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Description
   Mr. Talliman came out of his office, shutting the door behind him.
   'I'm going to lunch, Henriketta. I'll be back by two thirty,' he told his secretary. His secretary was an enormous plump thing that could give heart attacks by surprising people. She (although Mr. Talliman had many times referred to her as "it" – although not in front of her) had a bit of brown rolled-up hair in the top of her head, big glasses which didn't let anyone see the colour of her eyes, and the rest was wrinkles.
   'Wait,' she said. Mr. Talliman hated when she said that. He always found himself thinking she was going to declare her love for him or something. 'You have a guy in there. He wants to interview.'
   'Well, tell him to come back tomorrow. I'm going to lunch,' he said.
   She looked at him from behind her thick glasses. Very much like dogs don't need to speak, neither did Henriketta; if you see a dog showing its teeth at you, you know what he's about to do to you. If you see Henriketta doing that face she does, when you can hear the wind of the desert, like in that very moment, you know that she's not going to do something, usually what she's just been told to do. It was an expression of boredom, indignity, impatience, empathy and possibly of menstruation period.
   Mr. Talliman sighed and went back to his office. He heard Henriketta starting to type something in her computer and muttering something that sounded much like 'git'.
   Inside his office there was a thin, bald white man looking very nervous indeed. He had somehow put on his tie in a way that made him look like he was being strangled by a snake without noticing, and he was holding a video tape in his small hands. He was standing in front of Mr. Talliman's desk, although there hadn't been nobody there when Mr. Talliman left his office. He didn't quite knew how these joke candidates, whom he was supposed to interview and approve (or disapprove) got in his office, but they did, which meant he had to work even when he was tired, or hungry, or tired and hungry.
   'Good morning,' he said, smiling at the nervous man.
   'Good morning,' the man replied in an anxious voice.
   'Name?'
   'Um - Norman Walter, from –'
   'Yeah, yeah,' said Mr. Talliman, writing the name down in a paper in his desk. 'May I?' he asked, pointing at the tape the man was holding, taking it off his hands without waiting for the answer. He did this hundreds of times a week.
   'Oh, um, sure,' said the man, after Mr. Talliman inserted the tape into a video player and turned on the old television screen above it.
   The screen turned bright, showing a suburban street in black and white. The person holding the camera was obviously walking while filming, and talking at the same time. Mr. Talliman hoped that the person holding the camera was this Norman Walter guy. If he could walk, talk and hold a camera all at the same time that made him more qualified than most of the idiots he usually had to put up with.
   'Sucking Afternoon, a Norman Walter production,' said the voice in the video. It did sound like the nervous-looking man. The cameraman stopped and walked into a closed space, making the image change. It took a while for Mr. Talliman to realize it was a bar. The television showed some of the people in the bar for a few seconds, until the cameraman turned to one side and sat facing a table occupied by two teenage girls. One of them had very light hair, and although the picture was in black and white, Mr. Talliman assumed she was blonde; the other seemed like a brunette, and Mr. Talliman, who was happily married and had four small children, couldn't help noticing that she had an impressive cleavage.
   'This is a bar in New Jersey,' said Norman, in the tape. He sounded very serious, and spoke in a low voice, like someone presenting a hunting show while a rabbit pops out of its hole. 'Bars, as everyone knows, are dangerous things. They are frequented by pimps. Drug dealers. Prostitutes. There are fights every now and then. If a waitress drops some juice on the floor, someone might slip and fall. Anyway.'
   Mr Talliman did have to respect, he thought to himself, someone who could say something so stupid in such a serious voice.
   'This is an example of how bars can be unpredictable,' said Norman. In the image, a teenage boy dressed in black, with very dark hair and a face covered in piercings sat by the side of the two girls. His mouth was dripping with something dark, which looked enormously like blood. 'One of these teenagers is a vampire. For your preparation and benefit, try to find out which.'
   A waitress came and gave the teenagers three cups. Mr. Talliman guessed they were full of milkshake, partly because the waitress said 'Here is your milkshake.'
   The three people started drinking. The two girls smiled, the boy staring straight ahead with an expression of anger on his face. He eventually managed to grab his glass of milkshake and drank it all at once with great speed, while the two girls gave little sips and started giggling every time someone passed outside on the street.
   'So, how did your exams go, Jenny?' asked the brunette. The boy still looked straight ahead at something which the audience couldn't see.
