Dreaming in Spam

I've been having disturbing dreams lately about turning into food.


Short Fiction: The Big Job Interview

“You realize of course that you are a can of Spam,” said the man in the blue necktie sitting across the oaken table in a wood paneled office.

He was leaning ponderously back in his swivel chair, brow furrowed, fingers tented, resting on his chest. A cigarette was smoldering in an ashtray next to a cup of coffee that was hot three hours ago. This was the sixth interview today and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

“So that may propose some,” he paused before saying, “difficulties.”

Sitting across from him in an imitation leather chair was a large can of Spam who only the night before had been George Williams, a twice divorced out of work middle school gym teacher. From the bottom of the can protruded an ordinary pair of legs wearing ordinary navy blue seer sucker slacks. The legs were crossed, with one penny loafered foot fidgeting expectantly in the air. Its sock had slipped down to ankle level, revealing a small patch of white skin and a few black hairs.

No arms. No face or head. Just a can, in slacks.

“I know,” said the can. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be that much of a problem.”

“Problem. Yes,” said the man, now leaning forward, resting his elbows and still tented fingers on the desk. He reached for the pack of Cools nearby on the table and offered it.

“Cigarette?”

“I don’t have any arms.”

“Oh. Of course,” said the man, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I didn’t mean to…”

He trailed off, stuffing the pack into his shirt pocket.

“It’s O.K.” said the can. “You’ve seen my resume?”

“Yes,” he said as he turned his eyes down to the piece of paper that was on his desk. “I noticed that your last job ended in ninety-three. I was wondering if you could account for the...” He turned his eyes up to meet the can’s gaze head on. “Time gap?”

“I’d prefer to not discuss that,” said the can. “It’s rather personal.”

“O.K.” said the man, a bit relieved to be off the topic. “And then there is the issue of your previous experience?”

“What about it?”

“It says here that you taught physical education at Russell Thornhump Junior High in Bayonne, New Jersey, from seventy-three to ninety-three.”

“That’s correct.”

“You do realize that we are an international hedge fund with offices in New York, London and Tokyo.”

“Yes,” said the can with a twinge of unconcealed excitement. “I’ve always found the financial markets to be fascinating. The Japanese are really very, very kind people.”

"And that most of our candidates come from the nation's top business schools with several years experience in investment?"

"I finished the coursework for a masters degree," said the can. "But I never wrote my thesis. I believe that's all in my resume as well."

“Right.” Said the man, loosening his tie. “And how do you feel about managing a client investor portfolio of more than one billion dollars?”

“How could anything be harder than getting seventh graders to play dodge ball? Or being a can of Spam for that matter?”

“I see your point,” said the man. “What say we start you off on a trial basis then?”

“Well,” said the can, clearly disappointed, “I was hoping for something a bit more substantive. Could you tell me some more about your profit sharing plan?”

“Sure,” said the man…