Intake
I am one of the luckiest girls in the whole world. This is what they told me when I walked into the lobby. It was a white room with a white desk and behind the desk is where they sat. They had beautiful long yellow hair and pretty blue eyes and they were on their computers clack clack clacking away. It was amazing to behold. To see them at work. I wondered what it was that they were typing on there. I bet they were looking at websites, blinking at them. Making deals. Perhaps they had accessed the part of the internet where you can buy a boyfriend or a child servant or some strappy high-heeled shoes.
They asked me how my flight went. They asked me if I got their gift beforehand and I said yes it was so cool, and thanks to your amazing gift what happened was I washed it down with the complimentary glass of ginger ale in a little red cup and then I fell asleep. They said that sounds so nice and they all smiled at me.
The plane. Yes there had been a plane. A white humming dot in a blue sky. Babies gurgling on their mothers’ laps. A security guard whose hand just kind of hovered over my ass while patting me down. Men and boys and dudes eating hamburgers, and what happens is they are on their cell phones and shouting and masticating as they stand there, right there in front of the gate. And a woman washing her hands in the ladies room informing us that she got a little shit on her pinky. It was my first time at ten thousand feet. My mind went dark when I took the gift they gave me. It was like: Zippo lighter to pretty girl brain. After that: nothing nothing nothing. And then, when I woke up, I became one of the luckiest girls in the whole world.
The beautiful girls behind the desk, when they spoke it was of one voice. It was a soprano. It was a rustle.
Have a seat, they said. Just a few minutes. It won’t be long until you begin. Someone will be with you shortly. Please let us know if you would like a beverage. We have water that is in a box. It seemed appealing to be hydrated. Especially because the day was going to be long. In the first communiqués, weeks ago, the number was six. There would be six hours of practicals, chitchats, conversations, and of course the standard physical exam. The instructions were specific: the main food you can eat is juice, don’t get reamed by any cocks, if people ask why you are going on an airplane say because it was getting back in touch with a long-lost relative such as a second cousin or half brother.
The water. I smiled so big.
Yes. OK. Yeah. Please. Thanks so much, I said.
And then from behind the desk, what I heard I think was a button or a lever being either pulled or pushed and it appeared.
Need a straw? they asked.
I straightened my back. This is another thing about being one of the luckiest girls in the world. It’s all about poise. I had forgotten poise. I had forgotten: Stand up straight and tall, Miss. Do Not Arch Your Back Like That. Beautiful girls are always smiling and their backs are straight.
Yes, I said, once I was in position. That would be like, so awesome.
Again they pressed a button and the straw materialized. It was red and white striped like a candy cane, and was oh-so cute.
Using my education and intuition, I knew exactly what to do next: press the straw into the box of water, sip gratefully, then put my ass on the chair. The white plastic chair. I did just this. I was so graceful. I sipped and smiled and sauntered to the chair and sat down, crisscross applesauce, looking not at the girls behind the front desk but at the white walls. Inside of my brain it was mostly silence, save for the voice of a man who whispered to me in a beautiful, heavy, druggy tone: It’s hard to think when my mind goes blank. You just can’t think when your mind goes blank.
I think I heard that one time on the radio.
To the tune of the song, my brain opened up to reveal a hammerhead-shark grin. I saw a car.
I was so close to doing something meaningful with my life. It was all going to be so great. It was all starting to happen for me. I was going to make something of myself. To join their ranks, to be one of them, it was so wonderful for me to imagine. Here’s something worth remembering: the time I got the call. It was in the shopping mall. I had always loved the shopping mall ever since I was so young. I was sitting on the edge of the fountain eating a warm pretzel that I had dipped oh-so gingerly in spicy-hot mustard. It was a girl who looked just like them: yellow hair, blue eyes, a pinafore with a white starched blouse underneath. She had motioned me over and asked me if I’d ever heard of Rat Ltd. MCXVII before.
And I said no I had not. It wasn’t on my radar.
And the girl said in a whorish voice: We’re looking for pretty girls just like you to work there. Give me your cell phone number?
She handed me a clipboard and I wrote it out in my cleanest script.
Awesome. Awesome! This is how she responded.
Later that day, my cell phone rang. And I received the invite.
It was one of my happiest memories of all time. After that, things became so good for me. It brought me here.
Physical Examination
The door in the waiting room swung open to reveal another girl. This one was taller. Believe it or not, she was a brunette. Her hair was pin straight. She wore a white lab coat buttoned all the way up. On her feet: white sneakers, marshmallow style. On her face, a pair of see-through lunettes.
If you’d please follow me, she said.
I got up. Like a little lamb, I followed her so sweetly.
She shepherded me to another room. In the center, there was an examination table covered in a little white paper sheet. There was also a table, a little silver table. And on it: a shirt, a navy blue shirt with yellow lettering that read CANDIDATE.
