Come the first day on call, come the first ominous omen.
As his dreams and discomfort grew worse, to the point he even tumbled off the couch, no Monday sunrise could rouse Mayfield towards that daily hustle. It was only his stomach's growl to sit him up, rub his eyes and stagger towards the kitchen.
And an askew glance at his watch and kitchen clock to nix those plans, as his eyes went full Kim Goodman of once world-record fame.
"SHIT! Eight-thirty!"
Half an hour until work; even if empty, the food could wait. He began to rip clothes from the entertainment unit, seizing his bag in a whirlwind flurry that came inches from tearing some curly-haired clipboard carrier apart.
"Hey mon, watch where you're going!"
Dove straight in that lift and shut the door. Slammed the button a dozen times. Called out "Come on!" even more.
The moment those doors split apart, he damn near triple-jumped towards the locker rooms, pained gasps and yelps aplenty as he barged through the locker room. Twenty to nine, and the Captain's threats ringing in his ears…
"...Make your first day feel like a papercut..."
A cold shiver even in warming steam, like he ever needed such a reminder…
Ten to nine when he finished, another fit of panic before he skidded a quick towel-wrapped ride toward the locker room. Dried up, got dressed, and slid to the sink to brush up; could've whacked his head on the porcelain for almost slipping.
But to all their looks that'd erode a canyon, he punched on officially at about three past nine. A wave to all, to get outright silence in response. All before they returned to their usuals; Leela's brew to grow chest hairs, Amy's eyes on some magazine, and Hermes muttering random numbers as they awaited the Professor's arrival.
One that came at twenty past nine from some unexplained desire to walk… To everyone's annoyance and especially Mayfield's; could've had a slice of toast in the meantime.
"Everyone, before we bankroll further into our bankruptcy black hole, please welcome our newest crew member, eh…"
He stammered, in mid finger-point, before he whispered across: "Hermes, who did we hire again?"
"Not that you sent the paperwork," came the hiss, "but we hired the bald, fat mon across me."
"Well I was already in my pyjamas… Besides, I'm sure he'll waste our time all the same."
Given his cue he spoke hellos and waved, his tummy doing much the same, only to still receive dead silence. Knew where he sat at least, not that it stopped him from rolling his eyes towards the Professor, a mutter of "yeesh" to go along.
"Okay 'den new kid, micase with the intros, would jah? Stinkbug's been rotting my breakfast Manwich!
"Uh, excuse me?"
"Ya heard me, quashie wasteman! Speak, a beg yuh, before I hurl."
Stood to his feet, getting their eyes: "So uh, gidday everyone. I'm Thomas Mayfield, mostly last and rarely first, and I'll be your new delivery boy. Allow me to say thanks for having me here, and of course, I promise that I'll do anything in my power to build us up. Not much else to say otherwise."
Polite claps to conclude the conference, before the bureaucrat tore from the table and sucked in his share of grateful breaths. Once he cleared his head in that sense, he had beckoned the new kid into his office, sitting him down and sharing the straight talk.
"Mon, were any other suit at 'dis desk, you'd have been grounded… Damned Professor did me dutty! Oughta be quite lucky for your Captain; even my skills wouldn't have organised your paperwork if not for her call."
Mayfield's outward smile and nod soon gave way to further rumbles & squirms. Once before, he knew he'd never be worthy to scrub NASA's floors, never mind become an astronaut. Now, he had nowhere to run or hide from any such fears, and neither the accolade nor prestige to make it worthwhile.
Hermes then whumped a folder on the desk; the thud startled the kid's heart. Might've thought he'd have been reading the city's tax code before Hermes advised him that they were Planet Express's policies & procedures. All colour-coded, sectioned, and ordered…
Come to think of it, just as particular as his office. If ever he needed help sorting his life out…
Nevertheless, Mayfield's eyes flickered as he flicked through, almost thudding those hundreds of pages before he saw Hermes slip a contract under his nose.
"That's your game all along, huh? Be honest, no-one's going to read through all these, are they?"
Only a wave-off and "Whatever" in reply, as if that response was part and parcel of new hires…
Whatever the case, Mayfield worked a respectable signature into the paper, no doubt aware that it was do or die from now. These guys, clearly, were champions at covering their own asses.
