Rejection to Redemption

Rejection to Redemption

Cal was thankful for nothing on Thanksgiving Day. He had less to be thankful for the next day, Black Friday.

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“I’m done, Cal.”

“What are you talking about, Marcie? I told you I was sorry.”

“I’ve had it. You’re the most inconsiderate, uncaring, selfish person I’ve ever known. Goodbye, Cal.”

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“No, Cal, my mind is made up. You’re fired.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Your business ethics suck. You are the most dishonest person I’ve ever met. I got three more complaints about you this morning. And you’ve offended everyone in the office with your disgusting, stupid jokes. You must be the most offensive, obnoxious, crude person in the world. Get out!”

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“You’re outta here, Cal. I’ve put up with your loud, obnoxious drunken behavior long enough. Boys, show him the door.”

“You son-of-a bitch, Bert! I’ve spent a fortune in this hell hole, and you’re throwing me out?!”

“Yep.”

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Cal sat alone in front of his TV later that night, alone and angry. In just one day, he lost his girlfriend, his job, and his seat at his favorite watering hole. He felt no responsibility for any of it for Cal, as noted above, was uncaring, selfish, dishonest, crude, and obnoxious. To know Cal was to hate him.

 In his thirty-two years on this earth, he had never cared about a soul other than himself, and now tonight he found himself alone with his cold pizza and beer.

 Money- Cal didn’t have any. Girlfriend- Cal didn’t have one. Friends- ditto. He lived in a rat hole, the heater in his car didn’t work, and he survived on a diet of TV dinners, pizza, tater tots… and beer. Most guys had much more at this stage of the game. It was so unfair. 

Money was the key. If he had money, lots of it, he could have a nice home and a cool car which naturally would attract beautiful women. He knew what money could do for him. That was the easy part. How to get the money would be the hard part.

At times like this, fate will sometimes intervene to determine the trajectory of events. After downing his usual allotment of beer, plus a little extra in view of his current circumstance, Cal dozed off on the worn sofa in his cluttered living room. Around 3:00 AM he awakened to the sights and sounds of an old movie- Damn Yankees, the story of a fanatic baseball fan who sells his soul to the devil to improve the prospects of his favorite team. Cal knew of the concept of the Faustian bargain, and if the devil could improve the fortunes of Tab Hunter’s baseball team, maybe he could improve his.

A soul? Cal didn’t even know if he had one. He couldn’t see it, feel it, and he never even thought about it, so giving it up wouldn’t be much of a problem for Cal if it would bring him the goodies he desired and deserved.

But are these deals real? And, where would Cal find the devil in the first place? Cal figured the good guys must be able to find the bad guys in order to defeat them, so that’s where he started.

Cal showed up at Father Martin’s door, not seeking salvation, but looking for a roadmap to the gates of hell.

“Thank you for seeing me, Father.”

“We are here to serve. Are you presently a practicing Catholic looking to join a new parish?”

“Not so much, Father.”

“Then how may I help you, my son?”

“Is the devil real, Father?”

“Yes, the devil is certainly real. There are many references to the devil in the Bible.”

“Do you know where I’d find him?”

“What? Find the devil? You want to find the devil?”

“Yes. If he’s real, he must be someplace. I just want to know where I might find him. I thought you’d know where to find him since you’re in the business of beating him all the time, sort of like Batman keeping tabs on the Joker.”

 “My goodness, young man, it’s not like that. The devil isn’t a physical being you can see and touch. But his evil spirit is everywhere, stalking his prey and tempting us to do evil.”

“That’s not very helpful, Father.”

“Well, that’s the way it is. And why do you want to find the devil in the first place?”

“Have you seen the movie Damn Yankees?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I grew up a Cubs fan so I had to hate all the other teams, especially the Yankees. So, what about the movie?”

“Well, this guy makes a deal with the devil to get something he wants, and there’s something I want very badly, Father.”

“And what is that?”

“Money.”

“Ah, money, the root of all evil. I can see you do need spiritual guidance. And you feel the devil is responsible for your ill-placed desire for money, and you want to rid yourself of this lust for worldly riches?

“No, Father, I just want some.”

“Want some what?”

“Money.”

“And how does the devil fit in?”

“I thought maybe he could get me some.”

“Money?”

“Yes, money.”

“And how do you think the devil can help you get… money?”

“I thought I could sell him my soul. Do you have any idea of how much I’d get for it? I’m going to need plenty, but I’m afraid to ask for too much. Or does he make the first offer? I’m guessing he’d lowball me for a start. What do you think, Father?”

“You cannot sell your soul to the devil. Your soul is God’s most precious gift! You do not want to risk losing His promise of eternal life. Our time on earth is brief, but an eternity in Heaven awaits us. Jesus taught us…”

“Blah, blah, blah. Never mind, Father. I should have known this visit would be worthless. No wonder your numbers are down.”

Cal would have to find the devil on his own.

“Hey, Bert.”