Alrighty, girlfriend, said the girl. Strip for me, chica?
With great care, I began to peel off my clothing. I started first with my socks. My bobby socks. I took them and I placed them to my right in a neat little pile. I was feeling very confident. I could tell I was doing a great job.
No, that’s not right, said the girl, strip means you do a little dance.
OK OK OK, seriously no worries at all. Sorry for the misunderstanding, I responded, getting down on my hands and knees. I started to shake my ass a little bit.
Is this better? I asked.
Much, said the girl.
I put my hands on my breasts and rubbed them counterclockwise. I started unbuttoning my blouse. It came off and then I began to finger the zipper on my slacks. My tits were out. I suddenly became very aware of the contours of my body. I pushed my hand down my pants and wiggled my hips.
That’s really good, she said.
Oh? I responded.
Super hot, she said, smiling.
I watched from the ground, where I sat there so naked, as the girl’s shoes glided across the white tile floor. She was approaching the table. She was grabbing the shirt. She instructed me to stand up. She looked in my eyes, placed a hand on one of my breasts.
Really nice. You did a really good job. They’re going to really like you, she said.
The girl took the shirt and put it over my head. When it dropped down, the shirt, it was more of a dress.
Perfect, she said. And now, this is super awkward but I’m going to have to take a black bag and put it over your head so you can’t see where it is we’re going. Kidnapping is standard procedure. You haven’t signed an NDA yet so that’s just how it has to be. Cool?
I smiled so big that you could see deep, deep into the folds of my throat.
Yeah! That would be super cool with me. Thanks for asking first!
She took a black bag and placed it over my head, and I felt like I wanted to scream. I really did. You will have to take my word for it, but I could hardly breathe and the darkness was so overwhelming that it was like all of the life was being drained out of my skull and I was being ejected far off into space. Maybe as far as the moon. Possibly as far as Orion’s Belt.
But instead I said to her: Ha ha ha! This is so weird! It’s like we’re playing cops and robbers at age eight!
Boxing Practical
Picture this: me, body swung over the shoulder of some chick in all-white scientist clothes. Picture this: it’s just like the Rape of the Sabines, except instead of screaming and crying I’m giggling uncontrollably like a little slut from Bavaria.
But in my mind I wondered: How could she be so effortlessly cruel? How, how, how could she?
When my sight was restored, I was in a gym. In the room there were dozens of girls. They all wore white. Some were in lab coats like My Kidnapper, others were in dresses, little tattered numbers with high necklines and ruffles around the sleeves, some were in bicycle shorts and sports bras, a few in suits, well-tailored ones. The girls, they were all there to watch me.
This is what they said to me as My Kidnapper ushered me into the boxing ring:
You got this, girlfriend!
You’re gonna kill this, lady!
You got this in the bag!
We love you! We love you! We love you!
I had never boxed before, never been in the ring. Never had I ever even seen a boxing match. I was going off of instinct, pure instinct. The beautiful girls put a hot towel around my neck. They made me open my mouth and one of them placed a plastic mouth guard in there. They put a pair of boxing gloves on my hands, red ones. And I stood there, ready to fight.
My Kidnapper walked into the ring. She was tapping a pen on her clipboard. She adjusted her lunettes, pushed them up the bridge of her nose.
As you know, she said, here at Rat Ltd. MCXVII, we’re looking for a fighter! Someone who is really going to go to bat for her fellow employees. We’re looking for someone who is awesome. Like, a team player. You know: she’s smart, flirty, funny, risk-taker, super cool, unique, funky, sparkly, quirky, freaky, freak in the sheets, girl next door, daddy’s little girl, one of the Sabines, one of the boys, virginal goddess, Ubermensch, Everyman, car owner, homeowner, girlfriend, best friend. Best of all, she can roll with the punches. If this is you, then you’ll be totally at ease with the boxing practical.
I smiled and nodded and blinked. It was hard for me to speak given the mouth guard.
Rock ’n’ roll! said My Kidnapper.
And I watched in horror and in glee as my opponent entered the ring.
The girl was thin, svelte you might say. Looked about fourteen, fifteen. Definitely a teenager. Average height (5’4″–5’5″). No tits. Or, she had them, they were just really small. Glassy blue eyes, ash-colored hair worn in two pigtails. In a white blouse made of lace and white linen pants. Carrying an old crocheted blanket. She shuffled around the ring, not even really lifting up the soles of her feet. It looked like she was waking up from a dream, like she didn’t even know where she was. And I stood there in position, fists in gloves, ready to throw the first punches. I did not want to fight the teen girl. But I did not see any other options.
She got closer, closer, until she was right beside me. Her eyes were closed. She licked her lips. Cracked her back. Let out a little yawn.
Oh hi there, said the girl, fumbling around in the pockets of her pants. I’m looking for my knife, it will be just a moment.
