Look, I'd love to tell you that I had a dream job to die for, and up until four years ago, I would have not been lying. I had been particularly proud of landing a job at one of the city's best tech firms. It was the type of job I had always dreamed about all through college, the kind that came with an enormous salary with one of those cool employer matching savings plans Canadians call a Group TFSA and the Americans refer to as a 401K.

We were based in the downtown core with an easy walk from the subway, and just knowing that I worked in that cool, shiny building in the financial sector made encountering any of my old classmates from high school an absolute pleasure. I was the jackass who took a particular delight in being a total shit to anybody I used to hate. You see them more than you think, rushing to and from work, sometimes commuting with you and trying to catch your eye, or maybe they're serving your morning coffee with a wry smile that you know is partly embarrassment and mostly annoyance. Some of them you like seeing and may even strike up a conversation or maybe have drinks with them later, whatever, but odds are, the ones you like, you don't see as often. If nobody sees you at all, though, that's perfectly okay. Sometimes it's better to be a stranger among strangers.

You don't know what vindication feels like until after you've wiped the smug look off the face of one of those assholes.

Then the company crashed and burned and we got laid off in batches that eventually claimed me as one of the victims and you know what? The smug look was gone right off my face. I ended up being the one avoiding eye contact and trying to hide behind a newspaper or even staring extra hard at the poster on the subway that I had read at least a hundred times since the ride began but was better to look at than at the people around me. Even on a good day, making eye contact is hard and ends up being either creepy or just plain uncomfortable and there I was suddenly broke and apparently unemployable, and aware that I was veering towards creepy.

I freelanced for a while, trying to get a new job and managed to survive from month to month. I ended up in the shitty basement apartment that I'm still in, telling myself it was only temporary; after all, I needed to save some money, but temporary has a way of sticking around if you're not too careful or too proud to admit it. Commuting turned into a once a week thing and as much as I tried to paint a positive spin on it whenever I'd run into any old friends in really nice suits, I just missed all of it. The familiarity of the daily grind among fellow commuters gave a sense of purpose that you don't get stumbling from your bed and over to your desk where you spend the next two hours reading Cracked.com and catching up on other people's lives over Facebook. Social media became my means of pretending that I was social or relevant until days would go by and I'd realize I hadn't actually spoken to anyone in days.

"You could always move in with me," Claude had offered, and I had almost taken him up on it, but life with Claude always seemed to be wildly unpredictable. He was my best friend of twenty years and was always there when I needed him, but remember what I said about pride? Yeah, pride has a way of making you make stupid decisions.

So I didn't move in with Claude and I found some new friends and went with the flow for a while.

These days I work in the shadow of the building I used to work in. It's a seriously fucked up combination porn shop/head shop open twenty-four hours for some reason.

"You're gonna work the night shift," the boss had told me in no uncertain terms. "You work six days with one day off. Sort it out with Sammy and Matty, I really don't care which day, so whatever. You get here by eight and you leave at four when Sammy or one of the others comes in to relieve you. Don't steal from me, don't tell stupid lies to my face and don't fuck with me or the business and everything will be cool. If you feel the need to get high, don't do it in the store, and don't keep it in the store. That's what the alley back there is for, got it?"

"I don't do drugs—"

That was the first lie and he knew it.

"That's what they all say, kid. I can spot a junkie a mile away. Just let me know we have an understanding and then shut the fuck up."

"I got it."

"Good. Pay is ten fifty an hour, take it or leave it, and you can start tomorrow."

I took the job. Working freelance is nice but I was always hustling for the next job and the clients took forever to pay. One of the universities I had taken on as a customer had insisted on paying me ninety-days net with no deposit, only expenses paid and I was seriously up shit creek at that point.

My first day at work, Sammy, who was 100% not a dude and instead 100% 5'2" Chinese girl with a take-no-shit-at-least-not-from-you attitude, slapped the mop handle into my hand and pointed to the back of the store where the viewing booths were.

"Booths one and three need a little bit of love. You're going to need some gloves, which you'll find behind the counter."

"Wow, I thought we'd at least start with names first. Hi, I'm Bob."

"I'm Sammy. This is the bucket. You and it are going to be the best of friends."

"What about you and me?"

"Not fucking likely. Talk to me after you clean up booths one and three and then we'll see how much I don't not hate you, whaddaya say?"

The positive side of working in a porn shop is that porn gets old really, really fast. You just lose your appetite for it after a while and almost nothing fazes you anymore, short of actual real-life violence. The downside is you get some real creeps from time to time and they make creative use of our viewing booths, which are little closed off booths in the back of the store with some seriously high-quality headphones attached. Yes, the Boss was a cheapass but apparently he was also an audiophile. Besides, the expensive headphones cancelled out even the loudest moans from the videos. When I first saw the booths my initial thought was why is everything covered in plastic? My first day at work, I discovered exactly why everything in those booths was encased in plastic of some kind.

I could have walked away and never looked back. Sammy was already back at the counter, reading a ratty, dog-eared Sandman trade paperback over which I was sure we would eventually geek-out about together. She likely wouldn't have given a shit if I stayed or if I allowed pride to have its way with me and walk me right out the door, and would have probably applauded at my cowardice, but at that moment I had a sobering thought that realigned reality for me.

How the hell does any Asian girl even manage to survive more than a day in a porn shop without constant harassment and/or killing any of her fucked-up customers? I could get into the whole fetishization of Asian girls in porn and how creepy some of the customers can get about it, but then I'd be telling you a completely different story. Let's just say it's really bad and that some of you guys really need to knock it off. My point is that Sammy had found a way to survive and even thrive and that says more about her than you think you know.

"You got a spray bottle of bleach?" I asked instead, and Sammy grinned and tossed the bottle to me across the store. I fumbled the catch, but then shook my head and got to work.

"Just don't let any get on you and you'll be fine," Sammy said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "And I'm not talking about the bleach either!" It seemed that I had gained some mark of respect in her book just for sticking around.

"Well it can't get any worse than this, right?"

"Wait until Tuesday. You're going to hate Tuesdays."

She was right: I fucking hate Tuesdays.

No I don't want to talk about it. Fuck Tuesdays. Seriously.

***

So yeah, that's the job I had when I became a vampire. I was still working at the store and it was easily one of the best jobs I could have had for my particular needs. Apart from missing a few days, there was literally no massive disruption to my work life, since I was already working nights and sleeping for most of the day. I sometimes think about what a clusterfuck it would have been if I suddenly had to find a job that allowed me to come to work after dark. Then I promptly realized there was a good number of them already out there. There was an entire sub-population that lived their lives after dark, all regular Joes, not a monster in the bunch.

Well, no monsters, except for me.

 *********************

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Blood and food. Always an interesting topic with vampires.  Pease VOTE and leave a comment if you liked or even hated what you read.  Either way, I wanna hear about it.  Comment!

You can follow Bob's Twitter @bob_the_vampire for more zany happenings (no spoilers) or join the Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/BobTheVampire.

Read my other work where I tackle vampires in the real world 6 REASONS VAMPIRES OF LEGEND WOULD SUCK https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/50550661-6-reasons-why-vampires-of-legend-would-suck

QUESTION OF THE DAY: What effect do you think blood should have on vampires? Is Bob on to something here?  Let me know in the comments below.

See you in the next chapter