LUDIC LOG

In an executive suite sits Mr. Benten. His intercom buzzes and a male voice, not unlike that of Caiaphas the High Priest in Jesus Christ Superstar, speaks.

JENNIFER: Mr. Crandall is here to see you, Elvis.

BENTEN: Send him in, Jennifer. Oh, and Jennifer, in the future please refrain from calling me 'Elvis' during work hours.

Enter Mr. Crandall. He is a slope-shouldered subordinate type, dressed in a cheap, worn-out thrift store suit with sloppy red stains all over the front of the shirt. He looks quite haggard; he is unshaven and has drawn, using an eyebrow pencil, a crude set of fangs descending from the corners of his mouth. He speaks in a thick but unconvincing and inauthentic Slavic accent.

CRANDALL: You wanted to see me, Mr. Benten?

BENTEN: Ah, yes, Crandall. Sit down.

Crandall does so, squinting at the light coming in through the office window. He looks uncomfortable.

BENTEN: Crandall, it's come to my attention that since we hired you three weeks ago, you've come in late every day -- and not just a little late, either, but eight and sometimes nine hours late. In fact, we wouldn't even have known you were here if the cleaning crew hadn't reported seeing you at night, flitting around in a black cape.

CRANDALL: I...I'm sorry, sir. I'll try and get here on time in the future.

BENTEN: I might be able to accept that, Crandall, if your tardiness were the only problem. But it's also been pointed out to me that for God knows what reason, you've filled up one of the recycling bins with dirt and have taken to sleeping in it. In addition, your appearance is disgraceful. Your shirt is thick with food stains and you reek of garlic. Can you explain yourself?

CRANDALL: Well, sir, I didn't want to mention it, but...the fact is, sir, I'm a vampire.

BENTEN: A vampire? Well, Crandally, if you're hoping to claim this as a medical deduction, I must inform you that as a matter of policy, we do not cover pre-existing conditions.

CRANDALL: Actually, sir, I've only been a vampire for two weeks. The first week I just overslept.

BENTEN: I see. Crandall, I must tell you that I don't believe this story.

CRANDALL: What? Why?

BENTEN: First of all, those stains on your shirt are clearly not blood, but tomato sauce. In addition, far from being the mark of a vampire, garlic is traditionally used to repel them. Third, simply becoming a vampire would not imbue you with an eastern European accent any more than eating Chinese food would cause me to talk like this.

Mr. Benten spews out a stream of Jerry-Lewislike Chinese singsong gibberish without changing the stern expression on this face.

BENTEN: I submit to you, Crandall, that far from being a vampire, you are in fact merely a lazy slob who sleeps all day, messily gorges himself on Italian cuisine, and then spends eight hours at work sleeping in a dirty box.

Crandally abandons his fake accent.

CRANDALL: Oh, no, sir! Honestly, I'm a vampire.

BENTEN: Prove it, then. Tear open my throat and drain the blood from my artery.

Mr. Benten pulls down his collar to expose his neck. Crandall rises half-heartedly, takes a step towards him, and then sits back down sheepishly.

CRANDALL: I'm not really hungry right now, sir. I, uh, I killed Morgenstern and drank his blood right before work. That's why he's not here today.

BENTEN: Morgenstern is at a sales conference in Couer d'Alene, Idaho, Crandall. I spoke to him not half an hour ago.

CRANDALL: Damn!

BENTEN: Just as I thought. You're no bloodsucking undead -- you're just a slacker using vampirism as an excuse to shirk his duties. Get out! You're fired.

Crandall slinks out the door, defeated. He turns at the last moment, speaking in his clumsy Bela Lugosi accent.

CRANDALL: Can I use you as a reference?

BENTEN: Oh, all right.

Crandall departs, and Benten returns to his work. After a moment, his intercom buzzes.

JENNIFER: I'm taking my lunch, Elvis. Shall I pick up some contraceptives for your wife?

BENTEN: Yes, thank you, Jennifer.

Cut to another generic office, where Ms. Donkey, a well-dressed corporate spokesperson wearing plastic vampire fangs, speaks earnestly to the audience.

DONKEY: False vampirism not only costs millions of dollars in business losses every year, but also makes things much more difficult for actual workplace vampires suck as myself and tens of thousands like me. If you suspect someone in your office is falsifying vampirism or lycanthropy, report them to your personnel department or call 1-800-FAKEVMP for a free brochure; and be sure to always check previous references of monsterism on all resumes. Remember -- the only blood a bogus vampire is really draining is your company's lifeblood.

Ms. Donkey's desk intercom buzzes and a deep booming voice issues from it.

JENNIFER: Your ten o'clock feeding is here, Gertie.

DONKEY: Please don't call me Gertie except in social situations, Jennifer.