Last night I became a customs office, although I could only work four hours a week, and only on Sundays, at that.
It all started with an interview, or actually more of a briefing, with 5 of us sitting around a table, and being told about what to expect. The place we were sitting was possibly outside, but definitely at the end of a railroad, and I had a distinct memory of riding the train and seeing lush green all around, as if we were in deep, and soothing countryside. Everyone at the table was young, and I doubt anyone had hit puberty yet (including myself). The blah-blahing continued.
Next, we walked down metal stairs to a large and shiny room, which was brightly illuminated and seemed to go on forever. I’m guessing this was the port of entry, because I could see row after row of conveyor-belt machines, which I think were extra fancy x-ray boxes. As we walked down among the rows, I noticed one fellow passing his stuff through the x-ray. He was standing by the opening, and putting thick individually wrapped tortillas down the belt. At this point, I had a feeling something was fishy, so I sent up to the fellow, and took one of the tortillas. For some reason, I was absolutely certain that he was hiding cocaine in it.
I called over to a guard, and he brought a huge dog that started barking after one sniff of the pastry.
“I am a perfect fit for this job,” I though to myself.
Next thing I know, we’re in the middle of a field. We’re planning a performance for the evening’s festivities. Time flies and the performance comes next. It’s a mix of acrobatics, gymnastics, and cheer-leading. If I remember correctly, my major role is to jump around and hold one side of a large while cardboard sign with some writing on it. At a key moment, we flip the sign, and the other side has different writing! Yay, I think.
The performance is exhausting, and after more merriment, we rest. Then we watch our act on video. It’s hilarious.
Fin.
