Chairman Gregor banged his gavel - a polished stake, ironically - for the second time. The chatter in the community center meeting room finally quieted. The banner behind him read Vampire Workers United, Local #36: Fraternity, Solidarity, Eternity.
“First on the order of business,” he continued, pushing his glasses up, “Social Security contribution.”
A hiss of annoyance rippled through the room.
“I don’t mind paying into it,” said Anastasia, from the blood donor services committee. “But none of us are going to retire. I turned 25 in 1834. I’ll be 25 in 3034. I don’t need a monthly retirement check.”
“It’s theft!” shouted Victor from the back of the room. “Taxing us for benefits we’ll never see.”
“But we do benefit,” countered Chairman Gregor. “Social Security stabilizes the economy. Eliminates want among the humans.”
“They’re livestock, not stakeholders!” Victor snapped, drawing gasps. Even among vampires, that language was gauche.
“Point of order,” said Lucia, their legal counsel, rising with a dignified poise. “We’ve been over this. We participate in the human workforce, we have to be subject to human labor laws. Non-contribution risks our protected status.”
“And that means,” added Gregor, “losing our dental plan.”
Collective murmurs. No-one wanted to go back to paying full price for that.
“Fine,” Victor grumbled, sinking back into his chair. “But this is bureaucratic bloodletting. And you can put that in the records.”
“Noted,” said Gregor. “Next item: blood sourcing contracts.”
Anastasia shuffled through some papers, looking for the right reference page. “Ah, we renegotiated with NYU Langone. They’ll guarantee 30% of surplus donations at union rates.”
“I thought it was fifty,” growled Lucia.
“They countered with ten,” Anastasia said. “Thirty’s a win for us.”
“Should we still…you know…” piped up Nigel, a new member wearing a too-big turtleneck. “Pretend to volunteer at the blood drives?”
“Yes,” said Gregor, not hiding his exasperation. “Community service is part of the agreement. Optics still matter, Nigel.”
The door banged open. A tall, pale figure strode in, trench coat swirling dramatically.
“Oh great,” muttered Gregor. “Here we go.”
“Comrades!” declared Count Radu von Székely, Local 36’s self-appointed revolutionary leader. “I move to reject the contract. Feeding is no privilege for us to bargain for - it is our right! We should act to seize the blood banks and distribute the resources according to our need.”
Most of the room groaned. They’d been here before.
“We’re not seizing anything,” sighed Gregor. “We negotiate.”
“Adapt?” sneered Radu. “You sound like a moderate! The old ways were better. We ruled by fear and received the tribute we deserved.”
“And spent our days hiding in crypts,” said Anastasia. “I like my apartment and my Wi-Fi thanks.”
“Seizing anything is a violation of the non-aggression pact,” Lucia added. “Last thing we need is another IRS audit in retaliation.”
There was a long pause. Gregor sighed. “I move to table radical redistribution pending further study by the bylaws committee. All in favor?”
A forest of pale hands rose. Radu’s didn’t.
“Motion carries,” said Gregor. “Next: pension negotiations.”
“Why do we even have to have a pension plan?” Nigel asked timidly. “We don’t age. I’m not going to retire.”
“It’s not for aging,” said Lucia, rubbing her temples. “It’s for unforeseen circumstances. Stakes. Decapitation. Sunlight accidents. There’s a surprising number of widows and widowers, and dependents, to support.”
”I fell into a tanning bed once,” muttered someone at the back. “I’m still on partial disability.”
Gregor checked the agenda. “Final item: holiday party. Do we want to do the fondue again or -”
“NO!” the room chorused.
“- okay, okay, noted. We’ll try something new this year. Maybe a universal donor punch bowl.”
He raised the gavel. “Meeting adjourned. Solidarity, comrades.”
“Eternity,” they chorused back, filing out into the cool night, still arguing over payroll taxes and workplace conditions.
A story inspired by an idea from my friend Erica.