Mr. DeMartino stood in front of the classroom, holding a stack of papers. "Here are the results of your career aptitude tests," he was saying. "If any of you have the misfortune of getting 'teacher' for a result, be advised that, per Ms. Li, suicide attempts are not permissible on school grounds." He began passing out the papers to each student.
From the corner of his eye, Ted noticed the four girls who sat near the back--he seemed to remember that they formed some sort of club--became very animated when they received their results. "I always knew my neck was one of my best features," the red-haired one said, preening happily. "I mean, along with all my other features, of course."
"Whatever, Ka-winn," a scowling brunette said, slamming her paper face-down on her desk. "I hardly think it's appropriate to brag about our results. We all got excellent career paths. Really, really excellent."
"Uh, yeah," said another girl, her pigtails bobbing as she lowered her head nervously. Red-faced, she slipped the paper into her backpack.
A black-haired girl squinted at her paper. "Whaaaat's a purveyor of traveling clairvoyaaance?"
The other girls just stared at her. Mr. DeMartino paused in handing out the results to answer, "Apparently someone thinks you would make a good phone psychic."
"Seriously?" The surly brunette snatched the paper and stared at it. "It says you have excellent people skills, are good at communicating, and value helping others." She looked at Tiffany and repeated, "Seriously?"
Tiffany nodded happily. "I also love taaaalking on the phoooone!"
Ted didn't catch the rest of their conversation because at that moment Mr. DeMartino handed him his results. He looked at the page and the whole room seemed to spin away into darkness.
Chief Marketing Officer: Your high achievement in communication, leadership, and data analysis make you an excellent candidate for a career in the high-powered corporate world! With salaries averaging around $150,000, your future financial security is ensured as you prepare for a lifetime of leading a Fortune 500 company's marketing vision. Recommended education: You will be expected to complete an advanced degree....
Ted had stopped reading. "This is terrible," he murmured, clutching the paper in his hands so tightly it was close to ripping. "What will my parents say?" He reread the results again, on the infinitesimally small chance that he'd misread. No luck. The class continued around him, but Ted paid no attention.
I'm doomed, he thought bleakly. Unless...could I retake the test? He shook his head immediately. No, I'd probably only get the same result. The same, or possibly even worse. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes. Although I'm not sure what could be worse. I've been condemned to a lifetime sentence as a...a...corporate sell-out.
It didn't seem fair, but the logic was flawless. The test results were, of course, mandatory, or the school wouldn't have bothered to have the entire student body take the test in the first place. The test itself could not be mistaken, because Ms. Li would most assuredly spare no expense to obtain the most accurate possible test for her beloved student body.
No; the conclusion was unavoidable. It wasn't a question of if, but when his parents would disown him.
He looked at the paper again and noticed for the first time a line at the bottom: "Peer counseling is available for students who need guidance in their future career path."
Perfect! Ted felt his spirits lift just a tiny bit. Perhaps counseling will help me escape this tragic fate.
After school, Ted went straight to the social skills counselling room and opened the door to find the future traveling clairvoyant waiting at a desk. "You can see me, right?" he asked nervously, thinking that this would be a terrible time for his sporadic invisibility to start acting up.
"Of cooourse I caaan," the girl said slowly, blinking at him with a slight frown.
"Whew!" Ted came in and sat down. "Not everyone can see me, you know."
The girl brightened at this. "Maybeee that's because I'm psyyyyychic!"
"It's possible," Ted replied impatiently. "But that's not why I'm here. I need counseling to help me through my unfortunate career aptitude test results. My name is Ted," he introduced himself belatedly.
"Tiiiiffany." She picked up a paper and peered at it with deep concentration. "You...too...can learn to...make...friends," she read out loud at a glacial pace. "Making...." Here she paused to rest as though the exertion had become too much for her.
Ted, ever helpful, supplied, "Friends?"
Tiffany looked at him in surprise. "Wow. Are you psyyychic toooo?"
"Uh, I don't think so," he replied. "Just guessing."
