The Worst Job, Ever

 Okay, so you might be sitting there thinking that Glinda, the good witch of the north is a happy little witch who loves helping people out. That’s a lie. That’s basically the biggest lie ever. My name is Melissa. My great-grandmother was Glinda. My mom, my grandma, and I were forced into the family business. This job is much harder then it looks. It’s not all pink dresses and bubbles and singing with munchkins. We have to put up with a lot of bullshit, and dealing with unsatisfied people while wearing high heels. This one time a munchkin bit my ankle and a banshee made me go temporarily deaf and this one time a giant dropped a washing machine on my garage. I’ve had goblins turn me into newts, trees throw apples at me, and flying monkeys poop on me. It’s the worst job ever.

So there I was, lying on my 70’s plaid sofa, watching Days of our Lives with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in a terry cloth bathrobe when a bubble-gram popped in front of my face. It showed this little girl in a blue and white checkered dress, with pigtails curling over the straps with a Karen Terrier close at her heels. She was coming out of a little wooden house that had landed on Susie Green, who was the Wicked Witch of the East. Susie was always a little bit on the less liked side. We were eighth cousins, twice removed, by marriage. Or second cousins, eight times removed, by divorce. I can never remember which. But Susie was always the one to show up to the potluck with brussel sprouts and liver. When we had a bakery auction to save the Lullaby League, she brought a fruitcake. And Susie, by far had the biggest castle but whenever hosting a meeting came around, she would take off on her broom. I felt like she wouldn’t be to dearly missed by anyone except her sister.

I sighed hitting the automatic record button and putting my Chubby Hubby back in the freezer as I padded up the stairs to get dressed. That’s when I saw the dress. You know which one I mean: the light pink dress with tulle and lace frilling out from every direction. I hadn’t needed to wear that dress since Christmas of 1995 and since then I had gained a little weight.

 Twenty minutes later I had support hose busting at the seams up over my thighs and the dress struggling over my hips. I got it over my bust eventually and was digging through my closet looking for my crown and my heels. I remembered I had put them in the attic so I could put my new Prada knock-off’s in my closet. I thumped up stairs digging through boxes as pixie dust floated off everywhere. I pulled out the box labeled Magic Crap.

I dug through half finished potions, old wands, my witch license, my crown and the bubbles I used to travel. I saw my high school year book, Shiz. Ah, memories of a thinner time. Blowing a bubble, I pulled my heels and my crown on as I disappeared into it.

You see bubbles are like offices. In that one spot of soap, my entire work space lived and thrived. I had a secretary munchkin named Lucinda. I had my own nametag and a little plaque outside my office that said I was the number one witch. I even got my own Italian Horse of Another Color as a Christmas bonus last year. Lucinda waddled in and dropped a folder on my desk.

“Another bright day, Luc” I said brightly pouring a big cup of coffee out of my wand.

“Oh yeah, another unconscious little run away ‘Liss.” Lucinda said before waddling back out of the room. I sat down, fighting my way through the tulle to get to my actually desk. I picked up the folder and turned to the first case.

Dorothy Gayle.

Age 12

Unconscious – Must find her own way home

*Ruby Slippers

*Beware of Dog

*Accidently killed Susie Green

I tossed the file in the outbox and opened the closet in my pea sized office where they kept the confiscated liquor and fake watches. I dug through until I found a pair of ruby red slippers that the Wiz had worn at a costume party a few years back. He’d had one too many and ended up singing Tina Turner.

I grabbed the handle to my horse of another color, and got on. I rode to the nearest bubble station and looked at the schedule. There was another bubble to town square in 4 minutes. I sat down and waited. A few minutes later, a few goblins and I boarded the bubble. I rode until I was in the town square. I exited right where the Mayor Melvin McMunch was welcoming Dorothy in song. She was dancing and skipping along giddily with her dog.    

I approached her to give her the deal about the Wicked Witch of the West, who in all reality was very nice, and came over every Sunday night with Susie for a potluck dinner, The wizard, ruby slippers and blah, blah, blah.

“Hello I’m Glinda,” I said reaching out and smiling.

“I’m not really supposed to talk to strangers, ma’am,” she replied apologetically. She had a deep Kansas draw, but she didn’t exactly sound like the brightest Crayon in the box.

“No. Listen to me, Dorothy. I just want to give you these slippers. If you want to get back to the farm in Kansas with Auntie Em and Uncle Henry and Zeke and everyone you should listen to me.”

“WHAT THE HELL LADY!” Are you stalking me?! How do you know about my family or the farm hands or the farm or where I live? CREEPER! STRANGER DANGER!” she shouted punching my stomach and running down the yellow brick road. I doubled over trying to catch the breath I was already holding in. I took a few deep yoga breaths. My life coach, Stan, said that I needed to get a less stressful job. Stan was right. I shrugged not really in the mood to chase such a brat. I zapped the shoes onto Dorothy’s feet. I did what I can and maybe I can make it home for General Hospital, I thought.

I pulled my heels off and walked down the road, which would in about three miles take me to the nearest bubble station. I passed down the road as the munchkins waved good-bye. I walked by a munchkin who was selling lollipops for the Scarecrow College Fund. His voice was so cheery in the merry old Land of Oz. I threw my shoes, picked him up, and punted him into the air.

“I really hate my job,” I muttered.