Not My Department

~ 12 letters, posted twice a month over six months, that tell a complete story by the end.

~ Written from Gremm Toothpick’s personal point of view (featuring Jeff)

~ A bureaucratic fantasy of futility, satire, and sarcasm.

~ Real envelopes. Real post.

Deep beneath the Earth’s crust — below the rats, the lava worms, and at least one very lost soul — lie the Saltmines. And in the Saltmines, somewhere between the Brine Pits and the Department of Misplaced Shovels, works Gremm Toothpick: mid-level imp.

Underpaid. Undervalued. Over it.

In this series of 12 dispatches, Gremm writes to his judgmental Granny, documenting the soul-crushing grind of subterranean existence. His reports include union troubles (they don’t have one), his artistic ambitions (one haiku published in Infernal Magazine), and regular workplace fatalities - mostly Jeff’s. Jeff dies a lot.

Wry, hopelessly dry, and weirdly moving, Not My Department is for anyone who has ever worked a terrible job they can’t afford to quit.