TALES FROM HAUS MORGENROT
Episode XX: SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF
Black screen.
Nothing.
No music.
No thunder.
Just the faint sound of a telephone ringing somewhere very, very far away.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Nobody answers.
Then—
KRA-KA-FUCKING-BOOM.
Lightning splits the sky over the completely fictional, definitely-not-inspired-by-anything institution known as:
HAUS MORGENROT
The camera crashes through the front doors.
Past Administration.
Past Human Resources.
Past several people who are very busy doing something extraordinarily important.
Past a bulletin board covered in policies.
Past another bulletin board containing policies that appear to contradict the first policies.
Down the stairs.
Through the basement.
Past a skeleton sitting beside a telephone.
The skeleton is wearing an employee badge.
Its name has worn off.
In its hand is a note:
WAITING FOR RETURN-TO-WORK STATUS.
The camera continues downward.
Deeper.
Darker.
Until—
A coffin.
The lid slowly creaks open.
One claw emerges.
Then another.
Two enormous yellow eyes snap open.
And out crawls—
THE GREMLIN.
“GOOD EVENING, BOILS, GHOULS, HALLWAY CATS, HUMAN RESOURCES PROFESSIONALS, AND ANYBODY ELSE WHO HAS EVER BEEN TECHNICALLY EMPLOYED BUT SPIRITUALLY FUCKING MISSING!”
EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!
The Gremlin climbs onto his coffin.
“Tonight's tale concerns a very special creature.”
He produces an employee badge.
“Not a vampire!”
He throws it away.
“Not a werewolf!”
Another badge.
“Not even middle management!”
He recoils.
“UGH! TOO FUCKING SCARY!”
He reaches into the coffin and produces one final badge.
It reads:
MR. GERMLIN
The Gremlin grins.
“That's right!”
“Our favorite institutional punching bag has returned!”
“Or…”
The Gremlin looks around.
“…has he?”
THUNDER.
“Because tonight's horrifying question is very simple:
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU CALL AN EMPLOYEE WHO ISN'T WORKING, HASN'T RESIGNED, HASN'T BEEN TOLD HE'S FIRED, ISN'T CLEARED TO RETURN, AND HAS BEEN SITTING AT HOME FOR TWO FUCKING WEEKS?”
The Gremlin scratches his chin.
“Hmmmmmm.”
A buzzer sounds.
WRONG!
“Apparently the answer is:
EMPLOYED.”
EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!
SEPTEMBER 14: THE WANDENING RETURNS
Our tale begins on September 14.
Mr. Germlin goes to work.
This was his first mistake.
There is a wand.
There is a hallway cat.
There is an alert.
There is contact.
There is procedure.
There is an allegation.
There is also—
because God apparently enjoys sequels—
ANOTHER FUCKING INVESTIGATION.
Mr. Germlin is told there has been a complaint.
And our hero does something absolutely catastrophic.
He tells them what he remembers.
The Gremlin GASPS.
“YOU FOOL!”
Mr. Germlin does not claim divine perfection.
He does not announce:
I HAVE NEVER FUCKED UP IN MY ENTIRE NATURAL LIFE.
He knows there were procedural steps he should have handled differently.
He says so.
He owns them.
Because Mr. Germlin has this bizarre old-fashioned disease called:
ACCOUNTABILITY.
Symptoms include:
Admitting when you fuck up.
Reporting your own mistakes.
Not blaming Gerald the Cactus.
Not inventing an evil twin.
Not claiming Mercury was in retrograde.
Not screaming:
THE HALLWAY CAT MADE ME DO IT!
The Gremlin peers over his glasses.
“Fascinating.”
“So what happens when Mr. Germlin takes accountability?”
A giant lever appears.
It is labeled:
PERSONNEL ACTION
The Gremlin pulls it.
KA-CHUNK.
A trapdoor opens beneath Mr. Germlin.
BYE, BITCH!
PEOPLE FUCKING LIE
Now Mr. Germlin has learned something else.
Something revolutionary.
Something scholars have debated for thousands of years.
Something Haus Morgenrot may wish to include in its next training module.
PEOPLE. FUCKING. LIE.
The Gremlin points dramatically at the camera.
“WHAT?!”
Yes!
People lie.
People exaggerate.
People omit.
People misunderstand.
People remember things differently.
People tell partial truths.
People tell complete truths.
People tell absolute horseshit.
