near by. Why they would do such a thing in front of a crow is beyond you. "Should they be doing that?"
"Huh?" Uncle Jim says, turning his head to look at the crimes scene. "Oh yeah. That's their job."
You think about this for a moment, and as you think it over you see one of the young men pull out some drinks and containers and set them aside before allowing the patron to pass through the gate. "So it's their job to steal?"
"Steal?!" Uncle Jim says. "Hell, Ricky, they're just surveying what is brought into the park. No alcohol, drugs, or firearms are permitted."
That doesn't sound like a bad job either. You think for a moment about it before Uncle Jim begins moving again and you rush to catch up.
He steps into the little office that looks like a miniature house and holds the door open for you. You step in after him and find yourself standing beside him in front of a large dask. Behind the desk sits an older, bald headed man with thick glasses. His yellow teeth smile up at the two of you and you are amazed at the amount of light his head is capable of reflecting. You wonder if he waxes it, or if it is naturally that shiney.
"Ricky," Your uncle says, "This is Herbert. He's the man in charge of the gates."
"Hi," you say, trying not to let your disgust with his teeth show in your own smile.
"Hello," he says in a voice like gravel raining on a tin roof.
"Herb, this is my nephew Ricky. He wants to work here and would like to work the gate."
"Very good," Herb says, bobbing his head up and down madly in an overly emphasized nod. "Where did you want him, Jim?"
Uncle Jim looks at you then back to Herbert. "We had discussed the ticket counters. It's an easy enough job, and he would like to start there."
"Wait," You say. "What about those guys that dig through everyones stuff before letting them into the park?"
"Bag check? You want to do that?" You uncle asks, a little surprised.
"I don't know, maybe."
"Well it's yours if you want it." Your uncle slaps a hand on your back. "You think it over, and when you make your decision, just tell Herb where you want to work and he'll get you started."
He reaches for the door. "See you later, Herb."
"Bye, Jim."
Uncle Jim leaves the two of you alone in the office. Herb stares at you, his yellow teeth sucking the light from the room and utterly captivating your focus. The yellow is thick, almost three dimensional. You can see layers of the caked filth and wonder how long it's been since he brushed.
He just keeps on smiling, occassionaly licking his lips, but then returning to the same stare and the same retched smile.
You can't take it any more. You must make a decision.