Another Day In Perdition

It was a typical day at the office. I sat with my headset on, listening to the others as they spoke with customers and directed them to the various departments. One of the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, giving me a splitting headache. After spending so many years working in this office with no other natural light coming in, I had nearly forgotten what sunlight looked like.

My headset dinged, indicating a call was coming in. I answered, “Vestibule, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi, I need to register a formal complaint,” said a female voice.

I sighed. “About what?” I asked.

“Well, my air conditioning is not functioning properly,” she answered.

“Um… you do know where you are, right?” I asked.

“Of course I do!” she snapped. “But I live in circle 1 and we were told that if we demonstrate good behavior that we are entitled to 1 hour of functioning air conditioning each day.”

“Right, how silly of me,” I said sarcastically. “Let me transfer you to maintenance. Please hold.”

“Young man, I think that – ” she started to say, but I placed her on hold and transferred her before she could finish the thought. I groaned as I flopped back in my chair. I longed to return to my job at the special cases unit, but I was demoted for something completely ridiculous – at least in my mind. Jesus; you pull one silly prank and suddenly you are a ‘troublemaker’.

My headset dinged again. “Vestibule, how may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I need to speak with Bill,” he said.

“Okay, first of all, you need to call corporate for that,” I answered. “Second, I know for a fact he is booked solid for a very, very long time, and third, I can guarantee you that, whatever your question is, the answer is no. Where are you calling from anyway?”

“Division of labor,” he answered.

“Uh-huh. And you… what? Need to report a strike?” I asked.

“No. I wanted to pitch him a new idea! I call it: ‘waterboarding’!” he said with enthusiasm.

I shook my head and pressed my fingers against my temples. “That’s not a new idea. And f… you know what, let me transfer you to human resources.”

“Wait! Did I mention that – ” I again transferred the caller mid-sentence.

Just then, my friend Liz popped her head over the wall of my cubicle. “Mondays. Am I right?” she said.

I stared at her. “It’s always Monday here,” I answered.

“Ah, come on; don’t be such a sourpuss,” she said. “Want to come over and watch bad vampire movies later?”

“No,” I answered. “Need I remind you, that bad vampire movies are the reason we are in this shit hole in the first place?”

“Hey, it was your idea to send in bed bugs. I just wanted to scare her a little,” she argued.

“Regardless, you were the one who said we needed to stand up for ourselves and for our integrity,” I argued back. “I wanted to let it go, but you have this uncanny ability to persuade people.”

“Well, yeah,” she said with a snarky tone. “How do you think I got my servants to agree to…” Liz stopped before she could finish her thought, then sat back down in her chair. “Vestibule, how may I direct your call?” I heard her say. I growled softly to myself in frustration. “Let me get you to tech support. Please hold.” A couple seconds later, she stood back up.

“Their Wi-Fi down?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said. “You’d think by now they would have realized that the only website available is the YouTube link to that skibbidy toilet video.”

“I guess we should count ourselves lucky that we are minor celebrities and have access to Netflix; even if it is the streaming service equivalent to getting socks for Christmas,” I said with a shrug.

“I hear that,” Liz agreed.

Just then, our boss Sam came over to us. “Hey! Count Bugula! Just the man I wanted to see,” he said in a chipper voice. I rolled my eyes. “Hey Liz, how’s it goin’?” he asked Liz.

“Just another day in Perdition,” she answered.

I scoffed. “Why am I the one with the nickname? She was in on it too!”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he answered.

“Yeah, lighten up,” Liz agreed.

“Ugh, what can I help you with Sam?” I said in an annoyed tone.

“I was hoping we could have a little chat. Would you mind meeting me in my office?” Sam asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

I sighed and disconnected myself from my phone. “Better than taking calls I guess,” I said as I removed my headset and stood up to follow Sam.

“That’s the spirit!” he said as he turned and walked towards his office. “Oh Liz?” he added as he turned around and walked backwards. “Would you be willing to head up the Christmas party planning committee? Aileen put in for a transfer to Public Relations.”

“I’d love to!” Liz answered.

“Great! We can talk about the details later,” Sam said. I rolled my eyes again as I followed Sam into his office. It was a drab office full of overflowing filing cabinets and a several posters of those corny motivational sayings. On his desk was a small placard with his name: Sam Ale.

“Um, am I in trouble?” I asked.

“Oh no, nothing like that,” he assured me. “Take a seat. I just wanted to check up and see how you are adjusting to the new position.”

“Right,” I said as I took a seat. “I uh … suppose it could be worse?”

“Good to hear!” he replied. “Having said that, I do think you could be doing more.”

“Okay. Would you care to expand on that?” I asked.

“Well, the thing is, you got demoted from your position at the special cases unit for your um… extracurricular activities,” he explained.

“Uh-huh. I’m aware of that.”

“And I think that, if you showed more initiative, you may be able to get your old position back,” Sam continued. “But so far, it seems like you are – how shall I put this? Going through the motions.”

