“You’re going to the southern capital next”, said Tom.
I sighed, resigned to my next assignment. Tom is in charge and all that, but I don’t get why I have to be the one to go urban every time. Those people are the worst. Oh well, at least the weather’s pleasant down south (Why do we say “down south”? It’s not like the altitude is necessarily lower. Whatever).
Next thing I know, I am gazing at airplane wings in mid-air while my stuff is rattling around in cargo. Flights would be 100% tolerable if there were no other people. This bloke in the next seat kept ribbing me to comment on how ‘hot’ the airhostess is. Buddy, that’s why she’s in this job and your mother isn’t. And calling for her services just to have an excuses to talk to her and ogle is a dick move. I feel sorry for what she is going through, for I know the feeling somewhat.
The flight lands (there is a non-zero chance they don’t), and I head to 24, Skonto Avenue, the venue of my latest assignment. I say it like I’m a secret agent, but I’m just a glorified servant. Weird rich people like to pretend they’re important enough to have butlers, and I’m something of that sort. I either coordinate or personally handle pretty much everything for my clients — Housekeeping, cooking, gardening, automobile maintenance, sorting their post and email, even representing them at auctions.
Jamie, my new ‘master’ is an inheritance douche, the worst of the worst. Seeing hard-earned family wealth squandered can be entertaining and disheartening in equal measure. This lot think they can buy anything (and for the most part, they are maddeningly right). At least there is no Mrs. Jamie, or Jamie Jr. One of them is bad enough. Boy do they have a temper, especially if they’re raised urban.
It didn’t take a month before the first escalation. I took a sick day, something this sort of employer doesn’t expect, or tolerate. When I showed up the next day, Jamie took a plank to my head, thrice.
They’re not all like this, of course. Rural assignments can be incredibly rewarding. My last rural client was an old timer called Jackson, who was an incredibly kind poultry farmer. All he wanted in his last decade on earth was a good companion. I can only hope I did justice to that expectation, for the assignment paid me more than I was worth in the village sunsets and the man’s wisdom.
Now, back to the city. You may think what Jamie did was extreme, but this is par for the course in my line of work. Urban clients pay quite a premium to the company for my service, in fact. I don’t really get it, but understanding these weird rich people is not part of the job. What is key to note is this — I’m always fine, in the end. Do the best you can, take what they dish out, collect your pay. That’s how we roll at Undead Services. For the most part.
We are many things — just the one thing that’s out of the ordinary, come to think of it — but not incompetent. Tom knows we are top-notch professionals who are not worthy of this treatment. Sometimes these people go too far, and we are then authorized to ‘handle’ them. Three escalations, and you will be subject to an experience that is out of this world.
The urban people are the worst, so the assignments are also the shortest. It just sucks to fire everyone in their employ after making them clean up the blood. It’s a good thing Jamie was under 6 feet tall, I suppose.