Job Therapy Part II

*Dr. Frinkle, your three'o'clock is here.*

"Thank you Ethel, send him in."

A moment later the door to Dr. Frinkle's office opened and a figure in a trench coat and a wide-brimmed fedora hopped into the room. Dr. Frinkle looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Can I take your hat and coat for you?”

“Sure,” said a deep, gruff voice from under the fedora.

Dr. Frinkle got up from behind his desk and took a hat and trench coat from a five-foot-tall rabbit. He was startled and stared for a moment and then reminded himself that he was a professional and hung up the clothes items.

“So,” said Dr. Frinkle as he returned to his seat behind the large desk, “over the phone you said that you don’t like your job.”

“I hate my job,” corrected the rabbit.

“Right,” said Dr. Frinkle with a slight sensation of déjà vu. “could you tell me a bit more about this problem?”

“Well, it’s simple really. My job sucks. I’ve been doin it for too long and I don’t even know why anymore.”

“Why did you start your job in the first place?”

“Actually, I started out as a delivery bunny. I used to deliver all sorts of packages and things to people all over the place. Then, one Easter I deliver a bunch of candy and I get this reputation. They started callin me the Easter Bunny. Then everybody expected me to show up with candy wherever I went. I couldn’t take it!

“So, why did you keep doing it?”

“Awww, I don’t know. For the kids I guess. I quit for a bit and then a started gettin all these sad letters. ‘Where are you Mr. Easter Bunny?’ ‘I love the candy you used to bring Mr. Easter Bunny.’ I’m a softy, what can I say. So I decided I could maybe do the candy thing once a year. And why not do it on Easter when it all started. I’ve been doin it ever since.”

“What do you do the rest of the year?”

“Oh, show-biz mostly. Easter movies or commercials. The odd cult film. You know, stuff like that.”

“Have you ever thought of trying another line of work?”

“Are you crazy? What other kinda work is a giant bunny gonnna get? This is my livelihood.”

“So why don’t you like it?”

“Why? I’ll tell ya why! I’m a bunny and they got me handin out eggs. Tell me how that makes sense. I’m a mammal for cryin out loud!”

“What about those chocolate bunnies. They’re more appropriate aren’t they?”

“Oh, the chocolate bunnies? Don’t get me started! Talk about sick! Would you want to walk around handin out chocolate effigies of your children to other people to eat?”

“Ah, I see.”

“Besides, this isn’t even supposed to be about me. Everybody thinks it is, but don’t they know what the real point of it is?”

“You mean… Jesus?”

“Of course I mean Jesus. This was his day first. It’s supposed to be a celebration of him raising form the dead, not a day to get candy from a giant bunny!”

“You’re religious?”

“Ya, I’m Catholic. Is that so hard to believe? Just cause I’m a bunny I can’t believe in God, or what?”

“No, I only meant that…”

“Whatever man. I’ve met bigots like you before. You make me sick. We’re people too ya know!”

“Well, not technically…”

“Ok, whatever Dr. anti-bunn-ite. Can you help me, or not?”

“Well, we can work through your resentment towards others if you make an appointment for next week. But for now, I want you to think of ways that you can do your job while remaining true to your religious convictions.”

“What, like write cheesy evangelistic messages on Easter eggs?”

“I think that’s already been done, but you’re on the right track."

“Alright, thanks doctor. I’ll see you next week.’

“See you then.”

And with that the Easter Bunny stood, put on his coat and hat, and hopped out of the office. Dr. Frinkle sighed and made a mental note to get himself checked out by another psychologist the next chance he got.

Marv Vs Mice

Marv rested on his hands and knees on the carpeted floor. His right hand was extended in front of him and was holding a string. The string was attached to a piece of cheese that was sitting on the floor in front of a hole in the wall. Marv was being very quiet.

The mice had moved in a month ago. Marv didn't mind at first. In fact, he had thought it was neat in some ways. Perhaps, he thought, the scurrying of little feet would get him used to the idea of having kids in the house. His girlfriend had been pressuring him to make some form of what she called 'serious commitment,' preferably the kind with a large, sparkly ring. Apparently this was some sort of new fad, Marv wasn't too sure. At any rate, the mice had begun to get on his nerves by eating sandwiches he left out when he went to the bathroom mid-meal and by making a mess of his meticulously clean house. The mice had to go.

Marv was a clever sop, just not very motivated. He could have easily advanced up the corporate ladder had he had the desire. But he had not. He only desired to make enough money to support his current living style. Now these mice, on the other hand, they had gotten Marv motivated.

He had devised a most devious plan. He was waiting just to the side of the mouse-hole with bait of the Old Cheddar variety. His plan was to lure the mice out of their hole with the cheddar. He stood ready with a small square of plywood to cover up the hole. He had left his front door wide open and it would be a simple matter to chase the small beast out into the yard whereupon he would shut and lock the door (as if locking made any difference; I said he was clever, not brilliant) and leave the pesky beasts to find a new way to make it by in the world.

Now, was the waiting game. Marv had hoped it could have worked sooner but he seemed to remember someone along life's journey telling him that patience was a great thing and that he ought to try it. And so, try it he would. Marv waited patiently... for the first five minutes. Every minute after that he became more and more bored.

Marv let his eyes wander as he thought about the amazing sandwich he planned to make once this was all over. Suddenly, something caught his eye. He couldn't believe his luck. It was a windy day outside and by some strange stroke of luck the wind had blown a hundred dollar bill right onto his front step. Abandoning the old cheddar Marv rose and went to retrieve his prize. He bent to pick it up but at just that moment a gust of wind blew it a little further from his reach. Not wanting to let such an unexpected twist of good fortune escape his grasp, he strove after it. The wind pulled it a few more paces before he managed to catch up with it.

Marv held the hundred-dollar bill up and smiled. Today was a good day. He was about to return to the mouse project when he noticed something strange. There was a three-foot-long piece of thread attached to the bill with a piece of clear scotch tape.

"That's strange," he thought to himself. Then he noticed something else. The bill was counterfeit. Suddenly, there was a loud slam from the house behind him. Marv turned and saw that his front door had been blown shut by the wind. He ran to it and tried the door handle. Locked. His day had quickly gone from great to very not great. Then he heard a tapping coming from the window to his right. He looked and saw two little white mice leaning against the glass. He wasn't sure but the thought they were laughing.

It all became suddenly clear. This was no stroke of luck; it was a plot, orchestrated by those furry fiends. They had used his very own plan against him, luring him outside with a bit of bait on a string. Marv cursed. He would have to break a window or something to get back in. Those mice would pay dearly for this. As he looked for a good place to break in to his own home one thing kept running through his mind: How had the mice made a counterfeit bill?

THE END

A Voice from the Void

Sorry folks. Havn't blogged in a bit. Life happened. Well, without further adieu... (is that even how you write it?)