The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

door with a handwritten sign taped to it. Maria Smith, it read. I just live
in a world of generic last names, it seems.
“Here we are,” said the secretary. “Go in there. She’ll ask you a
few questions, tell you to sign a few forms, and then you’re done.”
The secretary turned and walked away. When he rounded the
corner, I knocked on the door three times. I always knock three times,
and never when anyone is looking if it can be helped.
“Come in,” a voice called from beyond the door.
I pushed the door open and surveyed the room.
In front of me was a wooden desk. Behind the desk, a wall sized window
revealed the urban landscape. In the distance I thought I saw the rare
green of a tree. I fought back my anger at how humans had destroyed
the world. A woman perhaps in her early to mid-30s sat behind the desk.
Another chair was placed in front of it.
I crossed the room in three long strides and sat down without
waiting for an invitation. I wanted to be a bus driver, after all. Sitting
down was going to be my job.
The woman typed something on the computer to her right, then
regarded me. “Mr. Brown, is it?”
“Yes.” The corners of my lips twitched upward in a slight smile.
“Excellent. I’m just going to ask you a few questions.”
She looked at me as if expecting a response. I looked back. She
hadn’t asked a question yet, had she?
“Have you ever been charged with a felony, misdemeanor, or
other crime?” she asked, glancing at a piece of paper on the desk in front
of her.
“No.”
“Traffic violations?”
“No.”
“No parking tickets, nothing like that?”
“No.”
“May I see your driver’s license?”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and handed her
my license. She glanced at it, then at me, back at it, wrote something
down, then gave it back. I slipped it back into my wallet.
“And your CDL?”
We repeated the procedure, each of us admirably performing our
part of the routine. I dropped the wallet back into my jacket pocket.
“Well, everything seems to be in order. Sign here, please.”
She slid a paper and pen across the desk to me. I picked up the
pen and scanned the document. It was the typical terms and services
contract kind of thing. I assumed. I signed the paper and handed it and
the pen back to her.
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