   'Real good. I think I'm gonna flunk at Maths, though,' said the blonde girl.
   'Oh, poo,' said the brunette.
   A few moments passed.
   'So Nicole, how is your boyfriend?' asked the blonde girl.
   'Poor thing. He broke his leg,' said Nicole.
   'Oh,' said Jenny.
   A few more awkward moments passed.
   'So Askaroth the Slave of Satan, how is your milkshake?' Jenny asked to the boy.
   'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!' said the boy in a very loud voice, still looking straight ahead. He appeared to be trying to open his mouth as much as he could to scream.
   They stood silent for about two minutes after that, according to Mr. Talliman's watch, in an awkward silence.
   'You know what is really good?' asked Nicole, making Jenny and Askaroth the Slave of Satan look at her. 'Human blood. It's really good.'
   Jenny and Askaroth looked at each other with scared faces while Nicole smiled. Suddenly a big, overweight black man with dreadlocks and a t-shirt with a marijuana leaf appeared on the screen, pointing at Nicole with a scared face.
   'Holy Shit! She's a vampire!! Get her!' he shouted.
   All of them stood perfectly still after that, the man with the dreadlocks barely fitting on the image, pointing at Nicole, until Askaroth looked at the screen and said in a very effeminate voice:
   'So remember kids: don't do drugs.'
   The screen went black again. Mr. Talliman had turned off the television.
   'Okay, that's enough,' he said.
   'Actually, that was the end of it,' said Norman.
   Mr. Talliman sat in his desk and thought to himself for a bit. Norman kept standing, perfectly still.
   'Well, it's better than the usual bat shit I have to put up with,' said Mr. Talliman finally. 'It's got an introduction, it's got a punch line. Not a good one, but still. It's got an emo kid.'
   He looked at Norman.
   'You, Mr. Walter… are a joke,' he said.
   Instead of feeling insulted at this, Norman looked quite happy.
   'Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you so much!'
   'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' said Mr. Talliman. He wrote his signature and Norman's name on a file and handed it to him. 'Get out of my office.'
   Norman took the paper and went out the door. He was now officially a joke, like his father and his poor dying mother had wanted him to be.

Description
   Mr. Talliman came out of his office, shutting the door behind him.
   'I'm going to lunch, Henriketta. I'll be back by two thirty,' he told his secretary. His secretary was an enormous plump thing that could give heart attacks by surprising people. She (although Mr. Talliman had many times referred to her as "it" – although not in front of her) had a bit of brown rolled-up hair in the top of her head, big glasses which didn't let anyone see the colour of her eyes, and the rest was wrinkles.
   'Wait,' she said. Mr. Talliman hated when she said that. He always found himself thinking she was going to declare her love for him or something. 'You have a guy in there. He wants to interview.'
   'Well, tell him to come back tomorrow. I'm going to lunch,' he said.
   She looked at him from behind her thick glasses. Very much like dogs don't need to speak, neither did Henriketta; if you see a dog showing its teeth at you, you know what he's about to do to you. If you see Henriketta doing that face she does, when you can hear the wind of the desert, like in that very moment, you know that she's not going to do something, usually what she's just been told to do. It was an expression of boredom, indignity, impatience, empathy and possibly of menstruation period.
   Mr. Talliman sighed and went back to his office. He heard Henriketta starting to type something in her computer and muttering something that sounded much like 'git'.
   Inside his office there was a thin, bald white man looking very nervous indeed. He had somehow put on his tie in a way that made him look like he was being strangled by a snake without noticing, and he was holding a video tape in his small hands. He was standing in front of Mr. Talliman's desk, although there hadn't been nobody there when Mr. Talliman left his office. He didn't quite knew how these joke candidates, whom he was supposed to interview and approve (or disapprove) got in his office, but they did, which meant he had to work even when he was tired, or hungry, or tired and hungry.
   'Good morning,' he said, smiling at the nervous man.
   'Good morning,' the man replied in an anxious voice.
   'Name?'
   'Um - Norman Walter, from –'
   'Yeah, yeah,' said Mr. Talliman, writing the name down in a paper in his desk. 'May I?' he asked, pointing at the tape the man was holding, taking it off his hands without waiting for the answer. He did this hundreds of times a week.
   'Oh, um, sure,' said the man, after Mr. Talliman inserted the tape into a video player and turned on the old television screen above it.
