Chapter Text
Tippy sighed as he read over his last rejection email of the day and crossed the company off his job applications spreadsheet. He’d spent the last week applying for jobs after being fired, and this was the latest in a long string of ghostings and rejections.
Hi Tippy,
Thank you for your interest at working at our company. Unfortunately, we are not looking for any doormen at this time, so we will not be moving forward with your application.
We wish you success in your job search.
They wished him success. What a joke. It was one thing if they had a doorman in the first place, but he’d done some sleuthing and he knew that they didn’t. Sure, he’d sent in his resume and cover letter without there being an open position in the first place, but that was besides the point! He expressed the sentiment in a lengthy email reply.
“Not looking for any doormen at this time” well I know that you don’t have any doormen at this time so it’s not just that you aren’t LOOKING for any doormen it’s that you DON’T HAVE any doormen. Well sure someone in another position could open a door but that isn’t the same as a real bonafide trained expert doorman like myself but I guess you wouldn’t know any better. You should know that EVERY SINGLE COMMERCIAL VENUE can be improved by a doorman even if you think it’s a pointless/fruitless expense it ISNT because doormen are the MOST IMPORTANT JOB IN THE WORLD they make people feel WELCOMED and they provide a positive first impression to customers and
He continued typing for another ten minutes. I reject your rejection! he thought furiously as he slammed his finger against the SEND button.
With that, Tippy turned off his computer and looked around the room. Slits of orange light glared through the blinds. It was sunset. Sending so many logical, reasonable replies to rejection emails had consumed most of his day.
Tippy’s stomach growled. And he had skipped lunch.
Cereal was fine for whatever meal of the day this was. He poured in a generous heaping of milk. In space, they’d run out of milk rather quickly; apparently Harl liked it too.
He shook his head and bit into his cereal. It was still crunchy. He kept his eyes on the bowl instead of his apartment, which was crammed wall to wall with decorations of doors. Once symbols of pride for his job, they now served as harsh reminders of the life he’d lost to small-minded people.
And it was all Harl’s fault. If he ever saw him again… He’d tell him all about how unhelpful he was!
Just then the doorbell rang. Tippy straightened out his clothes, which were pyjamas with a colourful door pattern. Maybe it was the hotel, telling him about how they were wrong and they were going to rehire him…?
He opened the door. It was Harl Hubbs.
“Harl,” Tippy ground out.
“Hi, Tippy! I noticed you weren’t at work all this week, and I know you’d never ever skip work if you could help it. I thought you got sick, but Cortez told me you actually got fired.”
“He’s telling people now, is he?”
“Just me, I think.” Harl fiddled with the loose strap of his overalls. “I know you really loved your job, and I know you’re probably really torn up about losing it—“
“I’m not—“
“—so I thought I could help you by helping you find a new one! I go all around the City, so I’m sure you’ll find someplace that needs you.”
Tippy scowled. What he WANTED to say was that Harl was unhelpful and useless and that everyone had hated him until he’d saved the city.
But for some reason, what came out instead was: “Fine.”