Title subject to change.

Copyright Jessica Heverin © 2007

Thomas Bradley spent his day shifting his feet, flipping though magazines, and basically pretending not to be nervous. His gray suit was getting wrinkled from his constant fidgeting. Ever few minutes or so the secretary with the cats-eye glasses raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. Thomas looked over his resume for the eight time this hour.
Bookkeeping…check
Knowledge on the use of Macintosh computers…check.
Expertise in the art of torture through the use of duct tape, standardized tests, and tollbooths…check.
References…check.
Everything seemed to be in order. A buzz sounded from the secretary’s desk and she seemed mildly irritated. The young woman stopped filing her nails to sharp little points and pointed to Thomas. He looked around nervously. Thomas was the only applicant left. He stood up slowly and clenched his resume tight in his left hand.
“Thank you.” He said absent mindedly as he shuffled through the huge doorway marked “BOSS”. The room beyond the door was an immense… disappointment. Thomas looked around bewildered. What was this? Some kind of joke? The room was tiny. Painted in a pale blue. Lacey curtains adorned the windows behind a small desk. Thomas almost laughed when he saw the Lego tyrannosaurus rex that sat on a pile of discarded paperwork. A disturbingly adorable picture of a cat was hung on the back wall. The crayoned name at the bottom of the drawing said ‘Mineiey’ or maybe it was ‘Melinoy’. There were a few letters in the name that didn’t exist in our language yet. The ‘BOSS’ himself sat in a neon green bean bag by the fireplace.
“Ah do come in…uh…” He glanced down at a pile of index cards sitting of the floor. “Oh yes. Sit down Mr. Bradley.” Thomas looked down at the fluorescent orange beanbag to the left of the BOSS. He clumsily tried to arrange himself in a decent way, but the art of looking suave in a beanbag was lost on Thomas. “Your resume? Ah thank you.” The BOSS was not what Thomas had been expecting. He was a young man. Maybe in his late twenties. A light sprinkle of blonde stubble was beginning to show around the edges of his chin. The piercing blue eyes fit the profile all right, but that dopey smile the BOSS kept giving him was disconcerting. Where was all the fire and brimstone? Shouldn’t there be a big growling dog? Why was this guy so polite? Thomas tried to hunch farther into the beanbag. “It says here you know how to use duct tape. That’s good. Umm hmmm… Ah tollbooths. Are you from New Jersey?” Thomas nodded. “Fine! That will be great. We won’t need to relocate you. Well Thomas I do believe you fit our requirements. I will have my secretary give you the welcome packet on your way out. I hope you have a fine day. Welcome to hell.”
It was a Tuesday morning when Thomas Bradley stood outside the Demon Enterprises building in the middle of hell and screamed “HELLAH-LUGHYA!” Welcome packet scrunched tightly in one hand and the other flagging down a cab, Thomas whistled his way home. The meeting had not been what he had been expecting, but now he had one of the better paying jobs in hell. The giant yellow smiley face that had been plastered to the front of the welcome packet peeked out at him from under his arm. Thomas had to admit, it was a bit bewildering.
The welcome packet contained information on dress code, parking permits, code of conduct, warnings against sexual harassment, laws on the relations of demons to humans, the ladder of promotion, payment schedules, cubical dimensions, the allowable amount of plant life permitted in said cubicle, and on and on. After the twentieth page Thomas put the packet down. His vision slowly wavered back to normal. Now, let’s be honest. Thomas was beginning to have his doubts. He had spent most of his life preparing for a position with Demon Enterprises. A collection of rude paintings harkening back to Heironymus Bosch, hung at odd angles all over the kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom, and the small space inside the closet. Thomas was proud of his collection. Each painting was a tiny piece of the hell he dreamed of; Prancing men with the heads of strange creatures driving tortured souls to their punishments. Thomas had a particular penchant for the one in his bedroom. It depicted a single demon eating what appeared to be a ham and soul sandwich. Visitors at the Thomas apartment often found themselves uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot while Thomas stood on the bed and explained the artistic worth of the piece. Thomas had noticed as of late that his friends had stopped visiting.
Sunday morning Thomas arrived bright and early to work. He picked up his time card from personnel. Thomas would have punched in, but apparently the clock was out of order. A strange, squat man with the name Buster written on his overalls was pulling wires out by the armful. He was up to his elbows in the machine when he spotted Thomas.
“Punch your card?”
“Uh, yeah thanks…” Thomas held out his card to Buster. The man looked at it. Looked at Thomas. And then looked at the card again.
“You’re all set. Put the card in the slot over there.” Buster indicated with a nod. His arms were still in the clock. Thomas looked down at his punch card. The time was stamped crookedly across today’s date. He shrugged and slipped the card in the slot. Buster nodded at him when he was leaving.
Thomas’s cubical was a five foot by five foot box. The last owner was apparently fired for having too many plants. The wastebasket was filled to the brim with empty pots and dirt. A scrolling marquee over each cubical mentioned that today was “Bonus Day”. Thomas leaned over the wall of his box and asked the very nice looking woman what Bonus Day was.
“Oh, you’re new here huh? My name is Sally. I take care of the class G soul agreements. Class G’s are those people who want to bargain for more hair. You’d be surprised how many men will sell their souls not to be bald.” Sally giggled at this and showed Thomas the wide variety of pictures that adorned her cubical. Hundreds of men with the most horrifying haircuts stared out from the polaroids. “They always want hair, but they never specify the hairstyle. The Bonus day thing is where we get a couple extra dollars if we nail a soul today.”
Thomas thought this over. “Is it really that hard to get a soul?”
“Nowadays? Kind of. People have gotten really good at weaseling what they want out of life. Most of the souls are re-routed to the express office now.” Thomas glanced over to the door at the end of the room. It was a huge black monstrosity. Gold gilt ran undulating patterns across the onyx surface. Demons first class worked in the express department. Thomas had a few promotions to go before he could even deliver a memo to those guys.
Back at his desk, Thomas turned on his I-Mac. It blipped a smiley face logo at him and loaded the main screen. A small, sweet voice said, ‘You have mail.’ Thomas clicked on the little envelope icon in the corner of the screen.
From :

