I've never been too good at job interviews. My extreme humility and scrupulous honesty just made it hard for me to sell myself.

  My interviewer wasn't helping.

  His name was Tarvin Fleen, a Carbon-Based Resources Representative?, the ultimate company man. He lived MegaTech?. He breathed MegaTech?. He was, as he often put it, in a fashion that suggested he might mean it literally, brought into this Universe specifically to be a Middle Manager at MegaTech?.

  He had an expression on his face that made it hard to relax. A kind of over-eager, forced smile; the kind you see on pop stars. Or in hostage videos. It made me uncomfortable trying to keep up.

  I just wasn't that kind of happy, cheerful guy. Anyone could see that. It says so right on my resumé under "Crippling Weaknesses."

  I watched silently as Tarvin thumbed through the papers, suddenly not so sure about my choice to use such a large and garish font. But it wasn't until he didn't laugh at the funny parts that I started to get really uncomfortable.

  I didn't dare say a word. I had read somewhere that it was important to let the interviewer speak first, to project an air of confidence.

  They were the longest two hours of my life.

  It was a strange sensation to sit there knowing someone was sizing you up, judging your competence.

  Who did he think he was? What authority did he have to judge me? Under what logic in this vast and wondrous Universe did another living being reserve the right to cast aspersions upon me simply because he was sitting in some fancy grey smock on the other side of a desk?

  I had almost had enough of this arrogant worm when, finally, he broke the silence.

  "Well, let me tell you, Mr. Brax. I like what I see," he said, his calm voice betraying his sound judgment.

  "All the relevant skills. Education. Know how to get your hands dirty, clearly," he continued, holding up the crumbled and smudged pieces of paper I'd handed him.

  "There's just one little thing that bothers me."

  Oh no, I thought. How did he know about that?

  "Do you, by any chance, have access to the entire sum of Universal knowledge? At any second?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "I mean, I could look things up, obviously, but—"

  Tarvin nodded. He pretended to jot something down with the wrong side of a stylus.

  "And physically... You would say you have the strength of... 50 men? Or just one regular-sized person?"

  "Um, I... try to work out—," I blurted out, lying.

  His smile twisted with a slight air of mockery.

  "Uh huh... Now—and this is just a formality. Bureaucratic stuff, really."

  I shook my head, laughing a bit too heartily at the suits upstairs.

  "If you were to get the job, hypothetically, you would require... pay?"

  Something in the room shifted. Suddenly, I didn't feel so confident.

  The air felt stale and artificial. The dystopian muzak blaring over the PA, once a source of such comfort, became kind of irritating, menacing even.

  Over my shoulder, I felt a pair of mechanical eyes boring a hole through me. Otie. Of course.

  "And all of the progress that's been made, in say, workers’ rights. You'd probably expect us to follow those rules?"

  It had been a set-up. A box to be checked. A human applicant had to be brought in first in all job interviews. It's the law: The Humans Against Hiring Androids (HAHA) Act.

  I barely heard him as he continued.

  "You'd be amazed what people expect these days. Days off. Going home at night. Health care!"

  I should have known. This job required skills I just didn't have. I knew it was too good to be true. My knowledge of Quantum Reactor repair was rudimentary at best, an existential threat to human life at worst.

  What was I thinking?

  I guess I had hoped my ineffable charm and tragic beauty would see me through—like it always did.

  Tarvin stared back impatiently. "Well, Mr. Brax... would you expect those things?"

  I took a deep dramatic breath. Something unfamiliar welled up in me. It seemed to resemble pride.

  My response tumbled out.

  "Yes?"

  Tarvin gave me a sideways look. He waited a second to see if there was a punchline coming. When it didn't, he launched into his rehearsed reply.

  "Well—I'll tell you straight. It's not seeming like a fit."

  In the reflection of the office window, I could see Otie's schadenfreude detector blinking red.

  Tarvin pretended to search the employment database as a favor to me, his new pal.

  "We do, however, have a Janitorial Position that just opened up. I think it would be perfect for you, Mr. Brax. Benefits, of course, would be... minimal. But there would be compensation."

  I almost choked on my complimentary lollipop. Who did he think he was dealing with? I was a proud human being. I was capable and intelligent. I was talented and clever.

  Was I somewhat lazy at times? Sure!

  Was I known to disappear for weeks at a time without explanation? Guilty as charged.

  Was I pathologically averse to any kind of responsibility in a way that had often been a liability to my employers and co-workers? You got me.

  But I would be damned if I was gonna sit here and demean myself by taking this job. I would be damned if that cocky robot, now miming hilarious mock sweeping gestures behind my back, was going to take a job away from me or any other person.

  The day that happened would be the day that myself and humanity could just about pack it up.

  The day that happened would be a shameful day for my ancestors and generations to come.

  The day that happened, my life as a human being worth the toxic, polluted air he breathed was as good as over.