I spun around quickly, surprised by my own skittishness. I suppose no one really wants to be caught with their hand in a trashcan. I half expected to see the old man come back to harangue me for my tardiness. Instead, I was greeted by a man that bore a striking resemblance to an eggplant, both in color and shape.

“Hello there. Are you lost?” asked the eggplant.

“No, I’m Angus Swift. I’m here to start work today. I had just clocked in, and…”

“Ah, yes! That explains a great deal, including your rummaging through the trash. I was afraid you were another one of those homeless persons looking for food. I suspect Ing is waiting for you.”

“Who?”

“Cornelius Agamemnon Prognathous Ingle, the man who sits in that chair. Wretched family name. You would be advised to call him as Mr. Ingle. Now, I am Mr. Wetzel, and while it’s been a pleasure speaking with you, I’m not paying you to stand around all day and chit chat. Off you go.”

“Yes, sir,” I stammered.

It’s fair to say I lied when he asked if I was lost.