Orientation Day

“The difficulty with making ‘realistic’ dreams is that no matter how much you try, there is always some fundamental flaw in the construction. Think of your own organic dreams: just when your brain is convinced that is is experiencing real life, do you try to read something and the letters refuse to be deciphered? Or are you walking along a path you are convinced is real when gravity malfunctions? Or, just when you are convinced of the reality do you get stuck in a loop, repeating the same scenario until every last hint of reality disappears?”
As Dr. Riffler spoke, almost everyone in the room was scribbling furiously on their notepads. It was their compulsion, after all, being writers. And even though these writers had made it through the rigorous hiring process of DreamScripts, they all knew they still needed to prove themselves.
“Some clients will want to approach reality as closely as possible,” Dr. Riffler continued. “Others want full fantasy. Each of you has been assigned a department based on your application. If you don’t find yourself in your prefered genre, I suggest you use your probationary time to prove yourself in your assigned department. If your work is exemplary, you will be able to request a transfer. The best of you will eventually be have the privilege of choosing your projects and clients.”
Kristin’s stomach plummeted to her toes. She scribbled the words of fear that flashed across her mind on the corner of her notepad as she tried to focus on the positive: She had gotten this far. She would be able to prove herself. As long as she was a DreamScripts, she still had a chance of reaching her ultimate goal. She could one day write therapeutic dreams to help heal victims of trauma, like the thousands of child refugees who needed people to care.
Dr. Riffler dismissed the inductees for lunch, and promised to give out the department assignments when they regrouped. In the canteen, Kristin set her tray down at a table of fellow newbies hosting a reasonable hum of conversation.
“We’re talking about department assignments, obviously,” explained a man who looked about 5 years older than Kristin, and 5 times more self-assured. At 29, Kristin was one of the youngest in the induction group.
“Not really possible to talk about anything else right now,” laughed a woman with wildy curly hair. “Myself, I wouldn’t mind writing GenPop fluff. It’s a steady paycheck. You do your work and go home.” She picked at the chips on her tray, clearly not to nervous to eat like Kristin. “ Those big accounts might pay out better, but I’d rather be able to take my vacation days without logging into the network every ten minutes terrified that some VIP client thinks his dreams aren’t good enough and my career is over.”
“I just hope I’m assigned to a good team,” Kristin offered. “If everyone has each other’s backs the pressures won’t be too bad.”
The man scoffed. “I don’t plan on taking any time off for the next two years,” he claimed. “You let someone else cover your work and best case scenario is that they steal your ideas. Worst, they tank your accounts and you get demoted to GenPop.”
Kristin had a feeling she wouldn’t be forming a lasting friendship with the man who was fixing his pocket square as he said that. Anyway, it didn’t seem likely they’d aspire to the same departments. Kristin’s dream placement was altruistic, but low paying.
Finally, their lunch break was over. Once they returned to the conference room with Dr. Riffler, she called out names one at a time. She’d hand the person a binder and give a few instructions before sending the writer off to find the assigned department. From Kristin’s research, she knew most new-hires started in GenPop, or one of the larger genre departments. Studying the faces of each writer as he or she received an assignment, Kristin decided most of them accepted their assignment without much surprise. Only a few so far had failed to suppress disappointment.
When ‘Caroline Foley’ was called, the curly haired woman from lunch strolled over to Dr. Riffler. Her eyes flashed when she found out her department, and as she left the room she was smiling as if she’d figured out an amusing riddle.
The man from Kristin’s lunch table turned out to be ‘Vincent Thomas,’ reminding Kristin of her grandmother’s advice to never trust a man with two first names. He seemed mildly disappointed by his assignment, but not enough to be heading to GenPop. Kristin guessed he was expecting to get a private client on his first day.
When Kristin’s name was finally called, Dr. Riffler greeted her with the same professional pleasantness Kristin had experienced during her final interview with the woman.
“I think this will be a great place for you to start,” Dr. Riffler told Kristen. “You’ll gain invaluable experience, and the compensation is very generous in this department.”
Kristin looked at her binder. Child Development: Prodigy Division.
“Take the lift to the 12th floor,” Dr. Riffler instructed. “Your division has the East Wing.”
Kristin thanked Dr. Riffler and left dazed. She had never felt so simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Her first assignment was in Child Development! She must have done something incredibly correct during her application process. But Prodigy? She scanned her binder as the lift rose. Technically, she was writing dreams for children, but truthfully it was for their ultra-wealthy parents. She would be writing dreams that would try for manipulate these young minds into becoming mathematicians, athletic stars, or whatever aspirations struck the fancy of these parents for their offspring.
Kristin reminded herself that she was here. Here, at DreamScripts, and literally arrived at the 12th floor. The doors of the lift slid open and she steeled herself. Cliche as it was, today was the first day of the rest of her life.