I founded this company when I was fifteen and busted my rump to get it to where it is today… on my mother’s living room couch. Now I’ll enter my company covertly by pretending to be Maximilian Starpuncher, aspiring writer, and see how the operation is run from the inside.
First I need a convincing disguise.
Looking around, my employees are nowhere to be found. Just this laptop, a notebook, and a stack of papers.
It looks to be mostly gibberish, with intermittent sketches.
I wander around the room looking for one of my employees, and, finding them all out, I sit down once again and mess around on my employees’ Facebook page, liking twelve pictures of nondescript sunsets with inspirational text overlaid.
This writing nonsense is a lot harder than it was when I first started my company. There is a montage of trying times (I write something in the notebook, scribble it out, you pan the camera to a wastebasket full of crumpled up pages as I toss one more balled up sonnet into the can, there is a pencil in my hair and I look frazzled, finally I sigh relieved at the end of a 122 page manuscript and flash a winning smile).
Look, I’m typing! Typey typey typey!
As a reward for my employees’ hard work I offer her two dollars in quarters and a third of a cup of two day old coffee, and a promotion to assistant manager, since it seems like I’m the only one working here and so I hold all positions.
Boss… Heather Pedoto
Secretary… Heather Pedoto
Writer… Heather Pedoto
Craft Services… Heather Pedoto
Producer… Heather Pedoto
Executive Producer… Heather Pedoto
Artist in Charge of Wrangling Heather Pedoto’s Hair… Heather Pedoto
Makeup Artist… haha, right, that’s cute
That Strange Face Lurking Behind You in the Window… Heather Pedoto
That Vague Feeling of Anxiety You Can’t Place… Heather Pedoto
Visual Engineer… Heather Pedoto
Extras… Heather Pedoto