This was becoming farcical. He'd only taken the job - a part time no-brainer - to satisfy his parents that he wasn't enirely devoid of ambition; to stop them asking questions he wasn't ready to answer.
And here he was: embroiled in someone else's damn problem; making someone else's damn 'mission' his own.
He should have foreseen it from the interview.
'I'm looking at your CV Mr... er... Bauer... and, despite, ahem, impressive academic credentials.... I'm struggling to see exactly what qualifies you for the tedium of night reception work.... if anything your CV is already a testament to over-educated restlessness...'
Smug, dispassionate, sarcastic... fine. That didn't distinguish this interviewer from any other middle-management malcontent or video-rentals clerk; he'd rented enough videos and worked enough dead-end jobs to know the form on one of those guys. But there was something different about this fat prick. Jack offered his own best sacharine smile.
'I guess I'm hoping to find a role where I can ground myself'
'Well, you can't sink much lower than our basement mortuary. When can you start?'