The Daily Musings of Shuruku Umezawa: Junior Salesman, Ninja

Eric Feezell has beeen granted the great honor of transcribing the daily notes of Shuruku Umezawa, a Ninja employed as a junior salesman for a commodity brokerage. Avgar Ninja sympathizes with his plight and wishes swift death upon his enemies. His story is continued at McSweeney's Internet Tendency.

Monday, March 6

Began new job today as junior salesman at commodity brokerage firm. Took two hours for anyone to notice I had arrived at work. Receptionist lady, Fran, made facetious comment as I went on restroom break. "You're very quiet, Mr. Umezawa." No shit, Sherlock. I am a ninja.

Tuesday, March 7

Today at work no better than yesterday. I am being pressured already to do things I do not wish to do to make sales. Other salespersons say to me constantly: "Get out there," "Mark my calendar," and "Help me help you." I know not what such sayings mean, but they make me extremely uncomfortable.

I wish they would refrain from such horrible directives. I am tempted to mark furiously all of their calendars in shuriken rampage. Alas, though, this is not the way of the ninja.

Wednesday, March 8

Discovered beautiful girl named Alicia works in mailroom. Hung invisibly from ceiling and spied on her for 20 minutes before mustering courage to say hello. For this, I am remorseless, of course. Stalking is in my nature.

"Hello," I said. "I am Shuruku, newest member of sales team, stealth warrior trained in the ancient art of ninjutsu. You are?" "Oh, you mean like in Mortal Kombat?" she replied. "My boyfriend, Ken, plays that all the time on Xbox!"

Damn Ken. Damn that silly game. Will I ever live this down? Probably never. People still ask me for codes to Shinobi, and this confounds me greatly. Is not Sega Genesis long since defunct? This is ridiculous.

Thursday, March 9

Pushy woman from human resources demanded my presence at 11-o'clock meeting. I arrived punctually, making loud coughing noises to ensure I was perceived. She told me: Sit. Pushy woman proceeded to question my job application—specifically, previous job title of "surreptitious assassin/mail courier." For whom did I work?, she wished to know. And why did I not provide references? "I work alone," I replied. This did not satisfy her. Then, ninjalike, very cleverly and quickly, I clarified, "Freelance." "Fine," she said, rolling her eyes at me.

Pushy woman from human resources will never know how closely death's shadow hovered over her. I am baffled still that she would question the job history of one who lists "neck snapping" as foremost skill.


Installment one, two, three, and four.