Today your temp is going to come into work high on mushrooms. This is nothing new. The tasks you bring in temps for are all menial and thoughtless, and it isn't long into the assignment before one of your temps thinks, "I could do this fucking shit high on mushrooms, so I'm going to."
You had a daybed put into your office so that you could have someplace for your temps to recline while you talk them down from their high. Today it'll be Marcus. That you won't have expected. It's usually the young ones who do mushrooms before work, and Marcus is fifty-two. But age isn't a factor when someone thinks there are mites all over his face.
You'll calm him down with a wet washcloth and lots of, "Look at me, we're here in this room together and we'll stay together until you come down." Everything will seem fine until Marcus lowers his voice into a growl and begins channeling your dead Grandfather. You'll know it's him when he says, "There's some butterscotch for my stick of butter."
"Grandpa?" you'll ask with your hands held inches from Marcus' skin. You'll be afraid to touch him while your grandfather is talking through him. "Grandpa? Where are you?"
"I'm in hell. Be a good girl and you won't end up like I am. Oh the hellfire."
Say, "You're lying, aren't you grandpa? You're in heaven and you're just trying to scare me into behaving better, even though I'm 38."
Your grandfather will say through Marcus, "Yeah. You're a smarty. Bye bye for now."
Say to Marcus, "Bye bye grandpa." Then back away. When your grandfather leaves Marcus it will set his arms flailing and scratching at the fabric of the daybed.
Happy On Mushrooms Day!