Sometimes even perfectly decent people are simply fucking wrong.
This is why investigations exist.
Mr. Germlin understands that.
He knows what he remembers doing.
He knows what he intended.
He knows what procedural mistakes belong to him.
And he will own those.
What he will NOT do is look at something he does not believe happened and say:
“Well, somebody said it, so I guess that's my memory now!”
The Gremlin nods.
“GOOD!”
“Because that's not accountability!”
He produces a giant rubber stamp.
THAT'S FUCKING SURRENDER!
STAMP.
So investigate!
Check the report!
Check the camera!
Talk to witnesses!
Read the policies!
Summon the ancient spirits of Compliance!
Hire Batman!
Dig up Columbo!
Bring in the fucking Scooby-Doo gang!
Mr. Germlin will cooperate!
There is only one question:
WHY DOES SCOOBY-DOO NEED FOURTEEN FUCKING DAYS?
THE BLINK TEST
Mr. Germlin said something long before this happened.
Something he had already learned about Haus Morgenrot:
You can disappear from this place in the blink of an eye.
Not metaphorically.
Watch!
The Gremlin produces a Mr. Germlin action figure.
“Here's Mr. Germlin!”
He places it on a miniature schedule.
“EMPLOYED!”
BLINK.
The figure disappears.
“NOT HERE!”
BLINK.
One day gone.
BLINK.
Three.
BLINK.
Five.
BLINK.
Seven.
BLINK.
Ten.
BLINK.
FOURTEEN.
The Gremlin looks beneath the table.
“MR. GERMLIN?”
Nothing.
He checks behind the coffin.
“GERMLIN?”
Nothing.
He opens a cabinet.
A hallway cat runs out.
“FUCK! WRONG ONE!”
He checks the employee schedule.
Nothing.
He checks Mr. Germlin's couch.
There he is.
“AH!”
Mr. Germlin raises one hand.
“Am I fired?”
The Gremlin checks.
“No answer!”
“Am I returning?”
“No answer!”
“Do I have a start date?”
“No answer!”
“Should I report somewhere?”
“No answer!”
“Am I still supposed to be available?”
“YES!”
Mr. Germlin stares.
The Gremlin stares back.
A tumbleweed rolls between them.
Mr. Germlin asks:
“So what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
The Gremlin checks the employee handbook.
Page one.
Nothing.
Page two.
Nothing.
Page three.
A coupon for Applebee's expired in 2019.
Finally, page 666:
PLEASE CONTINUE NOT MAKING MONEY UNTIL MORALE IMPROVES.
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'VE WON A VACATION!
The lights suddenly explode into game-show colors.
DING DING DING DING!
“CONGRATULATIONS, MR. GERMLIN!”
The Gremlin appears wearing a sequined jacket.
“You've won our fabulous…”
TWO-WEEK UNPAID VACATION!
APPLAUSE.
“Tell him what he's won!”
A curtain opens.
Behind it:
One couch!
One telephone!
One inbox!
One slowly dying pay period!
Several warehouse applications!
Enough time to contemplate every decision that led him here!
And—
BEANS!
The Gremlin points.
“SO MANY FUCKING BEANS!”
Mr. Germlin looks around.
“Can I exchange this prize for employment?”
“NO!”
“Can I exchange it for termination?”
“NO!”
“Can I exchange it for literally knowing what my status is?”
The studio audience GASPS.
The Gremlin grabs Mr. Germlin by the shoulders.
“DON'T GET FUCKING GREEDY.”
IF YOU FIRED ME, JUST FUCKING TELL ME
And here we reach the part that actually pisses Mr. Germlin off.
Not merely the investigation.
Investigate.
Not merely discipline.
If he fucked up procedure, address it.
Not even the possibility that Haus Morgenrot could decide:
Mr. Germlin, we're done.
Fine.
It would suck.
He would be pissed.
Jerry would require industrial quantities of peppercorn Purina.
Gerald the Cactus would probably need protective custody.
But there would at least be an answer.
Instead:
Day passes.
Another day.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Mr. Germlin isn't magically earning money during this little adventure.
He's watching scheduled work disappear.
He's watching hours disappear.
He's watching a paycheck get dragged behind the building and beaten to death with a sock full of quarters.
Meanwhile—
Haus Morgenrot continues.
Lights on.
Hallway cats roaming.
Doors opening.
Doors closing.
Schedules scheduling.
Supervisors supervising.