She nodded politely and returned to her reading. "Making...friends...is...important."
Ted shook his head. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not here to learn how to make friends. I want to learn how not to become a Chief Marketing Officer."
Tiffany lowered her paper and tilted her head quizzically. "Thaaaat's easy. I'm not being a Chief Marketing Officer riiight now."
"I mean in the future," Ted explained.
"The futuuuure?" Tiffany beamed. "I can tell the futuuuure! I'm going to be aaa--"
"Phone psychic, I know," Ted interrupted, feeling annoyed.
"Woooow, are you sure you're not psyyychic?" Tiffany asked, impressed by his foreknowledge.
"Yes." Ted stood up. "I don't think this is going to be very helpful, but thank you anyway. Good luck with your future career. I believe psychic hotlines get paid by the minute, so your speech style should make you very successful."
"Thaaaanks," Tiffany said, giving him a friendly wave as he left.
Ted walked home, dreading how to break the news to his parents. He approached them as soon as he got inside, unwilling to put the task off any longer than necessary. "Mom? Dad?" he asked, interrupting them in the dining room, where they were writing out their latest protest signs with markers.
"Hi, Sweetie," his mother said. "Which sounds better: 'exploitative' or 'corrupt'?"
"Um...'exploitative' is more specific, but 'corrupt' is more succinct."
"How about just plain 'evil'?" his father suggested.
"Simple and to the point," Leslie said approvingly. As she uncapped a marker she asked Ted, "How was school?"
"We got our career aptitude test results today," Ted blurted out.
"Oh?" His parents looked up briefly. "What did you get?" Grant asked.
"Not that a standardized test is likely to do anything but try to pigeonhole you into one of its cookie-cutter shapes, of course," Leslie quickly added.
"Of course," Grant said with a nod. They both looked at Ted again.
"Um...I got...er...." Ted couldn't seem to make the words come out. Come on, he told himself. Tell them something. Anything. As long as it's better than "corporate sell-out"! At last he managed to say, "I got Sewage Diver!"
Both Grant and Leslie exchanged a brief look. "Okay," Grant said slowly. "That's...interesting."
"Uh huh," Ted said, backing up before either of them could say anything else. "So I need to go, uh, study manhole covers. See you later!" He turned and raced upstairs to his room, closing the door behind him and leaning against it as he drew in deep lungfuls of air and tried to calm down.
Eventually his mind cleared again, and with clarity came resignation. If I'm going to do this, I might as well get started. He straightened up, turned around, and quietly left the house. I'll find the most corporate, soulless, life-draining workplace I can think of and sign up. As though drawn by an invisible chain, his footsteps trudged a lonely path filled with despair and tragedy. He felt like Orpheus traveling to the underworld, but unlike Orpheus, there would be no return journey. His doom was sealed, and it was with heavy dread that he finally arrived at his ultimate destination.
The automatic doors of Cranberry Commons Mall whooshed ominously open before him.
Everything became a blur of applications, W-4 forms, and detailed explanations about the rules regarding the break room fridge, and a few days later Ted was standing behind a counter at Junior Five while a young woman named Theresa trained him on the cash register.
"...and then the receipt prints out automatically. Just remember to ask them if they want it or if they'd like you to put it in the bag with their merchandise. Any questions so far?"
"Yes, one." Ted looked around warily at the garish clothing that surrounded him. "Who would buy any of this?"
Theresa let out a derisive chuckle. "You'd be amazed," she said. "In fact, that reminds me. There are four regulars in particular I want to warn you--"
"Staaaaaacy!" screeched a familiar voice. Ted turned to see Tiffany and the two brown-haired girls from his class walk in. "I can't believe you would even suggest something so...abhorrent."
"But if Quinn got a part-time job then maybe--" the girl named Stacy tried to explain.
"Quinn got a job because her parents forced her to, and her absence should be viewed as a blessing for the rest of us," the shrill girl continued with a sniff. "Indeed, it's long been my opinion that Quinn has been nothing but a--"
"--drain on Fashion Club resources and a disruptive influence that needs to be kept in check," both Stacy and Tiffany recited in bored voices. "We know, Sandi."
