The Deal With Karl

Something nestled deep within the morgue… in the basement to be precise. ‘Twas a group of workers, standing around and doing nothing. Not tending to their incinerators or to any patients up top. But was it truly nothing they were doing? Or were they talking about the latest tea about their co-workers? About their boss? About each other amongst each other? Let’s take a look at Rhonda and Candice.

“Karl just walks around these days with his hands in his pockets. Do you know what that’s about?” Candice began.

Rhonda shrugged and swiped her hair back into its rightful place in front of her eyes. “He doesn’t care like he used to. Not since Michael gave him the general manager position. Who goes there?”

None other than Jessica tiptoed into the basement that only torches lit in its mossy stone chambers. Was it used for storage? Of sorts. Only the finest of the bloodiest meats resided in the treacherous depths of the underside of the morgue, which seemed to lure tea companies without any brew bags…

“Guys, Karl just told Arlo to make business cards for him,” she announced, giddy like a toddler who’s just successfully and painlessly hit his sister with a plastic bat. “Apparently, he don’t know how to make ’em himself, and I reckon he had to have made his own for Arlo started workin’ here.”

“How does Arlo feel about it?” Rhonda inquired? “As a good man, I’m sure he didn’t say much except ‘Okay, sure’ and continue on about his way.”

“You shoulda heard what Haslia had to say. She was like, ‘He drives me bonkers. I cannot deal with him. Why do I even care?’ Mind you, Karl’s been getting on her case, too.”

Candice chimed in like a torch to a marshmallow, ready to set ablaze the situation.

“But they’re both such good workers, and there are SOOO many people who just stand around while patients are up there sobbing their sockets out. I doubt there isn’t at least ONE who isn’t capable of doing what they do… if they’d only try.”

“What else does Karl do all day now?” Rhonda asked?

Jessica had a noble response to her question. “As the dignified king o’er the morgue, he sits at his throne watchin’ the dead bury their dead, checkin’ ’em out like a birdwatcher without ‘noculars.”

“That makes no sense,” Rhonda said.

“‘xactly.”

“I’ve known Karl for at least a few years, and I know the man that he used to be: hardworking, diligent, virtuous. Now what is he? The opposite.”

“You think the real Karl’s been abducted by aliens?” Candice exclaimed, her voice bouncing off the stone walls and back into her sensitive ears. “Ouch.”

“What if he’s just lost his forsaken mind?” Jessica suggested.

The ladies each stood their ground, backs to torches with no sign of burning out anytime soon. Only because they were fueled by sacred blood to emit a crimson red flame…