Hmm. This one took a while, but I was working on Snippets. (Update coming to a computer near you!)
Thank you all for your comments! Just one more interview to go after this...and yes, I have a good idea of just what's going to happen...
The door opened and slammed. Silence.
"Um, mister jobbie person? Why's you hanging from the wall?"
More silence. Then: "Ah, aren't you a little young to be getting a job?"
"Carlie not young! Carlie is a whole fifteen years old!"
"Right...uh...just help me down, please?"
Stepping sounds, a yelp, then a loud rip.
"Thanks. Would you like to sit down?"
"Carlie don't see a chair."
"Good point. Uh, pick a cushion."
Floomph. "This is cushy-cushy!"
"Uh, yeah. So, your name is..."
"Carlie!"
"Last name?"
"Um...Carlie don't have a last name."
Stan blinked. Then he caught on. "Where are you from?"
"Holy City Wendel!"
"Ah." Scribble scribble. "And do your parents know that you're trying to get a job, Carlie?"
"No," said the sad girl. "Carlie's parents went away when Carlie was a little baby."
"Oh." Uncomfortable silence. "So who looks after you?"
"Carlie's grandpa, an' Heath!"
"Do they know that you're trying to get a job?"
"Nope. Grandpa says that the temple needs more money, but when Carlie tried to get a jobbie Heath said no, Carlie's too little."
"Well, um, see, we're not allowed to hire, uh, people like you, Carlie."
"Huh?" The girl was naturally confused. "But Carlie works hard! She worked at the temple!"
"Miss Carlie, it's called 'child labour', and I don't think you're old enough to work - "
"CARLIE'S NOT A CHILD!"
"AIEE!"
Thud. Thunka-thunka-thud. More thuds. All accompanied by appropriate screaming, yelling and pleading.
The little girl eventually left, leaving the office wrecked.
The man crawled over to one of the few devices that hadn't been mauled - his phone. He picked up the receiver and pressed a button.
"Yes sir?"
"Lana, how many more to go?"
"Just one more, sir. A nineteen-year-old girl."
"WHAT?!" a second voice screeched through the phone.
"Uh, nineteen-year-old lady."
"THANK YOU!"
Stan said, "Send her in," then rubbed his face. Just one more, and he'd be free...
Thank you all for your comments! Just one more interview to go after this...and yes, I have a good idea of just what's going to happen...
The door opened and slammed. Silence.
"Um, mister jobbie person? Why's you hanging from the wall?"
More silence. Then: "Ah, aren't you a little young to be getting a job?"
"Carlie not young! Carlie is a whole fifteen years old!"
"Right...uh...just help me down, please?"
Stepping sounds, a yelp, then a loud rip.
"Thanks. Would you like to sit down?"
"Carlie don't see a chair."
"Good point. Uh, pick a cushion."
Floomph. "This is cushy-cushy!"
"Uh, yeah. So, your name is..."
"Carlie!"
"Last name?"
"Um...Carlie don't have a last name."
Stan blinked. Then he caught on. "Where are you from?"
"Holy City Wendel!"
"Ah." Scribble scribble. "And do your parents know that you're trying to get a job, Carlie?"
"No," said the sad girl. "Carlie's parents went away when Carlie was a little baby."
"Oh." Uncomfortable silence. "So who looks after you?"
"Carlie's grandpa, an' Heath!"
"Do they know that you're trying to get a job?"
"Nope. Grandpa says that the temple needs more money, but when Carlie tried to get a jobbie Heath said no, Carlie's too little."
"Well, um, see, we're not allowed to hire, uh, people like you, Carlie."
"Huh?" The girl was naturally confused. "But Carlie works hard! She worked at the temple!"
"Miss Carlie, it's called 'child labour', and I don't think you're old enough to work - "
"CARLIE'S NOT A CHILD!"
"AIEE!"
Thud. Thunka-thunka-thud. More thuds. All accompanied by appropriate screaming, yelling and pleading.
The little girl eventually left, leaving the office wrecked.
The man crawled over to one of the few devices that hadn't been mauled - his phone. He picked up the receiver and pressed a button.
"Yes sir?"
"Lana, how many more to go?"
"Just one more, sir. A nineteen-year-old girl."
"WHAT?!" a second voice screeched through the phone.
"Uh, nineteen-year-old lady."
"THANK YOU!"
Stan said, "Send her in," then rubbed his face. Just one more, and he'd be free...
