Working in Hell

New Job

There was a script for me to follow. It was almost like being a telemarketer, except the customers sat directly across from me.

"Please state your name for the record."

"Reasons for termination?"

"How long were you there?"

"How would you describe your work ethic?"

"Where would you prefer to be reassigned?"

"How would you describe your strengths?"

After I got through four reassignments, I left my office in search of a coffee room. The rules remained the same in PR and official breaks were not permitted.

When I entered the room, however, I was unexpectedly disappointed to see that Frank was not hovering above the coffee maker. I shouldn't have expected to see him as he was still down in registration, but it was a disappointment nevertheless.

I did see a skeleton, however, attempting to drink the coffee, only it poured through his bones and fell onto the floor. How that was not considered a workplace hazard was beyond me.

"What's up, man?" the skeleton asked me.

"Just trying to get some coffee."

"Dude, I know, right? This shit is tubular."

I suppressed the urge to cringe at the outdated surfer slang of the 1970s. Or was it the eighties? My memory of slang per decade was not perfect by any means. Either way, it was a good indication of when he died.

"Yeah, it's good coffee," I agreed. "What's your name?"

"Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm-"

"Hey! Get back to work!" the gravelly voice shouted from the comm room.

The skeleton quickly rushed out the door and called out, "Later, dude!"

I sighed and poured myself some coffee before trudging back to my office, where I switched the light signal for a new client. I could faintly hear the gravelly voice call out 'next' before a small man with pointed ears and scales entered my room.

"Do you speak English?" I asked him. If not, I'd have to send him back to the line for someone else to help him.

"Duh."

"Okay, please state your name for the record."

#

I rested my head on my arms for a solid thirty seconds—I counted—before I lifted myself back up and switched the signal for the next individual.

When Frank stepped through, it was a great shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Once you left, Oguluth decided I would be his victim of choice. Working in the coffee room became against the rules and I could not keep up with my work without the constant caffeine," he explained with a shrug.

"That's unfortunate, man. I guess that means you have to make a job change, huh? How d'you feel about PR?"

Frank laughed and shook his head. "No, not my thing. I started in PR a few millennia ago and it was not for me."

I nodded. "Okay. Well, I guess we have to go through the procedure. Please state your name for the record."

"Frank."

"No last name?"

"I'm an eldritch being. We don't have last names. Frank isn't even really my real name."

"What is it then?" I asked.

"It's incomprehensible to human ears," he said, his tentacles twitching in amusement.

I smiled. "Gotcha. Reasons for termination?"

"Creative differences."

I bit back a laugh and nodded. "How long were you there?"

Frank thought for a moment, likely trying to recall the last number on his timer. "Six thousand seven hundred eighty-nine years, five months, twelve days, four hours, two minutes."

We continued throughout the process, continually making each other laugh. By the time we had finished going through the questionnaire and determining Frank's new job placement, my stomach sank. The realization that we would part ways once more weighed heavily on me.

"It was nice being able to talk to you again, dude."

"Yeah, well, who knows how long I'll last down in the tube station, right?"

I smiled and patted Frank on the shoulder, ignoring the stickiness as I pulled my hand away. "At least you'll have better penmanship than the bozos up there right now."

"Here's hoping."

He left my office and I sat back down at my desk, laying my head down for a luxurious four minutes and thirty-two seconds before I pressed the switch to signal for my next client.

"Next!"