Sandi looked briefly startled, but only nodded sharply. "Yes. Well. I'm glad we're all on the same page, then."
"Here we go," Theresa muttered. Then she forced a blatantly false smile on her face and stepped out from behind the counter. "Good afternoon, girls."
"Hi," Stacy said, giving her a friendly wave. "Who's the new guy? I've never seen him before."
"I go to your school," Ted couldn't help pointing out. "We're in several classes together."
"Aaand he's psyyychic," drawled Tiffany.
"Whatever," Sandi said impatiently. "We're not here to interact with the retail drudges; we're here to update our wardrobes so we'll look better than Qui--I mean, be able to help Quinn stay up to date while she's stuck working all the time."
The girls got to work pawing through clothing, leaving no pile or rack undisturbed. Sandi kept loudly calling out critiques of the other girls' choices while praising her own selections. After a lengthy search they moved on to the changing rooms.
Tiffany stepped out first, wearing a sleeveless lavender dress. "Does this make me look faaaat?" she asked Ted.
Ted studied her carefully. At last he sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he answered apologetically. "But I'm sure I can find you something that does!"
Tiffany gave him an incredulous look and returned to her changing room without replying. Stacy stepped out next. "What do you think?" she asked him quietly, darting a furtive look towards the room Sandi had gone into before gesturing at the sweater she'd tried on. "Do you think she'll approve?"
"Hmm." Ted knew his understanding of contemporary fashion was limited to the point of nonexistent, but he did understand anatomy and human nature in general. "The sweater seems to fit adequately, but it does seem to accentuate the asymmetry in your shoulders. Symmetry is important in judgments of conventional attractiveness, so that could be a problem."
Stacy's eyes widened in horror. "My...shoulders?" she squeaked, whirling around to stare at herself in the full-length mirror.
Ted realized that he had said something upsetting. "It's very slight," he assured her. "Hasn't anyone mentioned it to you before?"
"No!" she gasped, wiggling her shoulders. Her breathing was becoming irregular. "No one ever tells me anything important! Oh my god, everyone's probably been talking about me behind my back! My hideous, deformed, asymmetrical back!" She let out a stifled wail and ran back into her changing room.
Sandi stepped out next, and Ted waited for her to ask his opinion. However, she didn't even look at him, her nose in the air as she went over to the triple mirrors so she could admire herself more effectively.
It's just as well, Ted decided. He wasn't doing a very good job so far. He put a hand to his mouth in surprise. Which is great news! Maybe I'm not suited to a corporate career after all! He forced himself not to get his hopes up, though. I need more data if I want to confirm my hypothesis.
He looked at Sandi, still focused on her own reflection. "Excuse me?" he asked her. "May I ask what you got on your Career Aptitude Test?"
Sandi turned toward him with a look of mingled fear and anger. "Why do you want to know?" she asked, much too quickly.
Ted nodded in understanding. "I get it," he told her gently. "I didn't like my result, either."
"That's not it!" Sandi sounded nearly hysterical. "I got, um...um...." Her shoulders slumped slightly as she fumbled for a good lie and couldn't think of one in time. "'Entrepreneur Specializing in Professional Escorts.'"
After a moment to think that one over, Ted said, "You got 'Madam'?"
"What?! No!" Sandi was turning red but starting to recover her dignity. "I would be more like a...matchmaker. You see, I have an uncanny instinct for compatibility levels, and my skill with interpersonal relationships makes me a perfect candidate."
"I...see." Sandi stuck her nose in the air and stalked back to her changing room. Ted approached Stacy's stall and knocked gently on the door. "It's okay; she's gone back in," he said quietly to the sounds of hyperventilation coming from inside.
The door opened and a still-gasping Stacy stepped out. "Thanks." She had switched the sweater for a pale green blouse, and went over to the mirrors to inspect herself.
