:Interview transcript segment:
Interviewee: Why am I the right fit for this job? Well, I'm not sure I'm the right fit for ANY job. I was at a cheap store, and there was this cheesy 'magic wand' lying there. It was out of its wrapper, and I was feeling silly, so I picked it up and said some nonsense. NOW look at me!
:Interviewee appears to be no longer human. Has antennae, three large multifaceted eyes spread equidistant around their head, a chitinous, segmented, insect-centaur body that has four three-fingered arms available and eight legs, and a scorpion tail. There's no way this is a costume - I swear I'm not making this up, boss:
Interviewee: They say they can't change me back until I can tell them what I said, but I don't KNOW! ...and I was almost finished my medical degree, too. At least they put a spell on me so people know I'm me, and don't try and haul me away for vivisection, or anything. -- RecklessPrudence
Policy dictated that questions about potential employees physicality were off limits unless they mentioned it first. And even then, the questions had to remain focussed on employment and their quality as an employee.
"May I ask how you're working on the cure?" said Paula. That was a safe question. Not entirely in the boundaries of the regulations, but reasonable enough. Would their efforts to regain humanity interfere with their work schedule?
"I take a memory potion once a night. They say I should focus on my actions that night, but all I'm getting is the party before the morning after... and it fast-forwards through the bit where I was drunk in a ninety-nine cent store at one A.M." The creature that had once been Donovan Duskie rubbed at his head with one of his wrists. "I'm getting further and further in, which is kind'a frustrating. And I'm taking notes when I wake up. They tell me every step forward is progress, but..." he sighed. It sounded like a cross between a slide whistle and a cicada. "I'm worried that by the time we get to a cure, I might be used to this and not want it."
"I think that's a rational fear," allowed Paula. "Are those -er- extra eyes..." functional? No. "Distracting?" Yes.
"No. I shut them when I'm not using them. Can't turn my head much, any more... so... They're better than twisting my whole self around. And yes, I do have a safety stopper for the scorpion tail. I just -ah- took it off for the interview because it looks ridiculous." He took it out of his pocket. It was large and spongy and a very bright yellow. "I'm legally required to wear it in crowded venues."
"That's..." scary? Unnerving? Disturbing? Horrifying? "Understandable."
"It's okay. They have an anti-venom in case I accidentally sting anyone. They supply you with a syringe or two in case of emergencies." His nervous laugh sounded like a cicada hiccuping. "Gotta be quick, y'know?"
In the end, Paula's company decided that there were better people for the job than Donovan Duskie. Paula felt bad about it because, in the end, he really was a cool guy. So she sent him a cutting from the paper. Of a tiny little advert hidden in the Employment section.
Walter Robotics. We hire anyone brave enough to work for us. And an address in San Diego.
With luck, he would get the help he needed. With the best of luck, he would survive the process.