I waited patiently for the girl to find her knife, although I found it perplexing that it would be a battle between a boxer and a teenager with a knife.
Get her while she’s not looking! yelled the girls from outside of the ring.
So I gritted my teeth and I took my hands and I began to punch at her, the girl, the teenager, until she was on the ground.
Ouch! she said, I’m in pain! It hurts when you punch me with your boxing gloves.
I am sorry, I said, swinging my fist into her face for another punch, but I was told I had to do this to solidify my position as one of the luckiest girls in the whole world.
The girl twitched and then stopped moving. Everyone began to cheer. It was so nice to see I was fitting in, and that I could one day have a place here. This is what I wanted: to blend in, to be an asset, to be awesome at my job. I wanted to kill it, I really did.
They said: We’re so proud of you for beating up that teenager!
And the music began and all the girls in white, they were dancing because they were so happy for me. And I took my hands and felt my face and it was wet and I looked off into the distance and I could see her, the teenage girl, she was on a stretcher carried by her friends, the others, my fellow ladies, my fellow girls, and the prognosis, I could tell, it was not good.
BMX Practical
They made me go on a BMX bike and they said I had to pop a wheelie. They said it was no biggie if I’d never done it before, if I could ride a bike, I probably could ride BMX. I looked a little silly on the bike in my big shirt that said CANDIDATE on it, but after three hours of interviewing, now I really wanted the job to be one of the luckiest girls in the whole world. To me, it was worth becoming a vegetable for life. The amazing girls were proving to me that this was the kind of work environment I’d really thrive in. It is considered noble to be a DareDevil, and that’s what the name of the game was at Rat Ltd. MCXVII.
Here I was in the air. I was flying on the bike. I was so very graceful. As I got closer to the ground it was as if heaven were below me. When I dismounted the bike, the girls clapped again and they showered me with love.
I am reminded that it is the love from your girls that is the deepest, bluest, truest. I could tell everyone wanted me to succeed.
The Sabines Do the Raping
They were all touching my hair. They were all stroking my body. Through magic that is dark and light, they figured out where all the good stuff was. Was it that I had become more beautiful since I had arrived? It was possible. Before, when I got the call, they told me time moved funny at Rat Ltd. MCXVII. It will be different here, that’s for sure, said the woman on the phone. Perhaps this is what she meant? Perhaps it was true that now at hour four that this is when you can tell. You grow soft. Your cheeks are a coral shade. Everyone wants to touch you. On the way to the next practical, they had their way with me and even though it was not my first time, instead what I said was: Ha ha, wow this is so weird, I have never let lovely girls touch me down there.
Would You Rather
Interviewer: Would you rather be a human Ferrari or get to teleport ten places a year?
CANDIDATE: What?
Interviewer: : ( : ( : (
CANDIDATE: Ha ha ha! Ferrari, duh!
Maternal Instincts
In the room there was no light, and then there was, and when I could see again, the room was full of children. It was a daycare. Plastic chairs and tables. A green chalkboard where there was a picture of a sunflower who smiled. Using my hands, I counted the number of the children in the room. There were sixteen and they all sat there, on the ground. They were smiling at me. They sat there and made not even a hushed sound.
What I could hear instead was a low buzz, perhaps it was one of those noises only children can hear? Well, children and also the luckiest girls in the world.
Hello, sixteen children, I said in a honeyed tone.
Hi teacher! they all said to me.
My purpose here is not clear, but I’m really glad to make your
acquaintance.
A little girl in the front shifted her legs. She was wearing a pair of little tiny glasses. If I were to guess, she was six years old.
You’re here because they want to see if you got good maternal instincts. Like, maybe you could show us how you would be our
mommy?
Yes, I said, fluttering my eyelashes.
I instructed the sixteen kids to sit in a line and brush one another’s hair. I had them play with colored pencils and crayons and draw beautiful pictures of what they thought Rat Ltd. MCXVII was all about. They did a 500-piece puzzle. They stacked blocks and transformed them into what a more discerning artist would refer to as a child-sized version of the Tatlin Tower. I told them it was beautiful. I told them that if they continued to be good they could all have a smoke afterwards. I had Marlboro Golds. We all lit up and then I gave them gummy candy in the shapes of apples, bananas, and pears to promote a balanced diet. They ate them so cautiously, and when they opened and closed their mouths they made adorable chewing noises.
I told them all that I loved them, and I did, it was true. These children, they were my own. It was so wonderful when they climbed atop me, my little monkeys. I gave them hugs and kisses. I told them that one day they could be a modern dancer or an epistemologist or a school shooter. They all told me that they were going to miss me and that it was really nice for me to say all that stuff but they were born here and that this is the kind of place that kids don’t leave.
Realistically, said the little girl in the glasses, we’ll probably just die here.
