Mr. Slaters' Enterprise

[Note: Yes, this story contains references The Devil]

“Hi, I’m Mr. Slaters,” said The Devil. “Want to make a deal?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” said Timothy. “You just randomly walked up to me. You could’ve been a suicide bomber.”

“I still could be. Deal’s on the table. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Wait a minute. How did you…? Who told you I was…?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a secret. You’ve been applying to that Amazon warehouse job for five years now. You’ve told everyone about it, even your ‘Bey’. It was only a matter of time before I found out.”

“I can drive a forklift, you know…”

“We’ll see about that. Deal’s up. Whoever wants it. What do you say? Are you in?”

“What’s the deal?”

“I should warn you.”

“Yes?”

“This is a premium deal. I don’t just share this withy any Tom, Dick and Harry that walks by. This is the sweetest saccharin, the most beautiful Picasso. This is the deal that will make you or break you. You in?”

“Oh my God!”

“What?”

“Oh my God, you’re…you’re the…the…”

“The what? What am I?”

“You’re The Devil!”

“I am? Who told you that? My name is Mr. Slaters and I-“

“Your skin is beet red and you have horns.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“Prove it.”

Timothy then took a picture of The Devil with his smartphone. Turning the screen around to face the devil, he showed The Devil that he did, in fact, look like The Devil. Not only that, he had a rather long tail that was curling up into the sky.

“Handsome Devil,” said The Devil.

“So, you are The Devil,” said Timothy.

“Well, it’s a question of semantics.”

“No, it’s not! It’s a question of life and death and eternal hellfire! Imagine standing at the top of a mountain and having your guts ripped out by an Eagle or a Gryphon every Football Sunday!”

“It can be quite fun once you get used to it. Although that’s more of a Greek thing.”

“Same God.”

“No, I don’t think you’re getting your Gods mixed up properly.”

“Not getting my Gods mixed up properly? Now I know you’re The Devil.”

“Okay, okay, I’m The Devil, okay. Let’s just hurry up and get through this. How many flames? I mean, how many…days per week do you want to work at the fulfillment center?”

“Wait, you have an identity crisis.”

“Identity crisis? I just said my name is Mr. Slaters.”

“Freud called it an Oedipal Complex.”

“Well if you saw what Freud was doing today, you wouldn’t be quoting him. That’s for sure!”

“It’s true. The Devil has an identity crisis. This is amazing.”

“I do not have an identity crisis,” said The Devil, spitting fire, “and I’m not The Devil. I’m Mr. Slaters, and I-“

“Prove it!”

“Prove what?”

“That you’re not The Devil. Prove it!”

“How do I prove that I’m not The Devil? Haven’t you ever seen a forked tongue? They’re quite common in India.”

“Okay, what would you do if you were The Devil?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what would you do to me if you were The Devil?”

“Well, I’d show up, unannounced,”

“Yup.”

“And I’d promise to give you something that you didn’t earn.”

“Yep.”

“Then I’d have you sign this contract,” said The Devil, pulling a form from his sport coat.

“Then what?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know what happens after that.”

“So, what would be the opposite of all that?”

“The opposite of what?”

“The opposite of everything you just described. What would be the opposite of that?”

“What? Well, I’d tell you that you’re extremely pretty.”

“Yes?”

“Then I’d offer you a CEO role…with a bonus.”

“Yes? And?”

“Yes, and three months’ vacation? Two months’ vacation, and a craft services table.”

“What kind of food would be on the craft services table?”

“Well, I suppose, a few fruits and vegetables. Some cheese. Some bread…”

“And?”

“Well, I don’t know. A box of Krispy Kremes, I guess.”

“What would I get to drink in this scenario?”

“I don’t know…Kool Aid?”

“Not everyone was born in 1985, buddy.”

“Okay, maybe some almond milk. Maybe some RC Cola? Sounds good enough.”

“So, does the CEO get a private jet?”

“A private jet? I’m not made of money! I make the money! I…”

“Well?”

“Okay, a private jet.”

“Now that’s better.”

“Less than three bathrooms.”

“Ooh, I knew you were The Devil.”

“Okay, okay, do we have a deal?”

The Devil put out his hand to shake.

“Where’s the contract?”

“What contract?”

“You had a contract before!”

“This is a shake deal.”

“What do you mean shake deal? What is this some kind of…Devil’s deal?”

“I assure you, I’m not The Devil. My skin is red because I was at the beach…looking for…turtles in bikinis. I don’t know. So, what’s the deal? Do we have one? Or are we just going to just sit around looking like we’re The Devil’s minions?”

“I’m no minion.”

“Neither am I. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” said Timothy, reaching out and grabbing The Devil’s hand.

They shook hands. And then suddenly, Timothy was transported to his new CEO headquarters in Silicon Valley. He was standing in a grand office, and The Devil was standing right there, still shaking his hand. Still shaking his hand.

“What are you doing here? This is my fantasy. You can leave now.”

“Not so fast.”

“What?”

“This is a handshake deal.”

“What?”

“The deal is, that you get whatever you want, whatever your heart desires, but you must ‘get it’ while shaking my hand. My hand won’t let go, and whatever you do, wherever you go, even on your ‘private jet’, you must take me with you.”

“You are the friggin’ Devil!”

“I am not ‘The Devil’. Would you stop calling me that? I’m simply an investor.”

“Yeah, what exchange do you use? The NASDAGGIT?”

“Funny. Now, are you going to use the bathroom, or…?”

“Noooooooo!”

Timothy had to drag The Devil with him wherever he went. Whether it was to board meetings, the museum, the park, or on his two-and-a-half month vacations that he was able to negotiate. Sometimes, The Devil would go willingly. Other times, The Devil would not want to go. He would just stand there, looking directly at Timothy.

Sometimes he would blink, other times he would offer a witty remark. Still other times, he would make a joke about the situation, one that seemed rather suspect and inappropriate, but well-deserved. Timothy was lucky. His company, Soot and Sandals Therapeutics, made record profits for many years. A tour de force.