Somewhere, someone is probably saying:
ACCOUNTABILITY IS IMPORTANT.
Mr. Germlin screams from his couch:
THEN ACCOUNT FOR WHERE THE FUCK MY JOB WENT!
THUNDER.
THE ACCOUNTABILITY MACHINE
The Gremlin wheels out an enormous machine.
It has gears.
Sirens.
Flashing lights.
A fax machine.
Three clipboards.
And a giant funnel labeled:
ACCOUNTABILITY
“Let's test it!”
Mr. Germlin makes a procedural mistake.
The Gremlin throws it into the machine.
WHRRRRRRRRR!
DING!
The machine prints:
EMPLOYEE MUST TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.
“GOOD!”
Mr. Germlin submits a statement.
WHRRRRRRRRR!
DING!
EMPLOYEE MUST COOPERATE.
“EXCELLENT!”
Mr. Germlin remains available.
WHRRRRRRRRR!
DING!
EMPLOYEE MUST REMAIN AVAILABLE.
“FANTASTIC!”
Mr. Germlin follows up.
WHRRRRRRRRR!
DING!
EMPLOYEE SHOULD WAIT.
Mr. Germlin calls when instructed.
WHRRRRRRRRR!
DING!
EMPLOYEE SHOULD CONTINUE WAITING.
The Gremlin grins.
“NOW LET'S PUT MANAGEMENT IN!”
He drops a request for a clear employment status into the machine.
WHRRR—
The machine explodes.
KABOOM!
A flaming gear embeds itself in the wall.
The printer catches fire.
The fax machine screams.
Somewhere a supervisor spontaneously develops PTO.
The Gremlin dives behind the coffin.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
Smoke clears.
One tiny piece of paper emerges.
The Gremlin picks it up.
It reads:
PENDING.
The Gremlin looks directly into the camera.
“Well, there's your fucking problem.”
PLAYER TWO
Haus Morgenrot loves procedure.
And some procedures require two people.
Mr. Germlin knows this.
Mr. Germlin fucked that part up.
Mr. Germlin owns that.
Fine.
But now Mr. Germlin would like to demonstrate another two-person procedure.
It is called:
COMMUNICATION.
PLAYER ONE:
“Hello. I'm ready to return to work.”
PLAYER TWO:
…
PLAYER ONE:
“I submitted the statement.”
PLAYER TWO:
…
PLAYER ONE:
“I'm still available.”
PLAYER TWO:
…
PLAYER ONE:
“HR told me to call.”
PLAYER TWO:
…
PLAYER ONE:
“Hello?”
The screen flashes:
PLAYER TWO HAS DISCONNECTED.
The Gremlin throws the controller.
“GODDAMMIT!”
HALLWAY CATS
Meanwhile, the hallway cats continue doing what hallway cats do best.
Existing.
Roaming.
Enjoying free time.
Creating lore.
Mr. Germlin has learned several important facts about the species.
Hallway cats enjoy free time.
Hallway cats enjoy more free time.
Hallway cats may occasionally believe that the rules are less “rules” and more “seasonal suggestions.”
And hallway cats are human beings.
Which means some are decent.
Some are difficult.
Some tell the truth.
Some don't.
Some will surprise you.
Some will disappoint you.
And some will create a side quest so powerful that Mr. Germlin will still be sitting on his couch two Sundays later wondering:
HOW THE FUCK DID WE GET HERE?
THE SODs (SUPERVISORS on DUTY!)
The Gremlin opens another page.
“Ah yes!”
“Management!”
Mr. Germlin leans forward.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“YES!”
The Gremlin produces two enormous cacti.
🌵
🌵
“ONE FOR EACH!”
Mr. Germlin smiles.
The Gremlin clears his throat.
“To the appropriate SODs of Haus Morgenrot…”
He places the cacti on silver platters.
“…with all the warmth and affection available in Mr. Germlin's heart…”
A waiter carries them away.
CHOMP.
Not touch.
Not hug.
Not admire.
Not place near a sunny window and water according to species requirements.
CHOMP THE FUCKING CACTUS.
The Gremlin wipes away a tear.
“Nature is beautiful.”
AND THEN THERE ARE GOOD PEOPLE
Suddenly the music stops.
The Gremlin looks at the next page.
His smile disappears.
“Oh, fuck off.”
There are good people at Haus Morgenrot.
“NO.”
Yep.
People Mr. Germlin respects.
