Trans-Dimensional Employment

The phone on my desk rang, and I looked around the room to see if anyone else would answer it. Many people were at their desks in the large room, but no one moved, possibly because they were all practicing the ancient corporate art of selective deafness. I answered it myself.

The caller introduced herself as Chala and then asked to speak to Ansch. I told her I'd get the message to Ansch, though I had no earthly idea who Ansch might be, having never encountered anyone by that name in my brief tenure here at Meyer's Excellence Manufacturing and Design. 

If you happen to know this mysterious Ansch or if you happen to find her hiding in the copier room or in the supply closet (the possibilities are endless in a large corporation), please pass along the message to call Chala. Presumably, they have important business to discuss, involving excellence, manufacturing, or design. Or all three, if they're feeling ambitious.

The phone call to Meyer's took place in another dimension when I first woke this morning. The dimension was obviously in the same space but in a different time, like a cosmic layover between sleep and consciousness. The trans-dimensional message wasn't the first, of course—you've read about some of them here on The Circular Journey, where interdimensional employment opportunities are apparently my specialty.

I don't know why these ethereal career updates occur at the precise instant I wake, but I've come to believe they're important. They probably strengthen the character, much like cold showers, overpriced coffee, and having to explain to your partner why you're discussing imaginary coworkers at breakfast. 

Many things do strengthen character, I'm told, and I have no reason to doubt it. After all, if surviving morning conversations about alternate reality job assignments doesn't build resilience, what does?

Apparently, I'm a designer in the leisure fashion department of this alternate dimension, which sounds considerably more glamorous than my regular-dimension responsibilities, which amount to little more than writing this blog. 

Meyer's is one of those environmentally friendly companies that focuses on reusing, upcycling, and recycling to reduce waste in landfills—a mission so noble that even my subconscious has developed an ecological conscience. I fully support their mission, so I am quite content in my role as a designer, even if it only exists between REM cycles.

My current project involves reconfiguring a pair of vintage sunglasses, because apparently, even in alternate dimensions, I can't escape the gravitational pull of questionable fashion choices. I'm adding a couple of horizontal bars made from an unidentified piece of mangled plastic—the kind of material that probably started life as something humble, like a yogurt container or a for-sale sign, before destiny called it to higher purposes.

I plan to position these bars just below the bottom edge of the lenses, creating what can only be described as architectural eyewear. I will then attach a row of tiny plastic figures to the bars—miniature citizens embarking on microscopic adventures. 

The finished piece will serve as a sort of virtual reality device, allowing the wearer to see tiny people walking tiny dogs along the horizon, which strikes me as the perfect antidote to a world that takes itself far too seriously.

I remember feeling immensely satisfied as I worked on this pair of interdimensional shades because the lenses provided 100% UV protection as well as being polarized. It was a lot to hope for, but if you're going to hallucinate designer eyewear, you might as well dream big. Anything less would have been simply too disappointing, but as I've already mentioned, these trials are meant to make us stronger, like spiritual CrossFit for the chronically bewildered.

Princess Amy is happy that I've adopted a Rumi attitude toward the whole affair. She says it shows significant progress in emotional maturity, which is generous considering my track record with maturity is generally below the 35th percentile. Amy says my ESP is purring like a twelve-cylinder cat, which sounds impressive but also slightly disturbing and mechanically implausible.

At any rate, I'm happy to hear her compliments, even if I have no clue what any of it means. Her reviews of me generally include something about not having two gray cells to rub together—apparently, I've been operating on a single-cell intellectual economy for some time. But progress is progress, even if it arrives via mystical feline metaphors and dream-state employment opportunities.

I can't take all the credit for this newfound trans-dimensional career success. Ms. Wonder has recently encouraged me to listen to several episodes of The Real Divas—she intended for me to send a link to one specific episode, but sent two others by mistake, because in our household, precision is more of a theoretical concept than an actual practice. Listening to them has made all the difference, I'm sure, though whether the difference is positive or simply different remains to be seen.

It was meant to happen that way, of course. There are no coincidences, apparently—only a universe with an unusually elaborate sense of humor and a fondness for designer sunglasses with tiny pedestrians attached.

Now, if anyone knows where I can reach Ansch in this dimension, please let me know. I have an important message for her.