"That looks much better," Ted told her, although in his limited fashion expertise he had no idea if that was true. He just didn't want her to start panicking again. Oh, no! he realized. I'm lying to a customer to manipulate their emotions! I am suited for a career in Marketing!
"Thanks," Stacy said, her breathing starting to return to normal.
Ted decided to gather some more information. "So what did you get for your Career Aptitude Test?"
Stacy almost immediately went back into hyperventilation mode. "Why? Did someone tell you I got something odd on my test? Who told you? WHO TOLD YOU?!"
Ted took a step back, afraid for a moment that Stacy was going to attack him. "No one told me anything! It's just, well, I didn't like my result and I'm trying to find out how other people feel about their results and whether or not they think they're accurate and please don't kill me."
Stacy's face shifted quickly from fear and suspicion to cheerfulness. "Oh, is that all?" She dropped her voice down to the faintest whisper, and Ted had to lean in just to hear her. "I got Racing Car Driver. Can you believe it?"
Ted looked at the skinny, fashionably-dressed girl in front of him and had to answer honestly. "No, not really."
She giggled. "I know, I didn't either. But it turns out that the best racers are obsessed with controlling their surroundings--totally me--and are really good at processing fast-moving information. If I can keep up with Fashion Club meetings when Quinn and Sandi are arguing back and forth at a million miles a second, a racecar will be easy."
"Huh." Ted thought about it. "I guess I could see that. Um, good luck, I guess."
"Thanks!" Stacy turned back to the mirror. "I wonder if Junior Five would ever carry fire suits," she mused.
"I could ask Theresa," Ted told her. "If you think demand would be high enough, they might consider it. Of course, if you become a racing driver and start a major fad, sales would skyrocket!" He gasped and covered his mouth with both hands. "Oh, no! I'm marketing again!"
Ted resolved to just stop talking unless absolutely necessary, which ended up being easy because it was nearly impossible to get a word in. Once the three girls really got going, they emitted a stream of nonstop chatter revolving around clothing styles, celebrity news, and gossip about their fellow high school students. He tried to follow it at first, but the vapidity soon overwhelmed him and he had to let it just wash over him like a rapid-fire white noise.
At last the girls left, each lugging multiple shopping bags, and Ted and Theresa surveyed the changing rooms they'd used. They all looked like a clothing bomb had exploded in them. "My goodness," Ted murmured, taking in the devastation.
"I know," Theresa said, nodding. "They left them way neater than usual." She began picking up clothes from one of the stalls and, after staring in shock for a few more moments, Ted joined her.
Once everything had been cleaned up, Ted let out a tired sigh and checked his watch. His shift was only half over, yet he already felt like he'd been working there for days.
"It's about time for your break," Theresa told him, seeing his expression. "Why don't you go get something to eat? The food court has lots of options, as long as you don't mind salt and grease."
"Do they have gum?" Ted asked her hopefully.
She shook her head. "Sorry."
"Well, that's okay. As long as I can find something organic, without GMOs, that has been grown sustainably," Ted said happily.
Theresa looked at him warily. "Uh...On second thought, I might want to give the food court a pass. I think there's a new nut stand over by Toys 4 U, though."
So Ted left Junior Five in search of a snack, trying to avoid looking at the garish colors and blatant consumerism of the rest of the mall as he walked. I need to get used to this, he reminded myself. This...is my future. A future of selling out, kowtowing to corporate greed, and--
"Monster trucks and naked models! Naked, naked, naked!"
Ted's train of thought instantly derailed. He looked around and saw a girl he recognized--one of Daria Morgendorffer's friends, he thought, along with two young men he did not recognize. She was the one who'd been yelling about models and trucks, but the boys didn't appear impressed by her sales pitch.
I guess she's not destined for a career in Marketing, he thought jealously as the trio arrived at the nut stand just ahead. He hung back until they were done, the two boys leaving without buying anything and the girl walking behind the counter and into the back room. Huh. She must work for the nut stand, hired to drum up business by means of gimmicks like nudity and giant trucks.
