After the Interview -- Fiction for the Real World

Johnson and Andrews sat in a coffee shop at noon and talked about real, worldly things. Johnson, a thin man, wore an inexpensive business suit and sported a shaved head. He was drinking a supra mega-chino with froth; his hands trembled slightly on the mug. He spoke quick and abrupt:
     "So? Did you get it?"
     Andrews wore the remnants of a suit. His blazer was ruffled and open, his tie was undone, his collar was unbuttoned and upturned. He sat back in a modern, metal chair and ran a crooked finger around the rim of his extra corisetto meta-mocha, No.2 crème, ultra-raw sugar.
     "No. Not this time either."
     "I thought you were a shoe-in," Johnson said. "Did they at least tell you why? Did they tell you what you did wrong?"
     "They never tell you why, Johnson. They just thank you for your time, shake your hand like an old friend, and give you one of those non-contractual smiles; you know, the kind that they don't owe you."
     "And thats all? So who got it?" Johnson asked.
     "Some guy, Guzman, blond hair."
     "Guzman? I know him. You're much more qualified than Guzman. What was the job anyway?"
     "Nothing spectacular, but a step up in the business world from where I was before. It paid well enough. Basically, I would have to live in a cubicle for eight hours a day bent over a desk with my pants down while a fat old man fucked me up the ass."
     "You've got a much better ass than Guzman. I can't believe they didn't hire you. What job were you on before?"
     Andrews drank deep into his mocha.
     "Along the same lines. I lay on my side all week while this guy pissed in my ear. It was okay; you just lie there and take it. The guy who peed on me, well, he had it rough. They put him on diuretics and he had to stay hydrated, you know -- he was drinking eight litres an hour. But since they installed catheters there hasn't been much use for people like me."
     Johnson, in turn, sipped the froth from his chino. The mug rattled on its saucer as he put it down.
     "Sounds good for a resume though, doesn't it Andrews? Guzman shovelled vomit when I knew him."
     "There was another guy in the running too," Andrews continued. "He went by 'Peters'. This guy went to Yardale, a college boy. Majored in Etiquette and Tomfoolery."
     "Tough field, I hear. So why didn't he get in?"
     "The old exec must have felt guilty. He couldn't bring himself to rape an educated boy every day. I guess he had to prove to himself that a college degree is still worth more than a cock in the ass."
     "Still," Johnson said. "I don't know why Guzman got the job and you didn't."
     "Well," Andrews answered. "I definitely had the better ass when pants were dropped. It's just that after the trial it was clear: Guzman really enjoyed it. More so than me. The Corporation wants employees who like what they do, you know?"
     "I hear you," Johnson said and stood up. "Well, it's time. I'm due."
     "Good luck, Johnson."
     "Thanks Andrews."
     "I hope you brought sedatives. You know, to stop the gag reflex. I'm sure you'll get the job."
     The two men shared a sincere handshake and went about their business.