To :

Subject : Welcome to Hell

Date : Sun, 2 Feb 2003 12:24:15 -0500

Dear Mr.Bradley,
We wanted to welcome you to our company and alert you to the fact that there is some minor repair work being done on the building.
You can find your assignments in the ‘my briefcase’ folder. Please introduce yourself to your supervisor, Mr. Klein. We here at Demon Enterprises hope you grow to become an excellent employee.
Please do not interfere with the Busters.

Cheers,
Julia Strack
Personnel Assistant
*********************************************
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Thomas noticed a shadow fall over the screen as he finished reading the message. Turning, he found a monolith standing just behind him. The man wore a severely ironed white shirt with black slacks. A red bow tie was tied very tight at the base of an almost non-existent neck. The man leaned down and Thomas felt a hand slap him on the shoulder.
“Welcome to the team Tom!” A deep booming voice said cheerfully. The large man’s teeth glittered in a perfect smile. “I saw you resume. Very good Tom, very good. You’ll have those boys in express team running for their money in no time!” Thomas noticed the large wings on the man’s back.
“Sir? I…”
“Oh call me Klein! No need for pleasantries around here.”
“Yes s…Klein. I was wondering about your wings. I haven’t seen many Demons with wings.” Klein smiled even harder.
“Observant young man! You work hard my boy!” Klein laughed himself back to his office. Thomas felt like he had been scammed in some way, but couldn’t put his finger on how.
Around two-fifteen, after five hours of editing contracts and plotting charts on soul migration patterns, an animated image popped up on screen. It was a little cartoon businessman. The businessman stood with his hands clasped and when he opened his mouth a piercing siren went off. Thomas instantly turned the volume down on his computer and looked concernedly at the screen. Sally’s head peeked over the wall.
“Hey you got one! You should report to transportations for your ride.”
“My ride?”
“Well how else do you think you’re going to get to earth?” Sally sank back into her own box leaving Thomas to stare at the business man who now seemed satisfied that he had conveyed his message and climbed off screen. His first real assignment! Thomas hurriedly shoved the appropriate paperwork into his briefcase and rushed down the hall. He almost ran straight into the ladder that was standing just below a light fixture. Buster was once again tearing wiring out of the object. Thomas could not perceive how this activity could fix anything. The transportation office was near the basement. Demon Enterprises had an underground parking lot for employee vehicles and the sleek tube system. A woman in her late forties was trying to organize some notes while her two-year old fought ferociously under her arm. He was clearly trying to reach the potted aloe plant on the desk.
“Good afternoon Mr. Bradley.” She didn’t even glance up at him. “Please excuse my son. The daycare is currently being worked on by a Buster.”
“Wow that guy sure is busy.” Thomas chuckled. The woman eyed him over her glasses.
“Of course. Well, you will be taking tube eighty-three. Here is your pass and please sign here.” She pushed a form towards him.
“What’s this?”
“Just a simple waiver. Every new employee must sign it to use the tubes. It simply states that in your use of the tube system Demon Enterprises is not responsible for your injuries or death. A sum of twenty dollars will be deducted from your pay to clean the tubes if you should be wounded or killed. You’d be surprised at the mess people can make when accelerated to three-hundred miles an hour.” The woman smiled at this and watched Thomas blanche.
“Three-hundred huh? Wow. Well that’s funny.” He nervously looked over the document and signed at the bottom.
