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"I'm sorry Mr. Kumin, but I simply can't hire you," the doctor said.

I was a little ticked off at this. I knew he needed someone to buy into his practice or even an assistant and I was more than qualified. "Thank you for your time," I said, holding out my hand. He looked at it like he was discussed at the thought of touching me. I took the hint, nodded curtly and walked out the door. Well, that's another one to scratch off my list.

I walked down to the front desk, leaned on the counter and sighed. "You didn't get it," the receptionist said. Savannah Backer was a tall, African American woman who proudly displayed her black heritage all over her desk. "I'm sorry you didn't, your the most qualified person who's applied, most education, most skill, I'm just wondering why you don't have your own practice by now."

"It's just that I'm a little different then most, and that unnerves some people," I said. It was true, ever since some kid revealed werewolves to the world ten years ago, no one wanted to higher one of us.

She looked at the photo of Reverend Martin Luther King jr. on her desk and finally said, "I have a brother who could help you out. You have some good muscle on you. Have you ever thought of working in a lumber yard?"

"At this point I'd take anything," I said. "The land-lady is threatening me to get a job to pay my rent or she'll kick me out in a week."

"It's the lumber yard just a mile or so south of town, Dan's Lumber. Do you know it?" She asked.

"Yeah, I passed it on the way up here," I said.

"I'll give him a call, I'm sure he'll be able to get you something."

"I sure hope so."

The doctor entered the hall, and yelled at me, "What are you still doing here mutt, I've already told you no." I growled at him and walked out of the office.

"Good luck," the receptionist called out after me. I walked over to my car, entered it, and promptly slammed the door before howling my frustration. The only thing that kept me from charging in there and beating that man to a pulp was the receptionist, Savannah showed me the first shred of human kindness in months. I see why too. Her racial history is not so different from the werewolves' present. Werewolves were now the "different" people. I suppose the words of Reverend King are just as important for us werewolves today as it was to black Americans during the Civil Rights movement. Words of hope, equality, and piece. That I was also a man, just one who is a bit fuzzy at times.

I started the car and turned on the public radio as I began my trip to Dan's Lumber. "...and that concludes the positive news for the werewolf people.

"In recent protests against werewolves, protesters on state capital have burned three wolf pelts chanting 'out with the beast.' Micelle Seagel an activist on werewolf rights comments, 'This is a shocking threat against lycanthropic people. This sort of thing is what turns men into the monsters they imagine in others.'"

I clicked the radio off. With me being open about my 'condition' I'm amazed that the Pack Smokers haven't come after me yet. Whenever something new comes it seems everyone wants to kill it. The Pack Smokers are the "KKK" of werewolves and wave the logo 'Smoke a Pack a Day,' forcing many of us continue to hide our lycanthropy. Part of the reason that businesses and doctors offices won't higher us is because of threats from the Pack Smokers. If the world only could understand. So many people have spread rumors of werewolves eating people, having tails in human form, biting everyone they see, that people generally fear us on the spot. A few religious groups have banned us from their meetings on the grounds that we are unholy beasts. Others protest against us claiming us to be threats to general safety of the people, livestock, small children, you name it. Just the other day I overheard a few people in the store claiming that we only eat fresh human flesh, and that wearing a silver cross would protect them. Funny how lies outpace the truth.

I turned off the highway at the lumber yard sign. I sure hope Dan will hire me. I'm running out of options. If people would only understand...

I looked around the dirt road saw heavy equipment and machinery, along with piles of logs. There were a few workers moving logs, or placing them in the saw mill. I eventually saw what I was looking for, an office just a little farther up the road. When I got out of the car I was hit with the aroma of at least five different woods and unbelievable sawdust. My sensitive nose would be quite irritated here, but that's life I suppose. I walked into the small office.

"Who'r you?" some one slurred. Apparently I wasn't the only one waiting to meet with the manager. I looked over to a few of the chairs in the corner to see a man with a big handlebar mustache, a tipsy look and attitude, who also hasn't bathed in months by the smell of him. He was rather jittery but that probably was from the drugs I could smell in his system. I picked up a magazine on a table and sat as far away from him as possible.

"Su you tha wernwolf lookin fur a job," he slurred. I glanced up at him and noticed him taking a swig out of a small flask that smelled of whisky. He was slobbering drunk.

"Yes, what about it?" I said.

"I'm in luckz tsen, 'cos no one wanz to hire a mutt," he said. Not only slobbering drunk then but also at a job interview slobbering drunk. I said nothing to this but decided to change the topic a little bit.

"So, what's your education?" I asked.

"Morz then a muttz like you. I made it zo my second year of highz school," he said, before taking another swig. I decided not to say anything about my Doctorate of General Medicine degree, and pretended like I was interested in the sportsman's magazine in front of me.

The door to the manager's office opened. A tall, well muscled black man stepped out. "Mr. Kumin?" he said. I stood up. "Would you step into my office please?" I got up and walked into his office. "Dan Backer," he said, holding out his hand. First hand shake at a job interview so far.

"Howard Kumin."

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked motioning to a chair. I sat down it a little wooden chair with some cushioning on it. I handed him my resume and prayed that he might like it. He reviewed it a bread moment before commenting, "You have an impressive resume Mr. Kumin, and good muscle being a werewolf, but tell me wouldn't you be happier at a doctors office as a medical technician or as an assistant to a doctor?"

"I've tried sir, but no one wants a werewolf it seems," I said.

"That's what Savannah said about her boss," Dan said. "I'm curious, tell me why you think that is."

"Prejudice and hundreds of years of bad publicity, sir," I said. Which was true. For hundreds of years people have blamed their problems on wolves and even unknowingly on werewolves. "'Who's afraid of the big bad wolf,' sort of things sir."

"I could use another worker, and you seem a lot more skilled and dependable then the drunk in the other room, but what should I do when people, whole contracting companies, cities even, begin boycotting me for hiring you?" he asked me.

"I don't know sir, all I know how to do is ride out the storm when things get tough," I said.

"Savannah was right," Dan said. "I do like you, and think you can work hard, but I need a fail-safe. What happens when people find out I hired a werewolf in these troubled times. It's at least another five years before I could imagine all the werewolf rights movements to pull through with the government, longer with the people's opinions."

"So you'd take a high-school drop-out who's not only drunk but probably only working to fuel a drug and alcohol addiction, over an honest worker with five times the strength of a regular human? I'll work hard."

"I bet you would. But I'm also not sure that the rest of my workers will work alongside a werewolf," he said.

"Give me a week and we'll all be great friends," I said. Dan chuckled at that.

"Would you step out of my office for a minute so I can think this through?" he asked me.

"Sure," I said, standing up walking out of his office, shutting the door behind me. The drunk was asleep in the chair, but I didn't mind. I'd rather have it quiet here anyway. I knelt down and began to pray.

So, how was the example story? Notice the ending cutting off before the employer decides on the job candidate. In place of a classic resolution, the audience has to decide for themselves if Mr. Kumin got the job or not. The stories resolution becomes the moment Mr. Kumin kneels down and prays.