by Michael Burgwin

Created on: April 02, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

THE SEARCH

I had been searching since 8:30 and already it was time for lunch. Got out of the house without packing a brownbag, too, not an uncommon occurrence for a rookie, they said, and my stomach was growling like a garbage grinder. "You try to eat out everyday on this salary and you'll soon be living on salad," Sarg had said during my last eval. In this line of work, the pay does not keep up with inflation, but I'm not complaining. Fulfillment has its own bennies, still tax-free, I might add, although rumor has it they are trying to change that.

As my hunger fingered the change in my left pocket, I looked around to see where my search had brought me. If I was lucky, there would be a Bald Cockatiel nearby. The retro fern bar put together a tasty tuna salad, which I especially appreciate with a hunk of vine ripe tomato and paper thin slices of crispy cucumber on a slab of fresh, slightly springy ciabatta, preferably whole wheat. I was so hungry I could taste the thought of one. But they often run out, so you never know.

What I did know was that my probation was about up and if I didn't find a god soon, like today, I would probably be transferred. In this line of work the options are one more than the color choices on an old Ford. If I'm not looking for a god, I'm looking for a devil.

Don't get me wrong; it's not that having devil duty would be the end of the world. In fact, a devil is much easier to find than a god. I discovered that during training when I bagged fifteen devils before lunch on my most productive day. You know, it's like they don't put as much effort into making themselves obscure or something. That's the prevailing conspiracy theory, anyway. Cloy said she wished the devils would be more creative with their disguises or try some species shifts, every now and then; something less conservative and bland. "That would make the job more interesting," she told me. I'm more inclined to think they just aren't as good at it as the gods. By the end of that day, I bagged twenty-nine of them suckers which got me the promotion to this sweet beat.

To my absentminded displeasure, I was nowhere near a Bald Cockatiel. I found myself on Booker Street down by Oakland Avenue, instead, so settled for some fast food at Fast Fred's. That's code for a grilled burger with the works. Contrary to popular misperception, this job does not require that one be a vegetarian. Some say that a god is invisible to omnivores like myself and although I don't happen to subscribe to

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