My Life As A Minimum Wage Slave Vampire
I used to think being a vampire would be great - strange power of attraction over women, super-human strength, the ability to fly - hell, I thought I'd be Super Man, only a bit bitey every now and then.
So I did it. I tracked down a vampire, explained the situation, and asked him to make me like him. He laughed, shrugged his shoulders and bit me - the last thing I remember before passing out was him humming the part of the tune that goes "Regrets, I've had a few" over and over.
That was three years ago.
And to get the job in the first place I had to use my strange power of attraction over women on the manager - only the manager was a guy who's now taken to wearing tight, pink tank tops. He's left his family - a wife of fifteen years and three kids.
He puts a flower on my cash register before every shift I work. It plays havoc with my hay fever.
You'd think that gas prices being what they are the ability to fly to work would be great, but every time I fly so many people call up the Department of Homeland Security complaining about terrorist activity that the DHS now permanently patrols the sky around here.
The DHS can't kill me of course, at least not without a stake, but standing in front of my manager trying to come up with an explanation for my lateness and tattered clothing other than 'I was shot at by an Apache attack helicopter while on my way to work' while said manager sports an erection at my lack of clothing gets a might old after a while.
My eyes are up here, boss…up here.
My landlord finally kicked me out of the apartment after having to replace countless doorknobs, doors, toilet seats, cabinet doors and drawers. When he told me I got so upset I put my fist through a wall - which meant I didn't get my deposit back.
Because of all this I've been a bit absentminded at work and when I get absent minded I lose control over my strange power of attraction over women, so lately, when my shift starts, there are a handful of female customers from the previous day kneeling naked on the floor swaying slowly back and forth with their arms raised chanting my name.
The incense and candles they burn set off the sprinkler system which ticks off the fire department - at least until they see the naked, chanting women, then they don't mind so much.
But my boss does.
He's been so upset over my "little groupie bitches", as he calls them, that he's threatening to withhold my annual $.15 raise.
Bob, who may or may not be a vampire, writes at Tiny Dead Bunny