“I thought I told you to stay out of here, Cal.”

“No trouble, Bert. I’m just looking for some information. I won’t even drink.”

“What kind of information?”

“Well, this has to be the seediest gin mill in town, so I thought maybe you could help me find the devil.”

“Huh? Who?”

“The devil. This place is full of low-lives every night so I thought maybe he’s been in here. Have you met him?”

Having watched his share of detective movies, Cal flashed a $20 bill, the time-honored tradition for gleaning information from barkeeps.

“Jesus Christ, Cal, have you lost your mind? No, I haven’t met the devil.”

“No need to get your undies in a bundle, Bert. I just thought this is the type of place the devil might hang out at.”

“You’re nuts.”

Cal turned and headed for the door.

“Cal, wait! There’s a guy who comes in here, almost every Friday night, that’s lady’s night. Mabel always brings in some of her girls from the Love Nest, and things can get a little… wild. Anyway, this guy looks about as bad as it gets. Always dressed in black, hardly talks, drinks a ton, and never gets drunk. He gives me the heebee-jeebees. There’s a look about him, sinister, scheming, evil. If the devil ever showed up in human form, that would be him.”

“Thanks, Bert. I owe you one.”

“No, twenty. You owe me twenty bucks.”

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”

“Right.”

More sins are committed at “Bert’s Bar- Booze and Babes” on a Friday night than anywhere else on Earth in an entire month. Crowded, loud music, smoke-filled, gambling, vats of alcohol, a smorgasbord of behavior-altering drugs, and dancing that looked more like simulated sex on shoes. It was Sodom and Gomorrah under one roof. Cal spotted him immediately. Bert was right. The guy looked like the devil.

Cal needed an icebreaker. He was hesitant to approach a stranger and ask him if were the devil. It would be awkward if he weren’t.

Cal cautiously moved over to the barstool next to the mysterious man and summoned Bert to bring him more beer.

“Thanks, Bert, and by the way, I have a request for your jukebox.”

“What’s that, Cal?”

Cal cranked up the volume to make certain the man next to him heard.

“The Elvis Presley hit, You’re the Devil in Disguise.”

The mysterious man’s head jerked toward Cal, and then quickly turned away, but he remained tuned in.

“The idea that the devil could take on human form is intriguing.”

Cal took a deep breath and turned toward the unsettling figure seated next to him.

“Uh… what do you think, sir? Do you think the devil could take human form and show up in a place like this?”

The man in black slowly turned and delivered a piercing gaze that sent a shudder through Cal. The deep blue eyes and the sinister smile made Cal’s heart skip a beat. The voice was hypnotic.

“Why not? I bet he’d like a place like this. No offense, Bert, but your bar would be a perfect place for the devil to harvest a few souls. What do you think, Cal? Do you think you might run into the devil here?”

The comment ended with a menacing look at Cal. And then the smile that sent the message he knew more than met the eye. A feeling of sheer fear sent Bert to the opposite end of the bar.

“Our parish priest says the devil is everywhere, so why not here?”

“Priest! Catholic! You don’t have a crucifix on you by any chance?”

“Uh, no.”

“Phew, that’s a relief.”

No crucifix a relief?! Cal felt like he was on the right trail.

 “Say, are you from around here?”

The man laughed.

“Nope, I’m not from anywhere. Say, Cal, you seem a little stressed. How about I foot the bill for you for one of Mabel’s girls? 

Temptation! This had to be the devil in disguise! Go for it, Cal.

“I’m Cal Larson. Your name is… ?”

“Lucifer.”

Bingo! Cal had found his man… so to speak.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Cal. We both know why you sought me out.”

“Yes, I was looking for you. Have you seen Damn Yankees?”  

“I’ve seen it a hundred times. I know the routine. I was there when the Faustian legend was born. So, where are going with this?”

“Well, I’d like to get in on it.”

“On what?”

“The Faustian bargain thing, my soul for some loot. What will you give me?”

“Woah, slow down, Cal. Let me get my head around this. You do know I’m supposed to tempt you, you know, offer you stuff for your immortal soul. You’re not supposed to come to me.”

“That shouldn’t matter. I’m here, and my soul must be here. You can have it. How much do I get and when do I get it?”

“Hold on, hold on…”

Lucifer pulled a book out of his pocket and flipped through the pages.

“Here you are, Cal Larson. Let me see…oh, my.”

“What do you mean oh my?”

“Well, it says here you’ve led a pretty miserable life. Let’s see, dishonest, vulgar, lazy, womanizing, selfish, a drunkard… and that’s just from one day. And there must be some mistake. There’s nothing in the plus column. That’s unusual. No, that’s correct, there’s nothing in here that’s of anything of redeeming value.”

“Ok, ok, I get it. But let’s get back to my question. What do I get for my soul?”

“I hate to break it to you, Cal, but nothing. You get nothing for your soul.”

“What?! It’s my soul! That’s supposed to be a big deal to you.”