   The screen turned bright, showing a suburban street in black and white. The person holding the camera was obviously walking while filming, and talking at the same time. Mr. Talliman hoped that the person holding the camera was this Norman Walter guy. If he could walk, talk and hold a camera all at the same time that made him more qualified than most of the idiots he usually had to put up with.
   'Sucking Afternoon, a Norman Walter production,' said the voice in the video. It did sound like the nervous-looking man. The cameraman stopped and walked into a closed space, making the image change. It took a while for Mr. Talliman to realize it was a bar. The television showed some of the people in the bar for a few seconds, until the cameraman turned to one side and sat facing a table occupied by two teenage girls. One of them had very light hair, and although the picture was in black and white, Mr. Talliman assumed she was blonde; the other seemed like a brunette, and Mr. Talliman, who was happily married and had four small children, couldn't help noticing that she had an impressive cleavage.
   'This is a bar in New Jersey,' said Norman, in the tape. He sounded very serious, and spoke in a low voice, like someone presenting a hunting show while a rabbit pops out of its hole. 'Bars, as everyone knows, are dangerous things. They are frequented by pimps. Drug dealers. Prostitutes. There are fights every now and then. If a waitress drops some juice on the floor, someone might slip and fall. Anyway.'
   Mr Talliman did have to respect, he thought to himself, someone who could say something so stupid in such a serious voice.
   'This is an example of how bars can be unpredictable,' said Norman. In the image, a teenage boy dressed in black, with very dark hair and a face covered in piercings sat by the side of the two girls. His mouth was dripping with something dark, which looked enormously like blood. 'One of these teenagers is a vampire. For your preparation and benefit, try to find out which.'
   A waitress came and gave the teenagers three cups. Mr. Talliman guessed they were full of milkshake, partly because the waitress said 'Here is your milkshake.'
   The three people started drinking. The two girls smiled, the boy staring straight ahead with an expression of anger on his face. He eventually managed to grab his glass of milkshake and drank it all at once with great speed, while the two girls gave little sips and started giggling every time someone passed outside on the street.
   'So, how did your exams go, Jenny?' asked the brunette. The boy still looked straight ahead at something which the audience couldn't see.
   'Real good. I think I'm gonna flunk at Maths, though,' said the blonde girl.
   'Oh, poo,' said the brunette.
   A few moments passed.
   'So Nicole, how is your boyfriend?' asked the blonde girl.
   'Poor thing. He broke his leg,' said Nicole.
   'Oh,' said Jenny.
   A few more awkward moments passed.
   'So Askaroth the Slave of Satan, how is your milkshake?' Jenny asked to the boy.
   'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!' said the boy in a very loud voice, still looking straight ahead. He appeared to be trying to open his mouth as much as he could to scream.
   They stood silent for about two minutes after that, according to Mr. Talliman's watch, in an awkward silence.
   'You know what is really good?' asked Nicole, making Jenny and Askaroth the Slave of Satan look at her. 'Human blood. It's really good.'
   Jenny and Askaroth looked at each other with scared faces while Nicole smiled. Suddenly a big, overweight black man with dreadlocks and a t-shirt with a marijuana leaf appeared on the screen, pointing at Nicole with a scared face.
   'Holy Shit! She's a vampire!! Get her!' he shouted.
   All of them stood perfectly still after that, the man with the dreadlocks barely fitting on the image, pointing at Nicole, until Askaroth looked at the screen and said in a very effeminate voice:
   'So remember kids: don't do drugs.'
   The screen went black again. Mr. Talliman had turned off the television.
   'Okay, that's enough,' he said.
   'Actually, that was the end of it,' said Norman.
   Mr. Talliman sat in his desk and thought to himself for a bit. Norman kept standing, perfectly still.
   'Well, it's better than the usual bat shit I have to put up with,' said Mr. Talliman finally. 'It's got an introduction, it's got a punch line. Not a good one, but still. It's got an emo kid.'
   He looked at Norman.
   'You, Mr. Walter… are a joke,' he said.
   Instead of feeling insulted at this, Norman looked quite happy.
   'Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you so much!'
   'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' said Mr. Talliman. He wrote his signature and Norman's name on a file and handed it to him. 'Get out of my office.'
   Norman took the paper and went out the door. He was now officially a joke, like his father and his poor dying mother had wanted him to be.