Poetry By Dythandra

My Secret Superpower

Despite my revulsion for the corporate,
In a weak moment I acquiesced
To fulfill a parental dream.

My father's office--
Valued only for the hours
It kept him from
Our humble abode.

Now, piercings reduced, makeup subdued
And wardrobe... I can't even describe,
I play the role
Of dutiful office peon.

Apparently one of the perks of Great Central Insurance,
They "take care of their own"--the orientation day mantra
I hurt myself trying to suppress the giggles.

Placement is always a challenge,
Especially when the neophyte gofer
Has so little motivation.

First there was the coffee cart.
Going from one floor to the next
Doling out stale pastries and cheap java.

It was here I first showed my surprising entrepreneurial skill
When a few with finer tastes signed up for my "bonus" service--
(I'd walk across the street and buy them the good espresso.)

That went fine, aside from a few important documents
My clumsiness soaked beyond repair.
Apparently important clients don't like being asked
To sign things twice.

Next came answering phones--that was short-lived.
It seems the CEO's wife doesn't quite agree
That Marilyn Manson makes good on-hold music.

My assumption that freedom would be my next assignment
Was sadly off the mark.

What a collection of screw-ups and sociopaths must have preceded me
To make this nepotistic staffing program
So very tolerant.

Third time proved strangely lucky.
Mail room--I start my day in the basement,
And no one minds if I wear my headphones
While dropping missives on their desks.

My job seemed an archaic throwback
To pre-email days, but it seems
Some companies still like a paper trail.

Then, one fateful day, I forgot to charge my player,
So I am fully alert as I drift between the cubicles, almost invisible.

A claims manager is chatting with an older couple,
The woman quiet, the man demanding his immediate due.
I overhear enough, and pause until they leave.

"Yes?" the manager looks impatient.
Perhaps he was one of my earlier coffee victims.

"Fire claim?" I ask. He nods.
"I bet she started it--did you smell her breath?"

Two things I learned from my father--the smell of booze
And what voids a policy.
The latter only from waiting impatiently for his calls to end
Back when we were saddled with dialup internet.

"Yeah--it was a fire claim. Why do you think she started it?"
I didn't answer right away, but grabbed the policy from his desk.

"Right here," I pointed. "Non-smokers' discount."

"So?"

"Get them back up here and look at the cigarette burns on her jacket yourself.
She drinks, she passes out, her smokes burn things."

His eyes light up. He calls the investigators, gives them the info, and is thrilled,
When they call back to validate my theory.

I have no quarrel with anyone, but I also don't listen to what people say--
Everyone lies.
I observe; the truth is usually right there, easy to see.

I spend two more months there, arriving when my pager calls me,
Observing what isn't said,
Revealing the truth.

Two frauds, one embezzlement and three affairs
Revealed without much work.

Today I was back where I'd vowed to not return,
Flipping burgers. I shrug when anyone asks.

Truth is, I heard a little more about my first 'catch'.
At least now if I overcook the onions,
Nobody wraps their mouth around the barrel of a gun.