Officialised and ready to fly, he stood to shake Hermes' hand, only to find his arm wrenched, a sharp spear into his palm soon after. Not that he knew, but his new career chip had found its home…
"YEOW, argh, you son-of-a…"
"Finish 'dat sentence, and I'll insert it into your other hand."
The plunge like a thousand-degree knife, the pain had sent shivers up his spine. Figuring it wise though to remain quiet and leave—poxing Hermes the whole while—Mayfield soon moved ten whole steps to his upcoming physical, to that 'doctor' in Zoidberg.
Cracking a peek through the glass, he saw that crablike creature kick back, perhaps daydreaming of food as he caught him sleep-snacking on his paperwork. Caught between going through the tests and leaving, he fell back as Zoidberg woke in a start, saw him there, and almost ripped the door off in eager greeting.
"Excellent, excellent, you're here for your physical? Please come in, don't mind the mess."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I was about to…"
Had no chance to say 'leave' before those pincers began to push him in. Wincing at the accidental stabs, of red now staining white, his eyes darted and fingers drummed while he sat in hurried breaths. As Zoidberg searched for his tools, the kid just readied himself to scurry out.
More so when the smells returned; turned out that Zoidberg, fresh from the dumpster, had found some discarded earphones and toilet paper tubes to 'check' the heart, lungs & throat. For the eyes, only a wide stare, enough to send Mayfield sprinting out in a scream.
To think if he had the touch test, facing those pincers against his privates…
Trying hard not to think about it, it was back into the hangar to find that catalogue lady, now buzzing around the spaceship in ballet-like grace. So precise, so fluent, so quick; how she checked fuel levels, inspected those gauges, looked into the engines…
Any plans to wave up and call out, whatever they were, had stopped once she noticed him stand in awed silence. Upon a yell of "Coming!" as she finished up, she landed and shot her hand out, still several feet away.
Wasn't like any New New Yorker he ever knew…
Neither of them noticed the spot of leftover grease; was all it took for her to slip, slide and crash to the floor. After a turn-away grimace, Mayfield leaned in to offer a hand.
"Oh crap, you alright? Here."
"Man that hurt! Anyway, thanks… So you must be the new guy."
"Last I checked, anyway. Delivery Boy 2nd Class, that's me."
"The probation rank… Well, we all start somewhere, right?"
"That we do. Sure didn't expect you to fall for me though, I never considered myself the type."
An amused chortle & smirk: "For one, I've got a boyfriend already, and two, you wish!"
"Ah dammit, was worth a shot… So to whom do I owe a Gidday to?"
"Amy Wong; full-time pilot, part-time intern, PhD in waiting. And if nothing else, pleased to meet you." The two shook hands, a smile from both.
"Good lord, you barely look my age, and you're getting a PhD already? So what are you going for?"
"Well, it's Applied Physics, and why I work here. Have hopes to move on, but after Professor Shpeekenshpell's 'rough' predictions, fear that I won't anytime soon."
"A bloody outrage, that is,"—the kid sighed—"to be a Masters before you can drive, and stay stuck working for this worthless old wart."
"Hey excuse me, that's uncalled for! Old and losing it, I don't deny, but he's hardly worthless… That aside, how did you end up here anyway?"
"Pfft, think I'd need a whole work day to get into it. Honestly, it's perhaps best that you don't ask."
"Riiiiiight, okay… So BEFORE this future stuff, and junk, who exactly were you, if you're even from here?"
"Nobody worth a damn, I'd consider. Last days I remember were spent in the call centre circuit, public agency path. Customers I'd sooner strangle than service, co-workers I'd coldcock over chat to, and a manager I'd bury alive instead of caught dead under."
"Gleesh, and to think I once didn't believe Leela's stories about call-centre suicides… What about outside?"
"When I didn't drink either to forget, or just to die, I did some odd spurts of writing, and wasted away on pointless games. I'm a fine example of what NOT to do in life."
"Could've done worse, if that means anything."
"Hell, I'll take it. So, how 'bout yourself? Captain told me about the pink sweatsuit & hairdo, but…"
"Oh shmease… Tell the truth, it's only my parents who've forced this on me; another of many reasons why I'd remain here over going back."