“Cal, with this record you’re already headed my way. Why would I pay for something I’m already getting?”

“No way! It’s a soul! It has to have some value!”

“Sorry, Cal and there’s more.”

“Oh, for Crhist’s sake, what is it?”

“Well, here’s the thing, Cal. It looks like you would be one of the most obnoxious, contrary guys we’ve ever had. You’d have to meet certain conditions before we’d let you in.”

“What?! I can’t even get into hell?”

“Not right away. You have to understand, Cal, hell is a pretty miserable place. Everyone is on edge and stressed to the max, so it’s hard to maintain order. A guy like you is apt to cause problems, and the last thing I need is another rebellion. The last one didn’t work out so well for me.”

“What kind of conditions?”

“Well, Anger Management for starters, and Sensitivity Training, of course. And Attila the Hun has a nice course on Diversity. If you do well in these classes, we’d let you in.”

“But nothing for my soul? You’ve got to be shitting me. This isn’t possible.”

“Maybe this will help you understand- a classic law school exercise. A guy falls off a cliff and he’s heading for the ocean waves crashing on the jagged rocks one hundred feet below. On the way down, he hits some negligently hung electric wires. They’re not properly insulated, and he’s electrocuted. His family sues the electric company, and the jury awards them nothing. Why? Because at that moment, because of where he was headed, his life was worth nothing. That’s where you are with your soul, Cal.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, nada, zero, zippo, zilch, nil, bupkis, goose eggs…”

“Ok, ok! I get it.”

Things had gone from bad to worse for Cal. His plan for a better life just went down the drain because of his former lifestyle. All hope was lost. Or was it? Think, Cal, think. Mmm…

“Good morning, Father.”

“Oh, no, it’s you again. What now?”

“Father, what kind of things would a guy have to do to get himself headed for Heaven?”

“Cal! I prayed for you, and it looks like my prayers have been answered! The Prodigal Son returns! The Lost Sheep has been found. Welcome back to the fold, my son. Let’s get you back on the path of the righteous, the path to Heaven.”

“Uh, Father, I really don’t want to try to get to Heaven. I just want it to look like I might get there.”

“Huh?”

“You were right about the devil. He does exist. But you were wrong about the human form thing. I met him at Bert’s Bar- Booze and Babes last night.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I tried to sell him my soul, but he said it’s worth nothing because I’m already doomed to hell. I want it to look like I’ve got a shot at heaven so he’ll give me something for my soul. So, what kind of things should I do that will make it look like I’m heaven-bound, you know, so he’ll give me lots of stuff for my soul?”

“I will pray for you again, my son, but this time to St. Jude, the Patron Saint of hopeless causes.”

Cal was on his own again, but Internet searches revealed a bevy of good works readily available to Cal. He was soon helping little old ladies cross the street, cleaning up trash along public highways, visiting blood banks, and slapping Christian bumper stickers all over his car. He could feel his stock rising every day.

Cal was furiously ringing his bell next to a Salvation Army Red Kettle.

“Cal, is that you?”

“Oh, hey, Lucifer.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, just another thing in a long list of good works, collecting money for the less fortunate. That’s kind of what I do.”

“Well, keep it up, Cal. You know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“Every time a bell rings, a devil gets his pitchfork. Ha, ha, ha.”

Cal felt like his efforts may have been going nowhere, but then fate again made a call. Or, was St. Jude listening?

Christmas Day.

“Cal, you’ll be on mashed potatoes. Just put a good scoopful on their plate as they come through the line. I’ll slop the gravy on.”

There were more diners than Cal expected, poor people, the less fortunate, the down on their luck. It hit Cal. For the first time in his life, he was helping others, and he had a feeling he had never experienced before.

Sometimes a moment affects a lifetime, or what’s left of it. Cal noticed them when they came through the line, a young mother and a little girl with a worn, frayed coat and a red ribbon in her hair. The little girl returned to the serving line and extended her plate toward Cal.

“Sir, if all the others have eaten, could I please have more?”

She was six, maybe seven years old, likely without a father, having Christmas dinner with a crowd of strangers in a noisy church basement. She must have been hungry to have quickly finished off her plate and in need of more. And the selflessness and the manners to ask if all the others had eaten were remarkable for her age.

It pierced Cal’s heart. The contrast could not have been greater. Cal reflected on his own life built on a foundation of self, first and only, and he felt ashamed. He caught the look in the mother’s eyes as the girl returned to their table. He knew she wanted more for her daughter, and it pained her that she couldn’t provide it. He wished that the little girl could be seated at a table with her mom, dad, and grandparents, close to a cracking fire, and looking forward to playing with all her new toys… like he had growing up.

As Cal finished his duties, he noticed the mother and little girl walking toward the bathroom, leaving the frayed coat hanging on the back of a chair. Cal walked to the table, pulled the lonely twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, tucked it in the coat’s pocket, and left the room as he wiped away a tear, saved by a little girl.