TRAGIC Poem: I am a business person and so are you, by Dimitry Partsi

In the Office of Squirrel Recruitment,
A scent of damp despair was evident.
With documents that smelled both sweet and faint,
And one wilted fern, a drooping, sad complaint,
A silent witness to some long-lost goal.
Behind the desk sat Kafkett, whose whole soul
Seemed sewn into a suit, a rumpled sight,
As if it went through a car wash one night.

Across from him, a man so truly beige,
He risked just blending with the plaster stage.
This Normalson, he clutched his CV tight,
A sacred text in the depressing light.

Kafkett leaned forward, with unblinking eyes,
His voice a boom of confidential size.
“Let’s begin,” the strange pronouncement flew,
“I am a Business person, and so are you.”

Normalson blinked. “Well, I’m currently not employed,
Which is the reason I came, I’m in the void—”

“Details, details,” Kafkett waved a hand,
“You are a business woman, or a man,
And so am I. I have registered. See?
A legitimate establishment.” With glee,
He patted his desk, which gave a woeful shake,
A leg about to buckle, bend, and break.

“Right. So,” said Normalson, with focus fraught,
“What is it, then, that you do?” he sought.

“Excellent question!” Kafkett beamed with might.
“We find you Candidates. Have you lost your light?
Have you lost yours? Are these them, by the way?”
He gestured to what looked like takeaway
Menus in stacks. “Take them! Be my guest!
I don’t want them. Put them to the test.”

Normalson stared. “I… have no candidates.
I am a candidate who waits and waits.”

“Precisely! We provide a tailored,
Integrated approach. You’ve been detailed!
What is it? You’re asking the wrong me.
A horizontally-integrated synergy
Is at the grassroots of our great success.
What does that mean? I couldn’t tell you, yes.”

Kafkett stood up and started then to pace.
“We are a forward-thinking, future-facing space.
Our Digital Team got stuck inside the lift.
How disruptive! What a paradigm shift!”

He stopped and pointed. “Here’s the process, son.
I come into your office. We have fun.
We do meeting-and-greeting, hellos and good-day.
Then I leave the premises. I go away.
Voluntarily, in some cases. I’m a very
Smooth operation. Quite contemporary.”

“But I don’t have an office,” Normalson said low.

“We’ll work around that. We will make you grow
Into the great success that you are today!
But also employed. It’s a two-pronged attack, hooray!
We’ve placed so many people, just like you,
In jobs like yours. The market’s flooded through
With quality. The market then collapsed.
Is that a good thing? My knowledge has lapsed.
I don’t know why. I’m not your mother, friend!”

He leaned against the wall, and to that end,
He struck a thoughtful pose. “We’re well-renowned
In Business Circles. Lies about us bound.
One of our great successes was a forum,
Where candidates could meet, a place for ’em
To talk about our service. Then, you see,
Another success was shutting it down, with glee.”

A headache bloomed behind poor Normalson’s eyes.
“Do you have… references? Or some replies?
Reviews perhaps?”

Kafkett was bright and cheery.
“You can rate our services online, my dearie.
Good luck finding the site. We have a feeling
It’s been deleted. But if you’re appealing,
And become an elite VIP, you’ll get
Your own Account Manager. A person you’ll have met
Who will be very difficult to please.
Welcome to the real world. Now, on your knees.”

He sat back down, his fingers in a steeple.
“Let’s talk of strategy, for business people.
Our main competitors are common sense,
Market fluctuations, with their evidence,
And carrying on just like a pork chop might.
My chief concern with fluctuations… right…
Is that I do not know what they all are.”

He stabbed the air with two fingers, near and far.
“You have to have charisma for this bit,
Which is what I believe this is. To wit:
Ways to appear charismatic, so they say,
Include market fluctuations and, okay,
A random, aggressive use of ‘air quotes’.”

Normalson just stared, collecting notes
Within his mind of pure insanity.

“I used to be like you,” said Kafkett, he
Whose voice now softened with a strange, off-key
And manufactured sense of empathy.
“Hungry, lopsided, and not using the words good.”

He cleared his throat. “Now, to be understood:
The interview prep. We take turns with the pack.
If one consultant embarrasses themself, alack,
The next one goes in. Then the next. Then three.
Then lunch. Can’t be doing this all day, you see.
Our Digital Team locked themselves in a meeting.”

He leaned in close, a scent both wan and fleeting
Of weak tea and sheer confidence took flight.
“Psychometric testing is a tool of might,”
He paused, a glint of madness in his eye.
“But so am I.”
He let one sharp laugh fly,
Then stopped. His face a mask of solemn thought.

“A sense of humour,” he continued, “can’t be bought.
Much like a dog that’s not been taught to speak,
I’m great at sensing humour’s highest peak.
Would you like an example?” Without a pause,
He barrelled on, ignoring nature’s laws.
“And finally, the Squirrel Recruitment prize:
We analyse the psychological ties
That stop you getting work. And if we find
No such issues present in your mind,
We will create them for you. Custom-made.”

The room was silent. Even the fern’s slow fade
Seemed to have stopped to listen. Normalson
Opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling done.
He saw his perfect CV, neat and plain,
And saw the crushing, bleak, predictable rain
Of one more automated, cold rejection.

“And if I’m unhappy with that selection?”
He whispered, barely breathing in the room.

“If you’re unhappy with that pending doom,
We have a special consultant,” Kafkett cooed.
“If you are not unhappy, feeling good,
We still have a special consultant. That’s our way.
We have one regardless of how you feel today.
You are not the boss of us, I don’t think so.
I’m the boss of us, unless you know
Otherwise, and if you do, please tell me now.”

Normalson looked at Chaos, with its brow
Furrowed in thought. He saw the void, and it
Was wearing a cheap suit and wouldn’t quit
Making air quotes. And for the first time in
A year of beige, he felt a spark begin.

“Okay,” said Normalson, a slow smile bloomed,
No longer feeling weathered and consumed.
“I’m in.”

Kafkett’s face split in a triumphant grin.
“Who runs the world? Girls. Now, let us begin.
Any other questions? Things to know?”

Normalson shook his head and answered, “No.”

“Good. Squirrel Recruitment. Are we the best?
No. Are we going to put feathers to the test
In this whole industry? Also, no.
Welcome aboard. We don’t know where we’ll go.”