A door creaked open, and a young man peered his head out to a nearly empty hallway.

"Mr. Appleseed. Mr. Appleseed? Is there a Mr. Jonathan Appleseed in here?"

"Oh good golly yes... I'm so excited. I even wore this apple-shaped bowtie for good luck," said Johnny Appleseed, the mythic figure of many American tall-tales.

"Fantastic. Follow me," replied the intern.

"I'm so sorry I haven't introduced myself. My name is Johnny Appleseed. Yes, that's right. The Johnny Appleseed. I'm sorry, but my apple pen is entirely out of apple ink, so any autographs will have to be given with a regular Bic pen. Let's see if I can find one."

"That won't be necessary." The hapless young intern's name was Flip Pfeffersaltz. For his entire life, Flip had wanted to work for the prestigious company Penderspit & Ascot. Penderspit & Ascot actually had so much prestige that everybody in the entire world wanted to work for them, which meant that Flip could never actually get a paying job. They had so many job applicants, that he couldn't even get an unpaid internship. He actually had to pay Penderflip & Ascot every week for the privilege of working for them.

This morning, Flip woke up and realized what a terrible deal this was. Flip flipped. He was furious and wanted to lash out in anger. He couldn't take it out on his bosses, though, or he might never get promoted to one of the unpaid jobs. And he wasn't willing to get angry at himself, because he knew this situation couldn't be his fault. All day he'd been silently stewing, trying to figure out who he could blame.

"Excuse me, would you like a glossy photograph of me? It's glossy because I spilled apple juice on it earlier today! Hooray!" offered the cheerful legend walking down the hall with him. Flip couldn't help but notice that this man was somehow different from the other applicants and supplicants to Penderspit & Ascot. He was wearing red and green suspenders, a bright yellow bowtie shaped like an apple, a beat-up metal pot on his head, and boxer shorts covered in pictures of apple cores.

"Whoopsie Daisy! I forgot my pants!"

Suddenly, Flip figured out who he could take his anger out on. "Right this way, sir."

"Oh goody! I'm so excited about my interview."

"Yeah, that's great."

"No. It's better than great! You see, I wrote down answers to every question in the world last night and... Oh pifflefizz! I left them in my pants."

"Right through this door, sir," offered Flip. Johnny couldn't see into the room, but he could tell it smelled vaguely of ammonia.

"Aha! I'm gonna knock their socks off. Hmm... 'Maintenance Closet.' Oh... I see. That must be the name of the person who's doing my interview. What a strange name. Is it French?" mused Johnny, as he walked into the dark room. "Hello? Mr. Closet? My name's Johnny."

Flip slammed the door behind Johnny and walked out.

Several hours passed.

Johnny Appleseed had been sitting motionless in the dark, stuffy room for several hours. He had just begun to think that something was wrong about the situation, when he heard the jingle of keys outside the door. He mentally punished himself for his lack of faith and darted upwards eagerly to meet his interviewer. As the door creaked open, a wash of light temporarily blinded Johnny.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have the wrong room," chirped the silhouetted figure.

"Ah... a woman. You must be Ms. Closet. Well, Ms. Closet, I'm ready for my interview."

"Interview? Oh, you're here for the interview. Please follow me upstairs." Johnny and Maintenance walked upstairs, making small talk about agriculture.

"It's true... Antarctica is the only continent on which apples cannot grow. Believe me, I've tried."

Maintenance blinked.

"Well, this here's your room. Good luck on the interview."

As Maintenance walked back to her janitorial duties, Johnny banged his fist resolutely on the large iron doors.

Clang! Clang!

"Is there anybody in there?" shouted Johnny "It's yer national icon... lil' ol' Johnny Appleseed. Olly olly oxen free!"

The doors swung open outwards, hitting Johnny in the head and knocking him to the ground. Fortunately, the pot on Johnny's head shielded him from serious brain damage. A short woman sat on a desk some distance down the room. As Johnny walked into the room, the doors closed behind him.

"Yes. Yes," said the woman in a firm, authoritative voice. "Please come in. You must be Jonathan Appleseed."

"Please... call me Johnny."

"Certainly, Johnny. My name is Sylvia Uptown, Human Resources Director for Penderspit & Ascot."

As she spoke, she leaned across the table and squeezed Johnny's hand.

"What in the name of Saint McIntosh are you doing. Unhand me, vile temptress!" commanded Johnny, as he shoved her into the back of her seat. "Oh wait... you're just shaking my hand. Well... pleased to meet you Ms. Uptown. Sorry about that. It happens a lot."

"I see," said Sylvia, as she dusted herself off and sat forward in her chair. She scribbled in a note onto the pad of paper on her desk and then looked up at Johnny. "So tell me. Why are you applying for a position with our reputable firm?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just here to help you give away apples. Get this… the days of walking across the country planting apple seeds are gone. It's time for an apple revolution, sweetcheeks. Digital. Internet. Matrix. All words I don't know what they mean, but I'm sure that we can use them to get more apples into the cheeks of more children. When I'm done, the streets will run red with apples. We'll be hopping into aeroplanes and dropping apples on poor countries.

It's gonna be big. Real big. And this is your chance to jump on board. Whaddya say, partner?"

Johnny stared at Sylvia intently, anticipating a response.

"I think there must be some mistake. We don't sell apples."

Johnny gasped as he fell out of his chair, crashing into her desk. Papers went flying and a photograph of Sylvia's husband crashed onto the ground, spreading glass across the floor.

"Well then. It's a good thing you bumped into me," Johnny said from the ground. "Let's get you started."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Appleseed. We've never sold apples and we're not about to start any time soon. We're in the business of extorting money from our employees, and we're not about to throw away huge sums of money expanding into risky business ventures."

"I still have no idea what you're talking about. You have to believe me, though. This is a good idea. Everybody loves apples. I mean... who doesn't love apples? Do you have a Mom, Ms. Uptown? Even if you didn't, I'd be willing to bet she loves apples. I like talking about apples so much, I could just say the word over and over again. What the heck, I will! Apples. Apples. Apples, Apples, Apples. Apples."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Appleseed. We'll look over your application..." started Sylvia.

"You mean... apple-cation," corrected Johnny.

"Right, whatever. Expect a call in the next several weeks," Sylvia offered, as she escorted Johnny outside her office.

"But, madam, I don't have a phone, I'm from the 19th century…" started Johnny, before he was cut off by the door slamming in his face, again knocking him to the ground.

"I don't think this is going to be the Year of the Apple," sighed Johnny.

NEXT WEEK: The Adventure of Johnny Appleseed & The Apple Circus