I Enjoy My Work

Some people say I enjoy my work a little too much. They call me crazy and overenthusiastic about waking up to head to my job, but I say its not work if you're having fun right? People just don't get the pride I have in my career and what it feels like to get payed to do what you love.

Today I woke up bright and early for a morning appointment. I made sure to eat a good breakfast and grabbed a cup of coffee on my way to work. The sun was just beginning to rise as I pulled into the parking lot and heading into my building. With a smile on my face I greeted a few coworkers, a little more somber than me, and headed down the long, concrete hallway. I had recommended to my supervisors a couple of times that the hallway be decorated so it wasn't so bland, white, and, frankly, a little creepy and unwelcoming. They often looked at me a little oddly and said they'd see what they could do, but nothing was ever done to spruce the place up a little.

When I entered the last door on the right in that hallway I entered a spacious room with the same bland walls and floor, but also a big glass window covering one wall. Already the numerous chairs spread throughout the equally boring room on the opposite side of the glass were filled with various people. I smiled and waved at them as I crossed my side of the glass. A few people didn't notice me or didn't care, but most of them did and I got varied reactions from them. Some people gave me dirty looks, a couple others looks of disbelief or questioning, a few of sadness, and one woman in the front row immediately burst into tears after looking at me.

I checked my watch and saw I still had a few minutes to prepare. Eager to get my job rolling, I tidied up the room a little and sat up against the back wall with a smile on my face. I watched as a few more people filed into the adjacent room, and then finally the main presentation arrived.

A group of four men filed into my room while another one filed into the adjacent room. Two of the men wore uniforms similar to those of police, while a third wore just a regular suit. The fourth man was being escorted by the two in uniform, and he was wearing a very plain white jumpsuit. The man that last entered the adjacent room began to speak as the two in uniform strapped the jumpsuit man into a large chair in the center of the room. Although I had seen this process hundreds of times, I still felt like a child at the carnival watching it all unfold. I could feel myself getting a little giddy and I know my loopy smile must've made it look like I had just remembered a great joke. Indeed, a few people in the opposite room looked at me like I was crazy and I again saw those scornful expressions.

I decided to focus my attention on the jumpsuit man. Sometimes, the man in the jumpsuit would be a little riled up and would jump, scream, and fight the officers holding him. Sometimes, the man in the jumpsuit would act very depressed, sometimes even crying. Sometimes, the man in the jumpsuit would be stoic, unmoving and seemingly emotionless throughout the entire process. Very rarely, I would get to see a man that was all three at different points throughout the process. This man was quiet, although I noticed that sweat was dripping from his forehead and he was taking shallow and quick breaths. I knew he was a feeling a little nervous so when he turned my way I told him good morning and smiled to calm his nerves, but this apparently made him feel worse and he whimpered a little. I completely understood that he was under a lot of stress and wanted to be left alone.

In the opposite room, I noticed that the man speaking had finished his speech detailing all the legalities and petty nonsense about the proceedings of my job today. He entered our room and asked the man in the chair if he had anything to say, and the man gulped and looked into the other room and said that he loved his mother. This caused more tears to flow from the woman in the opposite room and a few to fall from the man himself, although I did see that he relaxed a little and stopped flexing his arms. I, myself, was happy that this man wasn't so tense, as we are all human and this man was like any of us in his situation. I walked over to the man and began placing various wires and nodes on him in all of the right places. He didn't struggle or question it as some men do, and when I was finished I walked back over to my spot on the wall.

Now comes my favorite part. As I fiddle with the knobs and buttons on my controller on the wall, I can hear shaking coming from behind me. After pressing the final button needed, I turn around and I can't contain my excitement as I see the jolts flowing through the wires into the man strapped in the chair. The chair shakes and the man yells a little as his skin boils and his heart begins to beat erratically. After about 30 seconds I lower the voltage and the chair stops shaking and the man's charred skin and face no longer move. I stare in fascination as I see that with this man, like many others, the eyeballs have indeed melted. I turn off the machine and the process is done, another appointment finished. I happily look at the people in the opposite room and do a little bow after my performance is over. Hardly anyone notices me, save for one of the uniformed men who mutters under his breath, "What the fuck is wrong with you."

I don't pay attention to him, however, because another one of my favorite parts is about to happen. The man in the suit that originally came in with the three others now walks up to what's left of the man in the chair and holds his finger up to the man's neck. I hold my breath and get a huge smile on my face when the suited man pronounces the jump suited man dead. The two uniformed men begin the process of unstrapping the man and another man walks in with a body bag. The people in the opposite room begin to file out as I begin the process of cleaning up the room and preparing it for another performance.

I work diligently and within a few minutes I have everything ready for another time. I whistle a happy little tune and smile to the spectators as I pass them on my way out. I fill out some paperwork before I leave and am about to head home when I get great news from a supervisor. He tells me that they will be needing my services another couple time this week, and I get a big grin on my face and thank him for the opportunities. He gives me another odd expression that I'm so used to and walks away. He, like other people I work with, understand that nobody else wants to do the job and if I enjoy it then so be it.

So, like I said, people tell me that I enjoy my job a little too much. I do admit, my fascination lies with something that is not everyone else's forte, but killing is something that I just enjoy so much. People call me crazy, a sociopath, and tell me I belong in a mental institution, but I just brush it off as jealousy. They can never reach the satisfaction and enjoyment I receive out of my job. Like the men I deal with every day, we all enjoy something alike so much that we just can't contain ourselves, and that is to take the life of another human being.

Now, I do admit that although I do enjoy my job, it does get a little bit monotonous and boring at times. I have especially noticed that, over the years, I have become a little less intrigued by the work I do. That's why I have started to focus a little more on the men that I kill. What do they feel in those last few minutes they have? Did they know things would turn out this way? How do they accept the fact that they are going to die? And, most interesting to me, how does death by electrocution by death feel? Well, these are the questions I want the answers for, and I know a surefire way to get those answers. Trust me when I say, it won't be hard to do. It's something I'm used to doing every day, and I love it.