Monty Burns always loved firing old employees and hiring new ones. Well, the hiring of new employees was actually starting to get tedious. There were only so many insults you could throw at these people; only so many over-the-top questions you could ask. Most of the reactions fell into three categories anyway. The 'ass-kisser', the 'polite prospective employee' and, Burns' favorite, the 'man that's been pushed too far'. Of course, he never hired the last types. They were just wonderful amusement.
A hard chair had been set up in front of Burns' large desk. It looked lonely, sitting there in the center of the room. The other decorations in the room were large: a large desk, a gigantic chair, two huge paintings. Even the window was oversized.
The time of day didn't help much. Light came in through the giant window, so that whoever was in the chair couldn't be seen at all. The tiny wooden chair had been set right in the shadow of of larger one.
The Nuclear Power Plant had just been built, and he had fired his assistant from the biological weapons lab. If the man couldn't stop those damned hippie radicals from breaking in and destroying his precious germs, he saw no good in keeping him around. Besides, a new business meant a new set of employees. Why waste time trying to retrain someone old? They would just want higher pay.
The biggest problem with having no one else around was that he had to leave his comfortable chair and ask for another of the prospective employees to come inside to be interviewed. It was a huge hassle. The only bright side was to see the line of men standing and looking tired and impatient while they waited their turns.
Burns opened the door and surveyed the masses. Ahh, sweet suffering. He pointed at one of the men, a man nearing middle-age who was staring down at his resumé nervously. Burns took him for a type-1.
"You. Inside. Come on, we don't have all day." He disappeared into his office and sat down at his desk. The man followed him in, set his resumé on Burns' desk, and took a seat.
Snatching the sheet off his desk, Burns gave it a perfunctory once-over. The only information he actually read was the man's name. He set it back on his desk.
"My first question, Mr. Smithers, is why do you want to work here at Springfield Nuclear Power?" Burns asked. He knew that people hated that question.
"Well, there are a lot of reasons, I guess." Waylon Smithers said. "Uh, one reason being that I need to make some money to keep my apartment and buy food and clothes." He smiled sheepishly. "But, uh, I've found that I make a good assistant. I don't expect to be your personal assistant right away, but it's a, uh, strength of mine. I always used to help my mom around the house when I was younger, and back in school I would always be the one to run errands for the teachers or gather supplies when I worked in a group."
Smithers paused. He wasn't sure if he should continue. The next thing he wanted to say sounded like he was sucking up, but it was the truth. "I'm also interested in Nuclear Power. It's a new technology, isn't it?"
It took Burns a moment to realize that he had been asked a question. "It is, yes." He answered.
"And, yeah. It's been moving so quickly. I just wanted to, you know, be around and learn about it. I all ready know a little. It's sort of a hobby of mine."
Burns nodded, although he knew Smithers couldn't see him due to the blinding light from the window.
Smithers shifted uneasily in his seat. "That's, uh, why I want to work here." He finished.
"Okay, good." Burns was readying a question. Something to expose any lies in the man's other answer. "When was the first Nuclear Power Plant built?"
"Nineteen fifty-four, wasn't it? The one in the USSR? Or do you mean the one in England in fifty-six?"
Ahh, he had to have been telling the truth then. Burns worked on another question for a moment. "What, exactly, makes you think you'd make a good assistant?"
Again, Smithers shifted uneasily. "Well, it's mostly a feeling. I mean, why did you want to build a nuclear power plant? Why does anyone want do do the line of work they do? I don't know. I've just always been good at it, and it keeps me happy."
"Mmm."
They sat there in silence as Burns tried to think of another question. It usually wasn't this hard. By the first question, he always had things to throw back in the faces of these people. This man was different.
Burns yanked open the drawer to his desk. He had an old pin in there that had belonged to Davies, his father's old assistant, that simply said 'Assistant to Mr. Burns'. He threw it at Smithers.
"Tell the next man to come in." He said.
Smithers smiled widely and put on the button. "Right away, sir." He replied, standing up and hurrying outside to send the next man in.