When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever.
Shock overturns every other response I could muster as your boss walks away from you in the parking lot, towards the fire fighters. That's $4,680 of damage you just did to the breakroom with a bag of popcorn. Ironically, one of the only things not completely turned to ash is the laminated sign that says not to use the popcorn button. The office will be closed for at least two weeks. How is this something he can just laugh off?
"Your wish." The genie says from behind you and it finally snaps you out of your stupor.
"My wish?" You parrot back, and the genie nods patiently.
"You asked to be fire proof and here you are. It is now impossible to fire you." You look at the scar on your hand. Genies are supposed to be smart asses, sure, but this is next level. Why didn't he clarify this
before you tried eating that shrimp straight from the grill? So what? You are guaranteed a paycheck? You no longer have to work? Does being fired also include being laid off? Does this mean all you have to do is find a really high paying job and get them to hire you, never to show up again to get unlimited cash?
Contemplating this brings your attention to Melissa, a coworker you aren't particularly fond of. Being buddy-buddy with the boss, she has a nasty habit of pushing her work onto other people and then taking credit for it. After all, the only thing worse than middle management is someone on the same level as you pretending to be middle management. "Hey, Melissa," you start to say. She seems really calm about the office being out of commission. She hums in response. "I think you're really shitty for how you treat new hires and I don't feel bad for you anytime you come up with a sob story for why you trick people into doing your job for you," She blinks. "Also those skirts you wear make you look fantastic and you should wear them more often. You might as well be good to look at since you aren't fucking doing anything."
The words feel like venom as they leave your mouth. How can so few sentences produce so much satisfaction? And worse, how so much satisfaction be wrapped in this much guilt? You feel great-- powerful even-- but shitty all at the same time.
"Oh you!" She rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone, texting about the fire.
Oh no... You really, truly can get away with anything in terms of work.