“Your tube awaits.” She pointed down a long corridor. A single door at the end stated: TUBE in green lettering. Thomas shuffled down the hall looking back occasionally at the child who was now chewing on an aloe leaf. The door itself was made of thick steel. No handle was visible, but Thomas could hear gears on the other side and then a hiss. The door unlatched and swung open. Before Thomas lay a strange pod like vehicle. An uncomfortable plastic seat boasted a broken seatbelt. Thomas sat down and wondered if he should go back and complain. The pod had other ideas. A door slammed shut and the feeling of motion instantly hit Thomas. He darted a look out the small window to his right and could observe the huge matrix of tubes that made up the system. His tube was rushing down towards the middle and then off to the left. Three minutes later Thomas found himself waking up in a bathroom stall. He shook his head and looked around. There was no sign of the pod. Thomas might have wondered if he imagined it all except he still had his validation ticket for the pod in his right jacket pocket. Badly misspelled graffiti proclaimed ‘Mandy sucs and the Yankees eet ass’. According to the information in his welcome packet, Thomas was to find a phone and call up assignments to receive his instructions. He wandered out of the bathroom and into a small smoky bar. The place was pretty empty. Two men sat on stools near the television and another was sipping something in a corner booth.
“Excuse me, bartender.” An old grizzly stumbled up to Thomas. The man had the look of someone who had been heavily muscled in his day, but now was losing his physique as he aged. “Do you happen to have a phone?” The man grunted and pointed to a payphone near the door. Thomas nodded his thanks and dialed the number for the assignments office.
“This is Sam speaking. Who may I ask is calling?” A strong male voice asked.
“I’m Thomas Bradley. I was supposed to call for my assignment.”
“Ah, Bradley. Yes. You are in the O’Leary establishment. Hold one moment.” The muzac version of ‘You are so Beautiful’ began playing. A minute or two later the voice came back on. “Alright, you are to go across the street to the coffee shop. There will be a young man, twenty-three years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a tee-shirt that says ‘For every animal you don’t eat, I’m going to eat three.’ A folder has been placed in your bag outlining his case. Have a good one Mr. Bradley.”
Thomas stared at the phone for a moment and hung up. Inside his briefcase the folder was strangely enough there. Everything on a man named Simon Pudley was recorded as: Birthday, height, weight, favorite color, music preference, allergies, and known bad habits. Thomas noted that Simon liked to leave the toilet seat up on purpose. Apparently Mr. Pudley was selling his soul for a cup of coffee. Thomas sighed. He had not had the best of luck when they delegated him to the ‘Souls for small foodstuffs’ position. Thomas had applied for a Class A soul acquisition position, but due to lack of experience he was shuffled down to an entry level job.
Across a busy intersection there was indeed a coffee shop. Javarama was a hole-in-the-wall, artist run, alternative coffee shop with hand painted furniture stolen from tag sales and drink named things like Botticelli Bubble tea and Vahn go-go triple shot espresso. As he hurried past a group of teenagers bedecked in too much eyeliner they giggled loudly to themselves an pointed at Thomas’s feet. He glanced down self-consciously and discovered a piece of toilet paper had hitched a ride on his shoe. Utterly embarrassed and intent on not showing it, Thomas squared his shoulders and marched across the crosswalk. Behind him the giggled erupted into full blown laughter. Thomas fumed.
On the other side of the road Javarama loomed over Thomas like a large neon-green Lincoln log. Through the dingy window, Thomas could see the young man counting change at a table. Piles of papers and books circled him. He was wearing the exact shirt that was specified in the folder. Thomas pushed aside the peeling pastel purple door and entered the shop. Here clouds of clove cigarettes smoke lay in a low fog. A pair of inquisitive cats peered at him from behind a display of biscotti. College students of all shapes and sizes roamed through the tables making over-educated chit chat while a mousey man in the corner played a sitar. It was apparently out of tune. Simon didn’t look up as Thomas sat down across from him.

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