Haus Morgenrot: Gerald Has Tenure
I should have clocked out at 10 PM.
That's the entire fucking story.
In the correct timeline, Mr. Germin works twelve hours, throws the deuces at 10:00, summons an Uber, goes home, becomes Couch Doog-adjacent, and stops giving a shit about Haus Morgenrot until the following morning.
Unfortunately, we do not live in the correct timeline.
We live in the timeline where September wakes up every morning, stretches, cracks its knuckles, looks directly at Mr. Germin and asks:
"What if some bullshit happened?"
No.
Fuck off.
I requested boring.
I have worked very hard to become boring.
Do you understand how much personal development it takes to become this fucking boring?
I arrive on time.
I wear my badge.
I ask SOD.
I don't freestyle.
I take my lunch.
I document things.
I don't become Detective Germin because somebody whispers that somebody else may or may not have done some shit in Room Fucking Whatever.
Interesting.
Damn.
Moving on.
I have achieved Weaponized Boring.
And somehow the universe keeps mistaking this for a challenge.
So tonight I found myself sitting at home hours earlier than expected thinking about young Lucy from Elfen Lied.
Not the murder part.
Important distinction.
Please do not summon HR again.
I mean the part where life has kicked you in the dick seventeen consecutive times and then suddenly you're sitting somewhere quiet wondering how the fuck the plot got here.
Except if Mr. Germin actually possessed vectors, Haus Morgenrot would become substantially more interesting.
The snack machine?
Gone.
Not destroyed.
Gone.
There is now a cactus there.
Nobody knows where it came from.
Six feet tall.
Beautiful.
Majestic.
Hostile.
Management sends an email.
SUBJECT: UNAUTHORIZED PLANT LIFE
"Staff are reminded that vegetation exceeding four feet in height must receive prior approval from Administration."
Nobody asks why this policy apparently already existed.
Within seventeen minutes, the hallway cats discover the cactus.
This is catastrophic.
One hallway cat names it Gerald.
Another believes Gerald understands him better than his counselor.
A third is attempting to trade two soups and a ramen for Gerald.
One is standing beside Gerald wearing a Loss of Privileges badge.
Nobody knows where he got the badge.
Nobody knows why he's outside his assigned area.
Nobody knows why he's carrying a plastic spoon.
Nobody asks.
I approach.
"Sir, please don't touch the cactus."
"I'm not touching it, Mr. Germin."
He is hugging Gerald.
"Sir."
"Gerald understands me."
"Gerald is a fucking cactus."
"That's disrespectful."
Of course it is.
Everything is disrespectful now.
Another hallway cat appears.
"Mr. Germin, can I go to Computer Club?"
"No."
"But—"
"No."
"I just need—"
"No."
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH.
Computer Club has not been open for six hours.
Doesn't matter.
The door has become a pilgrimage site.
Then somebody screams from the dining room.
I turn around.
There are seventeen people standing beside the vending machines.
Except there are no vending machines anymore.
Only Gerald.
"Why are you all over here?"
Nobody knows.
Nobody ever knows.
One guy says he was getting water.
There is no water fountain there.
Another says SOD told him to come over.
SOD is not in the building.
A third man simply says:
"I got three days left, Mr. Germin. I'm not messing up."
Oh.
Ohhhhhhhhhh.
I've heard this one.
"Words don't mean anything to me, sir."
He looks wounded.
"I respect you, Mr. Germin."
Wonderful.
"I don't need you to respect me."
Gerald sways gently despite there being absolutely no wind.
"I need actions."
The hallway cat releases Gerald.
"I'm gonna be consistently annoying."
Somewhere in the distance, thunder.
Then another tech approaches.
"Hey, Germin?"
No.
"Germin?"
Absolutely fucking not.
"Can you come here real quick?"
Those are the six most dangerous words in the English language.
I'd rather hear:
"We need to talk about your extended warranty."
I follow.
SOD is waiting.
HR is waiting.
Gerald may also be waiting.
At this point I cannot exclude the possibility that Gerald works here.
"Mr. Germin, there's been an incident."
Of course there has.
"There is apparently a cactus where the vending machine used to be."
"I noticed."
"Do you know anything about that?"
"No."
"The camera was obstructed."
I close my eyes.
"By what?"
Silence.
I already know.
"Mr. Germin..."
Don't.
"...your body."
FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK.
Somewhere outside, a hallway cat escapes through the front gate wearing a Loss of Privileges badge.
Nobody stops him.
Gerald receives Employee of the Month.
I receive a write-up.
Couch Doog receives an animal cracker.
Jerry "The Ankle-Biter" Silverhand raids the dumpster behind Administration and somehow discovers seventeen Ulrics and a perfectly functional GTX 5090.
And somewhere, deep within Haus Morgenrot, another client approaches a staff member and says:
"I only have five days left. I'm not gonna do anything stupid."
Gerald knows better.
Gerald has seen things.
Gerald has tenure.
Gerald has dental.
Mr. Germin?
Mr. Germin wanted one boring fucking shift.
That's all.
Not justice.
Not glory.
Not redemption.
Not institutional reform.
Ten to ten.
Lunch at three.
Pay me.
Let me leave.
But apparently that is too ambitious.
So tomorrow I will remain home.
My phone will remain on.
The investigation will investigate.
Applications will eventually be applied.
And Gerald will continue counseling the hallway cats because, frankly, he appears to be doing a better job than anybody else.
Picky pines be damned.
Throw the deuces.
Couch Doog, court is adjourned.