Now that there were no customers ahead of him, Ted walked up to the stand and saw that it was being run by Kevin Thompson. He'd had a few interactions with Kevin in the past, but he hadn't immediately recognized him because he was wearing an odd hat that resembled a rodent's head. "Does that increase sales?" he asked, pointing to the hat. "Wait!" he cried suddenly, realizing that it was the kind of question a Chief Marketing Officer might ask. "Don't answer that!"
"Um, okay," the boy said cheerfully. "Oh! I mean, welcome to Crunchy Nut World. We're out to lunch and munching friends by the bunch!"
"I have no idea what that means," Ted told him, "but could you please tell me which of these nuts have been locally sourced?"
Kevin stared blankly for a few moments, then abruptly smiled at him. "Hello! Welcome to Nutty Bunches. We're--"
Ted held up a held to stop him. "All right, never mind that. I'll just have to take my chances. Um...I'll take some pecans, please."
Kevin looked at each bin, one after another. He glanced over his shoulder toward the back room with a worried expression.
"Is something wrong?" Ted asked.
Kevin spread his arms out helplessly. "Which ones are the pecans?"
Ted sighed, then pointed to the right bin.
"Thanks!" Kevin scooped some pecans into a bag and handed it to Ted. "I already smiled at you once," he said, "so I can't smile a second time. Sorry."
"Um, that's okay," Ted said, paying for the nuts. "Best of luck to you in remembering the name of your workplace." He walked slowly back to Junior Five, eating the pecans along the way. He was so startled he dropped the bag when he got near the store entrance and saw two people carrying large protest signs.
"Vegans forever! Corporations never!" shouted one of them, a woman.
"We strongly disapprove of your business practices!" shouted the other, this one a man.
The woman turned to him. "Your slogan needs work." Then she saw Ted. "Oh, hi, sweetie!"
It was Ted's parents. "What are you doing here?" he asked them.
"Protesting Junior Five," Grant explained. "They sell products made with fur and leather."
"Fake fur," Ted pointed out. "And pleather."
"It still sets a bad example," Leslie insisted stubbornly, shaking her sign for emphasis.
"Wait, what are you doing here?" Grant asked him.
Ted stood, frozen to the spot, as his parents waited for his answer. A thousand possible lies flew through his mind, but in a moment all of them seemed pointless. Why should he delay the inevitable? They'll find out eventually, so it might as well be now. "I work here."
"Here?!" Leslie shouted, pointing at the store behind her. Together, both of his parents asked, "Why?"
Taking a deep breath, Ted let out the entire story. His test results. His unhelpful counseling session. His surrender to fate. "...and so I started working here today. I'm very sorry I wasn't honest with you."
His parents looked at him in silence for a long time. At last Grant gave him a huge grin and clapped him on the back. "My brilliant boy!" he said, nudging Leslie.
Leslie looked at him in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I see it now!"
"See what?" Ted asked.
"You're bringing down the establishment from the inside," she said, leaning in to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. "Today it's a low-level job, tomorrow you'll make the entire corporate system crumble to dust."
"We couldn't be prouder," Grant told him, his voice cracking with emotion.
Leslie brushed away a tear and hugged her son. "Go get them, Ted. I know you can do this!"
"Oh. Thanks?" Ted glanced at his watch and saw that his break was almost over. "But you two should probably leave now."
"Because we might blow your cover as an inside agent?" Grant asked knowingly.
Ted shook his head. "Because a boa constrictor appears to be tightening around your ankles."
"They've set loose deadly snakes on us?" Leslie cried as Grant struggled to get himself loose.
"I assume it came from the pet store," Ted explained.
Leslie's eyes widened in horror. "There's a pet store here too? One of those puppy-mill supporting, animal-abusing monsters?" She turned her sign around to the blank side. "Hand me a marker, Grant. We need to go seriously ruin their day."
Ted heard screams coming from the direction of the pet store as dozens of gerbils eagerly swarmed his dropped pecans and an iguana lazily wandered by. "You might be too late for that."