Haunted Houses

Grayscale Photo of Concrete Building
So many people are zombies on the job and zombies at home, slogging through a job they hate to fall in front of the TV at night. Ours is hilarious. We giggle and shake with anticipation of embracing our zombie-ness.
There is not a desk in sight. And if there is, it is covered with rust and body parts to make a horrific office scene that bad 9-5 drones will relate to. If we are wearing a tie, it’s askew and doubles as a noose.
Sarcasm is a technical skill and generously embraced. Wit is rewarded. Skewed perspective is regarded as a leadership quality. And all our creations are born from a severed funny bone.
Ideas are welcome. No more do we have to stay silent and let the boss tell us what to do. We’re a team. We’re open to expression. We look for the employee that other industries have tossed out.
Our world is constantly changing. The basic aim remains the same… Scare the Beetlejuice from people. But the method to the madness is in constant flux. There is always more to dothings to create and ideas to research. The haunt world never sleeps, even at 1:23pm on a Tuesday in February.
The dress code rocks. Some people wear black and hide in the nooks and crannies. Some don their favorite red striped sweater to pay tribute to our newly departed hero. Some have the teased black hair with oh-so-perfect bangs, red lipstick and gnarly tattoos… but whatever we wear. No. One. Cares.
We can sleep til noon. We wake up late to fall to the hallowed halls and wait for our victims to come giggling up the sidewalk. Then we could come alive with ghoulish gumption before falling at the end of the night, sweaty and more than a little satisfied.
Real, raw emotion… on a daily basis. We inspire our guests to shout, laugh, shout, shriek, run, hide and faint. We offer a place where people can escape the dull horrors of everyday life and cling to the thrilling horrors of fantasy while safely in our grasp.
We can let our inner freak fly. We flirt, tease and playfully bully our guests. A number of them shriek. Some slide their telephone numbers into our rubber-gloved hands. We can adopt that we live on the island of misfit toys. We can observe that we are the square peg. And we could finally get the attention we crave. Because behind our monster masks… we need love too.
We are home. It might not always be rewarding, but it’s rich with creativity, comradery and innovation. Anything goes. The weirder the better. And no matter how old we get, we will always be children as long as we’re home.

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