I'm 26, still slogging through college as an electronic engineering student, a long way from that damn diploma. I intern in the electronics lab, but mostly I’m the janitor—cleaning up, setting up benches, making sure every team has their precious components. One day, my partner just stopped showing up. Not surprising, the pay’s a joke, and as long as someone’s there when class is in session to keep the vultures from raiding the electronics cabinet, no one cares.
My knee’s shot to hell, so I limp in late or call out when it’s too much, and my boss doesn’t mind. I’m not a snitch, but guess who rats me out? The ghost who vanished. Claims it’s me skipping work. I’m furious—losing this gig means I’m out of rent money and a degree.
So, I played the long game. Befriended the cleaning crew, got on a first-name basis, shared my fridge and microwave. Then I started asking questions—anyone seen the ghost? Collected my evidence, had witnesses lined up.
Today, the professor tries to corner me again. I casually mention how tough it’s getting to handle the lab alone. He suggests I get the ghost to help, and that’s my cue. I lay it all out, name names, drop the truth. He looks like he swallowed a bug, starts texting furiously.
Twenty minutes before the ghost is due, he shows up pale, sweating bullets. I act like nothing happened, finish my shift, and on the way out, ask the boss what went down. He says he didn’t mention my name but tore the ghost a new one.
This isn’t over. The ghost has it out for me, but I don’t care. You try to be decent, and people smell weakness. They’ll screw you if you let them.
It’s a sad truth, but it’s mine.
