"Hey, You never know when an extra will come in handy."
"Give your correct Social Security number," the white dude said.
"Right. Got it," said Darnell, nudging Troy. They made up the numbers, just in case.
Another hand shot up. It belonged to Pip. "What about this address thing?"
"Where do you mean?"
"It's asking for my address, and I ain't got one."
"Where do you live?"
"With whatever bitch will have me this week."
"Use that. Any other questions?"
"Are street names okay? I don't wanna use my own on account of I'm what they call known to the police."
The white dude went even whiter and he mumbled, "Street names are fine." Then he shut the door after him real fast.
Everyone laughed at the nervous white dude. The laughter died when they looked at the application forms.
They scratched heads, arms, crotches and shifted in their chairs while making faces at the sheets of paper.
"Anybody here can read?" Darnell asked suddenly.
"I read some," said Pip.
"What's this say?"
"Dunno."
"I thought you said you read some." "I read only numbers. I don't go in for letters and words."
"Why not?"
"Mostly all I gotta know for home invasions is a street number and the color of the house."
"Who reads words here?"
A hand went up. Everybody shoved their applications under the hand raiser's unhappy face.
"Hey, I ain't doin' all this. I got my own application to fill up."
Hands went into baggy pants and into the pouches of gray hooded sweatshirts and came out holding a wide array of small firearms. These were pointed at the man who could read words.
"You help us out, jack. Or we help you out the window."
"All right, all right. But this is gonna take all day."
"So what? We already in the sick building breathing the bad air. That gives us all a day up on getting sick enough to quit and live off the insurance company."
This made sense to all, so they took their time filling out the applications. To pass the time, they carved their initials on the cherry-wood conference tabletops.
"Wonder how come no one ever thought to do this before?" mumbled Darnell, scratching out a big D in one corner.
"Fools probably couldn't write their own damn names," said Troy.
When the white guy came back, he looked even more nervous than before. He took the applications, and they asked him one question.
"We hired now?"
"I have to evaluate the applications first."
"Then we hired?"
"Probably."
"If you don't hire us, it'll be discriminatory, you know."
The white dude rolled his eyes. "I know," he said, backing from the room.
"I like that word 'discriminatory,'" said Troy.
"Yeah," Darnell added. "It always work."
It worked this time, too. The white guy was back inside of ten minutes and said, "You're all gas inspectors."
"Since when?"
"Since the front office just accepted all your applications."
"What's the salary?"
"What's a salary?" Pip asked.
"That's what they gotta pay you, fool."
"Hey, I ain't settling now. It's too early. I ain't sick yet."
"That's later," Troy hissed. "Salary is what you get for working. Insurance settlement is what you get for not working."
"You know," Darnell added as they followed the white dude to the elevator, "I think I'm gonna miss working in this place."
Everyone laughed as they rode the elevator to the basement where the air was thin and cool and there wasn't much light.