From there a rant to scorch them alive, finishing on their asinine, obsessive desires for her to bear grandchildren. Stunned cold given how they treated their child, Mayfield pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
"Wow, that shat me off more than it should've… Sorry to hear that. But hey, give yourself credit. For all they've tried to do, you've turned out great."
A warm smile and continued chat, only stopped by a sudden thunder-clap as Leela got in between.
"Look, I hate to interrupt this marvellous get-together, but the kid and I have some official business." She turned towards him: "If you'll follow me?"
A loud, unexpected gurgle: "Uh, possible it could wait until after breakfast, Leela?"
"Captain or ma'am! And like hell sport, you're on the clock now. So move it!"
To say nothing of his mutter, matters had further tensed when he was led to a shiny end locker. To witness him leave his bag there, she stared to the skies, her nose about to blow steam.
"Not even this, huh? What is it? Is The Professor right? Are you a big, fat phony? The hell does it take for an end locker, a stupid, stinkin' end locker 'round here?"
Even she couldn't hide her arm-crossed envy as the kid seized one of her biggest desires without effort. Once again, just couldn't shake that screwed-over feeling…
"Makes me wonder if the Professor actually appreciates the reliable ones around here."
"Come again, Captain?"
"I must've sent a dozen requests, worked my ass off, saved him from bankruptcy several times… And what happens? The Professor gives my end locker to some complete punk who was late on his first day!"
"Oh piss off, I'm not here to suffer your insults! Besides, how was I s'posed to know? Not like we could just 'swap' lockers that they'd realise, would they?"
"Excuse me? Watch your mouth! That aside, are you kidding? Nice sentiment, but would you expect such a game to last if even our moron-in-charge could get suspicious? Newsflash, we're on camera!" Pointed to the far corner for proof: "And if he even remembers, such swaps takes him MONTHS to approve. I swear, how often he just wants to twist my sisters…"
"Who doesn't?"
Mayfield wanted to say it out loud, but even he knew it might've been the last time he'd do so.
Once she gave the rundown on changing his combo code, a loud call to action rose over the PA system. Soon as they all got seated, Mayfield's stomach gurgled worse as the Professor got to business.
"Good news everyone! Courtesy of a repeat customer on Stumbos-4, we're about to deliver these crates of brand new sheets & blankets, for their chain of hotels."
At that point, Mayfield's stomach seemingly curled in on itself, as his grip began to whiten his knuckles. In his stare, a silent scream of "Oh no!" now that the time was here.
"Leela, since you're most familiar, it'll be your job to not just deliver these crates, but to educate your delivery boy as well. For one thing, he'll have to contend against the planet's absurd gravity."
"Absurd as in how?" as he gripped his jaw.
"Could be crushed by your own hair… Enjoy your stay!" he waved off, chuckling.
While the ladies left and got to work, Mayfield just super-glued himself to his seat. Knew he'd regret not writing his will down, knew he should've sold drugs on the street corner instead… In dreams & reality, his twisted imagination had been painting scenarios, ones of huge danger and grave injuries.
Positive thoughts… Breathe in, positive… Breathe out, thoughts. Over and over, he remembered the clean shave up top, that this'd be just a simple delivery. After all, given how those ladies carried themselves…
"Hey kid, you comin' or what?"
The Captain's shout as she stamped some paperwork; steeling himself, Mayfield rose up, took the lift down, and got to trolleying the crates. Two of them, both wide and deep as he was tall, that Amy soon had on deck.
Nerves still fired up, Mayfield took a seat to compose himself… Found himself raised to third deck in seconds; course he sat on the cargo platform. Had a fit before he saw Amy ascend, and a suspicion that the Captain would take off regardless of his safety.
A few minutes before he got to the bridge, where he found them both flicking buttons and relaying affirmations to each other.
A sigh of deep relief, before another raise of heartrate as the Captain turned to bark commands.
"Listen buster, I won't have human torpedoes on this ship, so sit down and buckle your ass up!"
Just as well he listened, for once those first and final countdowns were sounded, they had flashed as a reverse lightning bolt toward the stratosphere.
Shivering for which sides he'd witness first of this universe, the new kid could only shut his eyes as, towards frontiers familiar and unknown, Stumbos-4 awaited…