“BOOOOO.”
People who actually try.
“CUT THIS SCENE.”
People who have treated him decently.
“THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE HORROR.”
People trying to do good work inside an environment that can still produce absolute fucking nonsense.
The Gremlin tears several pages out of the script.
“WHO KEEPS PUTTING NUANCE IN MY SHIT?!”
But it's true.
Mr. Germlin hasn't concluded:
EVERYONE IS EVIL.
That would be easy.
His conclusion is worse.
SOME PEOPLE ARE GOOD INSIDE SYSTEMS THAT CAN STILL BE FUCKING TERRIBLE.
The Gremlin sighs.
“Goddammit.”
He puts the pages back.
THE FOURTEENTH DAY
Sunday.
September 27.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days since September 14.
Mr. Germlin sits upon his couch.
His patience is dead.
His paycheck has been declared a disaster area.
His optimism has been taken behind Gerald's greenhouse and quietly disposed of.
But Mr. Germlin himself?
Still here.
And after everything, he has developed several commandments.
Own your shit.
Do not own somebody else's shit.
People can lie.
People can also be good.
Rules can be necessary.
Rules can also be inconsistently applied.
Procedure matters.
So does communicating what the fuck is happening to the employee whose income you have frozen while you enforce it.
And if an employer decides you're finished?
Fine.
Tell you.
Because there is something uniquely fucking maddening about being too employed to move cleanly on…
too suspended to earn your normal paycheck…
and too uninformed to know which fucking reality you're living in.
The Gremlin walks toward Mr. Germlin.
“So after fourteen days, what have you learned?”
Mr. Germlin thinks.
He considers everything.
The allegation.
The procedure.
The suspension.
The statements.
The phone calls.
The emails.
The lost shifts.
The hallway cats.
The SODs.
The good people.
The bullshit.
Then Mr. Germlin looks straight into the camera.
“IF YOU FIRED ME, JUST FUCKING TELL ME.”
Silence.
The Gremlin nods.
“That's fair.”
Then—
CRONCH.
Both turn.
There he is.
🛋️🐕🍪
COUCH DOOG.
Doog has been present throughout the entire episode.
Doog investigated nothing.
Doog interviewed nobody.
Doog touched no hallway cats.
Doog wrote no statements.
Doog called no supervisors.
Doog blocked no cameras.
Doog violated no procedures.
Doog merely located couch.
Doog lay on couch.
Doog became couch.
Fourteen days later:
DOOG DO NO WRONG.
The Gremlin slowly approaches.
He kneels.
He places one animal cracker before Doog.
“Perhaps…”
The Gremlin whispers.
“…this motherfucker was the smartest employee all along.”
Doog opens one eye.
CRONCH.
Doog closes eye.
The Gremlin rises.
He turns toward the camera.
His grin stretches impossibly wide.
“Well, boils, ghouls, hallway cats, and employees currently trapped somewhere between YOU'RE FIRED and SEE YOU MONDAY…”
“Remember!”
“Accountability is important!”
“Communication is important!”
“And if your employee has been sitting home for fourteen days waiting to discover whether he still has a fucking job…”
The Gremlin leans into the camera.
“…perhaps it's time to stop keeping him…”
He pauses.
Lightning flashes.
The organ SCREAMS.
“…IN SUSPEND-ERS!”
Silence.
The Gremlin blinks.
“…Get it?”
“Suspenders?”
“Because he's suspended?”
Another silence.
Somewhere offscreen, Mr. Germlin groans.
“OH, FUCK YOU, THAT WAS GOOD!”
The Gremlin cackles.
“EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”
“And remember, boils and ghouls…”
“If accountability only travels downhill…”
“…you don't have a chain of command.”
The Gremlin produces an enormous leash.
“YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING COLLAR!”
KRA-KA-BOOOOOOM!
The coffin opens.
The Gremlin jumps inside.
The lid begins closing.
“This has been another catastrophically stupid installment of…”
TALES FROM HAUS MORGENROT!
The lid almost shuts.
Then one claw shoots back out.
“OH! AND MR. GERMLIN?”
The poor bastard looks over.
“If they ever call you back…”
The Gremlin grins.
“…TRY NOT TO GET TOO WANDED-UP!”
SLAM.
A beat.
Mr. Germlin stares at the coffin.
“…Motherfucker.”
From the couch:
CRONCH.
EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!
— The Gremlin