“Guys I’m sorry I’m just really not sure why I’m here.”
“Shaddup dummeh hoomin! Fwuffies am wunnin dis meetin!”
The lone human sat at a long board room table occupied by about two dozen extremely well dressed fluffies. They were the heads of each department at the hotel and their accompanying sets of junior executives. They owned and operated The Fluffy Hotel. They were, ostensibly, the bosses. In charge.
The largest one spoke first, as he was in charge. Not because of his size, but he’d likely gotten the job through at least SOME physical intimidation. “Wissen tu fwaffy, dummeh hoomin. Ou whowe jobby am tu du wat fwuffies wan an nebba gib huwties ow bad wowds ow nuffin. Fwuffies gib dummeh hoomin wotsa munnies fow dis, an hoomin NU CWY BOUT IT!” He puffed out his cheeks and stamped HARD (for a fluffy) to emphasize his point. The human raised a hand. “Ummm, I’m sorry, I’m still REALLY confused.”
Down the table, a nerdy fluffy with thick glasses and a green accountant visor stood a bit taller. “Uhhhhhh mistah hoomin? Fwuffy can…wiww twy fow expwain fow hoomin?” He waddled towards the center of the desk, visibly uneasy due to his glasses. His vision was fine but as the boss said “munny hoomins dwess wike dis su munny fwuffy haftu awso.”
“Haftu gu swow, nu wan faww! Hu hu huuuuu…” As he reached the center, he turned to face the tall blur he assumed was the human. The human, seated just to the left of that particular ficus plant, was nonetheless able to realize the words were meant for him.
“Fwuffies am bawss, wun aww hotew. Dis aww hewd wand, an hoomins nu can hab nu mowe. Da time ub man am owbah! Nao am da time ub da fwuffies!” The table erupted in cries of “yay” and “hooway” and “huhuhu woud noisies scawy.” When it calmed down, the accountant continued. “But hoteww am big an hab wotsa big stuff dat nu gud fow fwuffies. Hoomin nu wowk desky, dat fow desky fwuffies. Hoomin nu make nummies, dat fow nummies finda. Hoomin nu make wicky cweanies tu wooms, dat fow cweanie fwuffies. Hoomin knu wat hoomin du?”
The man was only more baffled. “What? No. I don’t. I keep saying I don’t. Is this even a real job interview? I thought this was a paying job…” The fluffy ignored him, too in the zone to stop. “Hoomin gunna du aww tings fwuffies nu can. Cuz fwuffies hab aww hotew an hoomin nu hab nu hotew. Hoomin nu can wowk at hotew unwess fwuffies teww hoomin it otay, su hoomin haftu du wat fwuffies wan!”
The man was crestfallen. He needed this job. The fiasco would be funnier if rent weren’t due. The city had granted landowning rights to fluffies a few years prior and it turned out some of them made do. Most of them just shit everywhere and rejuvenated the soil before dying with no heirs. Thus allowing the city to auction the land again, typically to a few more fluffies to get the soil quality back up.
But Capitalism does one thing above all else, and that is to concentrate wealth amongst a small ruling class at the expense of the workers. And thus it had been here. This room of fluffies, of bioengineered pighorses, had all the power. They controlled a four star hotel and between them assets worth in excess of 4.6 billion American Pesos, or about 7.3 billion in the old US Dollars that the coalition government still honored exchanges for. These were wealthy fluffies, and just like wealthy humans their existence could mostly be summed up as “bag of money that shits and ruins lives if it gets too sad or afraid for too long.” The President and Board Chairman(a meaningless title as the hotel has no shareholders) himself had fired the entire security staff after a slow couple weeks in mid March convinced him that “aww yuu tuffies awe scawing custymows! Gu way! Nebba cum back! Not nebba!” Once the slow period ended and business picked back up, he refused to rehire them. He insisted that “dis aww bewwy iwweguwaww” as if that meant something, and would waddle away muttering about how busy he was if anyone pressed further. For months now security had been seen to by housekeeping, which is to say security hadn’t been seen to by ANYONE in MONTHS.
Even so, the man was desperate. He was broke. He was hungry. He wasn’t lucky enough to live in a part of North America that the Commies had taken control of after the big breakup back in '38 shattered the United States like a brick through a police precinct window. He lived in the insane stretches where the powers of Capital had made their last stand, and despite clear signs that the global experiment with Market Based Societies had run its course these areas held on. It seemed the old social order was intent on dying slow and painful so long as it meant seeing a few more sunrises. Even if each one was redder than the one before.
Of course this philosophy had led to bizarre circus bullshit like fluffies owning a hotel. A dying system often churns out the dumbest and least sustainable versions of itself, like the last sip of a soda with all the ice melting to make it particularly bad. Other places, such as Kanssouri and The Former Utah, had even experimented with completely removing all regulations on the finance industry in an effort to attract dwindling Capital firms to Salt Lake. All they attracted was a horde of locusts in the form of 419 scammers and some shit called “pre-reversed unmortgages.” Now property values were so low MOST fluffies could afford an acre.
In many ways it became a utopia, just not for humans.
All of this swirled through the mans head as the nerdy fluffy in the old timey banker outfit prattled on about nonspecific bullshit. Then, the bullshit got specific.
“An hoomin wiww get fitty munnies ebby cwocky gu wound. Otay?”
His ears perked up. Fifty an hour? Jesus. Long as he didn’t have to suck dick at this one, sounded pretty good.
“Alright. I’ll take it.”
“Gud.”
“So what do you need?”
“Fwuff teebee.”
“Really?”
“Fwuffies nu hab thumby fingies. Nu can wowk wemote. Teebee awways on dummeh guide channew. Nu wike.”
The man began his first shift.
she was too lazy to learn and me and dad already dried our throat explaining for the 100th. 