Horrorstör

by Grady Hendrix

The only thing it didn’t offer was coffins. Yet.

“There’s nothing waiting inside but retail slavery, endless exploitation, and personal subjugation to the whims of our corporate overlords.”

Amy would honor the first commandment of keeping her job: Do not look like an idiot in front of anyone who can fire you.

Scratch a rebel, Amy thought, and you’ll always find a father’s credit card.

For her, the world was divided into two kinds of jobs: those where you had to stand up, and those where you could sit down. If you were standing up, you were paid hourly. If you were sitting down, you were salaried.

She didn’t expect life to be fair, but did it have to be so relentless?

The walls of her stall were covered with graffiti. If it had been funny (“Pull here for MFA Degree” right below the toilet paper dispenser)

I know this is your religion, but for me it’s just a job.”

And if you die, isn’t the stillness of death preferable to the vain agitation and senseless chaos of your life?

But pain and fear have a way of simplifying things.