Hair and Makeup
A red dress of gathered tulle. A pair of long opera gloves, white satin. Black stockings with a floral motif. Golden mules with an ostrich-feather fringe. Girl, if you wouldn’t mind just sitting tight for a second, we’ll take the hot rollers out momentarily. Boticellian babe. You look literally so good. It’s been five hours, but it’s like you’ve been here forever, girlfriend. Go like this, like a fish. Now make a popping sound. OK, perfect! That’s definitely your color. Close your eyes for me? Gorgeous, gorgeous. We love a little sparkle on an eyelid now, don’t we? It’s going to be just a few more minutes. We’re just perfecting your look for the final interview. You’re seriously going to love the Creative Director. He’s a visionary. We’re sure you know everything about him already. You seem really well prepared. You totally killed it during the practicals. Don’t sweat it girlie, he’s going to be obsessed with you! OK, now pucker your lips, cutie pie. Fuschia? That’s going to look soooo good. Just a little spritz of perfume. Name a mood, we’ll pick the scent! Sitting on the back of Giuseppe’s Vespa somewhere deep in the Amalfi coast with a negroni in hand? OK, obsessed! You have an amazing imagination. Wow! Yes! You are ready to go!
Creative Director
How are we doing today? Did the girls take good care of you? Let’s take a look at your file, shall we? A few years working in covert thermodynamics? I’m interested in hearing about what’s leading you to pivot out of covert thermodynamics and into working for shell companies. You’re right, it’s definitely a question of reach. I’m sure you already know this but Rat Ltd. MCXVII has about ten million uniques per month. We’re hoping to go public before the end of Q4. Most of our audience is West Coast–based, we recently opened a Shanghai office and one in Berlin. It says here you have working proficiency in French and basic conversational Italian. That’s great. Really good stuff. Wow. What’s the scent you’re wearing? Did you ask the girls for Sitting on the back of Giuseppe’s Vespa somewhere deep in the Amalfi coast with a negroni in hand? It’s really nice. You look so good. Here’s what I want to do: I want you to come up here on this $10,000 Danish teak desk that I bought on a website and spread your pussy lips out for daddy. No? OK, totally cool. I had to ask. They did a great job with you. I trust you enjoyed meeting some of my staffers.
I blinked and smiled. It was the last thirty minutes. The Creative Director was sitting on top of the teak desk, crouched like a praying mantis. I was on a moss-colored mid-century sectional, had my legs crossed.
They were really lovely, I responded, the staffers, the girls.
Fabulous, that’s so great to hear. They had really good things to say about you as well. So tell me, what are your greatest strengths?
Well, I said, I have a certain spunk to me and am known universally for my witticisms. And of course I am strong as well—in the physical sense.
Witticisms? Sorry but it’s going to be a no from me. No jokes. No silly stuff. We’re serious here. Goo goo gah gah, me no funny ha ha. This is all wrong. It’s confusing to me that you made it so far given the above remarks. I’m looking at your file, it said you totally killed it at the BMX practical? Impossible. Impossible. This will be terrible for our brand image. I’d ask you to explain yourself but I’m horny as fuck and kind of just want to eat you. Seriously fuck. You were supposed to be weeded out already. I need to make a call. I need my Girl Friday to place a phone call. Hello? This is the Creative Director. We need to dispose of the candidate. Yeah, yeah. That girl you found at the mall with three years of experience in covert thermodynamics. Please come and get rid of her.
Explanation of Benefits
My greatest dream as a little girl was to live a long and happy life full of insurmountable beauty, full of friendship, tulips, and Live Oak. I did not want it to end this way. I had so much life in me. I was literally just, like, bursting with life. I had so many plots and plans. I was meant to experience big, passionate love. I hadn’t ever gotten my heart broken. There was of course l’uomo. His cock doing anal to my bootyhole. And a 2006 Honda Accord—Gala Apple Red. And a bottle of malt liquor which rests on a plastic crate formerly containing milk bottles—his BMX bike skirting our beautiful dirt like a matador, toro toro toro toro, killer of bulls, killer of bulls.
But no—the special boy was not a true love.
And yes—in my brief life there was so much I hadn’t done.
I had never been to Dublin, Sarajevo, the border of Greece and the
country which is known today as North Macedonia. I had never eaten escargot or caviar or spent $300 on espadrilles. I’ve never luxuriated, badly. That age of decadence—none of that happened yet.
Do you know what I am saying?
I am oh-so young. Like a babe born from the egg.
When they put me on a leash and walked me toward the recycling
station, all I could think of was how cruel they’d been. I had been so misled. I was promised the opportunity to be one of the luckiest girls in the whole world. What was I now? Unlucky, I suppose. It was unfair. It was unfair.
I was there in the recycling station. They put me on a conveyor belt, promised they’d be in touch. And then, Zippo lighter to pretty girl brain, I was nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing at all.