I looked up at the ceiling and shook my head. “Sam, with all due respect, this department is essentially worthless.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “It’s low priority, you are correct. But we still play a very important role in the day-to-day function of this great enterprise. Remember; our role is to make people feel frustrated and discouraged. You’ve got the right idea, but you could be doing more. For instance, you tend to transfer callers to the correct department.”

“Isn’t that what we do?” I asked in confusion.

“It’s what people think we do,” he clarified. “That doesn’t mean we do it. Remember: it’s about frustration and confusion. Also, we don’t need to hear about their problems. We don’t troubleshoot here; we simply get them off the phone so they’ll stop calling us while giving the impression that we are here to help.”

“Got it,” I answered. “Is that all?”

Sam sighed and tapped his fingers. “You seem unhappy,” he said.

I threw up my hands in frustration. “Of course I’m unhappy, I got demoted to the worst job here.”

“And whose fault is that?” he asked.

“Come on Sam; what was I supposed to do?” I pleaded. “She wrote books about vampires that sparkle; that SPARKLE Sam!”

“And?”

“And I have a legacy to uphold!” I said raising my voice. “I won’t stand for that! Vampires don’t sparkle, and they don’t drink animal blood as a substitute for human blood! That’s just ridiculous!”

“Be that as it may, our contract specifically prohibits us from attacking innocent humans,” he answered. “You should know this.”

“Innocent? She’s not innocent! She’s spitting in the face of all that is evil and unholy!” I shot back.

“I think that’s a bit of a stretch,” Sam argued. “And besides, you didn’t even get the right Stephanie Meyer.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” I asked.

“Well, I would think that you would have realized that the author Stephanie Meyer isn’t an 80-year-old woman from Australia,” he said to me.

“Well, I didn’t,” I replied.

“And you didn’t think to, you know, research her beforehand?” he asked me.

“Maybe I would have if we had actual internet down here!” I argued.

Sam scratched his head with a sigh. “Listen kid; I like you. I think you’re a man of vision,” he said as he stood up and placed his hands on my shoulders. “But here in Hell, we have rules. You would think that it is a place of chaos and anarchy, but it’s not. There’s a natural order to things, and we can’t go around upsetting that order. Otherwise reality as we know it would be turned inside out and everything would go to shit. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“I…” I sighed in frustration. “I get that. But doesn’t this penalty seem kinda harsh? I was trying to do the big guy a favor.”

“Well, he doesn’t see it that way,” Sam answered. “In fact, he is actually a big fan of those books.”

My eyes grew large and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It felt like a betrayal. “Wait, you’re telling me, that Lucifer, the prince of darkness himself, likes the Twilight books?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “You know, lots of people don’t realize that he has a softer side. Did you know he also loves to paint?”

I hung my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It felt like my whole life was a lie. “I… did not realize that, no,” I admitted.

“Look, I’m pretty busy and the phone queues are going to start backing up soon, but listen; keep your head up kid. If you work hard and show initiative, who knows? Maybe they will even make you a shift supervisor,” Sam said, trying to encourage me.

“Yeah. Uh… sure,” I said. “Thanks for the pep talk. You’re an inspiration to us all,” I said, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

“Anytime son,” he said.

I shook my head and walked slowly out the door and back to my desk. Liz popped up again and gave me a sympathetic look as I walked back over to my cubicle.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“About like you would expect,” I answered.

“Mondays, am I right?” Liz said again.

“You already said that Liz!” I snapped.

“Sheesh! Someone’s a grumpy Gus,” she responded.

Just then, a man in the cubicle behind Liz popped his head up. “Excuse me,” he said to me. “I couldn’t help but notice; are you… Vlad the Impaler?”

I groaned. “Yeah. That’s… that’s me.” I was starting to get irritated with the constant nattering of fans and their ridiculous questions. That’s the price of infamy, I guess.

“Oh man! I thought you looked familiar! Richard Ramirez,” he said extending his hand. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“Thanks,” I said as I half-heartedly shook his hand.

“Hey, I’m Elizabeth Bathory,” Liz interjected.

“Who?” asked Richard.

“You know; the Blood Countess of Hungary?” she clarified.

Richard gave Liz a ponderous look and shrugged. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” he said and then sat back down.

Liz looked at me with an angry expression. “Looks like someone is getting scorpions in their desk drawer tomorrow,” she said quietly.

“Come on Liz, don’t be a grumpy Gus,” I said with a smirk.

“It’s bullshit Vlad! Dracula was inspired more by my story than by yours, yet everyone remembers you because you’re a man,” she said in frustration.

“Mondays, am I right?” I joked.

Liz shot me a snarky look and sat back down. “Vestibule, how may I direct your call?” I heard her say. Liz didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then I heard her respond, “Haha, Seymour Butts. Very funny. If you’re going to make prank phone calls, at least come up with something original.”