Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from the September 1953 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
NEW HIRE
By DAVE DRYFOOS
Illustrated by BALBALIS
Very admirable rule: Never do tomorrow what you can put offuntil after the age of forty!
ne thing about an electronic awakener: no matter how elaborate itshookup, melodious its music, and important its announced reminders,when it goes on in the morning you can always turn it off again.Boswell W. Budge always did exactly that.
But there's no turning off one's kids, and thus, on the most importantmorning of his life, February 30, 2054, Bozzy arose, much against hiswill, promptly at 0800.
His Sophie, eight and ladylike, merely shook the bed with a disdainfulgesture. But Howard, six, masculine, and athletic, climbed right upand sat on Bozzy's stomach. Baby Ralph, of the golden smile, gaveBozzy a big kiss, and Bozzy thus shared the gold, which was egg.
"Did your mother send you in here?" Bozzy demanded, gazingsuspiciously around with one eye open.
"We came because we love you," Sophie answered.
That opened Bozzy's other eye. "Thank you, dear," he said. "You'revery sweet or very clever. Now if you'll coax Howard off my stomach—"
"I don't have to be coaxed," Howard announced, sliding to the floorwith all the covers. "From now on, you just order me, Daddy. Becauseyou'll be a Senior Citizen tomorrow."
Bozzy didn't want to think of that just then. "Tell your mother I'mup," he said. "And get out so I can bathe and dress."
Sophie minced, Howard ran, Ralph toddled.
Bozzy rose, a pudgy man slightly under average height at six feet two,with blue eyes and thinning brown hair. He was exactly thirty-nineyears, eleven months, and twenty-nine days old.
And that was the point. At forty, he would have to go to work. Thiswas his day for job-taking.
He dreaded it.
e put the coming ceremonies out of his mind and concentrated on hissupersonic bath, the depilatory cream, the color of his outerclothing. It took time to achieve the right shade of purple in thebathroom plastic-dispenser, but no time at all to pour, solidify, andcut the sheet-like robe required for the occasion.
In it, he was the sensation of the breakfast room, handsome as a malebird in spring plumage. Kate, his slender wife, who had been up and atwork for an hour, looked moth-eaten by comparison, as if their nesthad been lined with her plucked-out down.
"You look very attractive this morning, Kate," Bozzy told her. He gaveher an extra-warm kiss.
"Well!" she said. "Quite the gallant today, aren't we? Just be sureyou're on time today, darling. Remember what Mr. Frewne had to sayabout promptness."
Frewne. That overinflated windbag. The obesity who was about to becomehis boss. Without having worked a day in his life, Bozzy found hehated the idea of having a boss.
"Let's think of something pleasant," he grunted, and thought ofbreakfast.
He took his place at the table. Kate and the kids had already eaten,so Kate served, while the kids, attracted by his finery, stood off andwatched him swallow a vitamin pill, a thyroid pill, and a Dexedrinepill.
Solemnly, he ope