Today we enter the final destination for the wicked portion of mankind. People picture it as a place of fire, brimstone, and medieval torture devices, but old Scratch has a lot more variety in his everlasting punishments. Enter Mr. James Jensen, a fallen soul who must endure an eternal torment meant solely for him; a torment designed and tested...in the Twilight Zone.
"Just Reward"
"I don't understand, I've been a good person! I've gone to church, donated to the poor...I've never broken any laws that I'm aware of. Why am I...here?"
The receptionist devil sitting at his desk grinned at the short, balding, slightly overweight man standing before him. "Well Mr. Jensen, we don't usually tell people why they belong in our little domain. It's so much more fun when they figure it out for themselves!"
"It's GOT to be a mistake," James shouted. "I'm a good person, I don't belong here I belong up there!" He pointed at the ceiling. "Not down here with you and mankind's filth!"
The devil merely kept grinning, as he stroked his goatee. "If you only knew how many people say that. But I assure you there is never a mistake. You DO belong here, and we've devised the perfect pastime for one such as you." Two more devils appeared at James' sides. "These gentlemen will take you to your room. Enjoy!"
He gave a little wave as the two devils dragged James down a hallway with gray walls, a dark gray floor, and rows of metal doors on each side. The devils stopped at one and shoved James in. The room he was in was bare except for a chair and table with a computer. Sitting in the chair was another devil; this one had long, curled eyebrows. The devil stood up on seeing him.
"Welcome, Mr. Jensen!" Like the receptionist, this devil was maddeningly cheerful. "Come, get acquainted with your eternal fate!" He gestured to the chair. James considered running, but he heard the door slam behind him. Reluctantly he went to the chair and sat down.
"You will be taking calls from people looking to escape from here. Though why anyone would want to leave this wonderful place is beyond me!" The devil snickered as he placed a headset on James' head.
"Once I turn on your computer the calls will start. You will read the prompts on the screen exactly, with no deviation. Otherwise, the consequences will be quite painful."
James was confused. "I thought there WAS no escape. Does this mean...that I could..."
"No," the devil cut him off. "Not for you. Others, however, may be able to rise above their dismal situation...they just have to make it through our little system." He gave the most evil giggle James had ever heard. "Your job is to process their requests and let them know what information we need." He turned on the computer. "I expect you'll get the hang of it quickly." The devil went to the door. "Yell for help if you need anything, of course, I can't guarantee that I'll answer." With a final chuckle he left the room, closing the door behind him.
James' headset beeped. "Hello? Hello?" said a frantic voice.
"Yes I'm here," James replied. Then a shock hit him from the headset. James cried out in pain, then he noticed the prompt on the screen, which he read: "Thank you for calling Infernal Processing. How may I help you today?"
"Look," the voice responded. "they said I could call here and you could help me go up top. Can you help me?"
"I'll...do my best," James replied. Another prompt appeared on the screen. Can I get your name please?"
"Arnold McDonald".
"Thank you Arnold. Can I get your offender number please?
"Offender number!? I don't know what that is!"
"I'm sorry, it's what they're asking for."
Arnold swore. "I should have known it was too good to be true!" The call disconnected. Immediately there was another beep. "Thank you for calling Infernal Processing. How may I help you today?"
"Yes, I would like to leave please. I'll do anything, ANYTHING!"
"I'll do the best I can, ma'am." This time, the prompt asked for a list of all the caller's misdeeds. The caller gave as much information as she could, but there were still blank spots, and the computer wouldn't let James proceed.
"Are you sure you're remembering everything? It says we still need more."
"I swear I've told you everything! What more do you want?"
"I'm sorry, but it won't let me go forward, until I've filled everything in here."
The caller gave a cry of frustration and hung up.
And on it went. The calls came in one after the other, without the slightest pause in between. There was no clock in the room or on the computer, but James felt the hours weigh on him. Each call had a different script, but if he deviated at all from what he read on the screen, he would get a shock from the headset, which he couldn't take off. Most of the time the prompts required James to ask for something the caller simply didn't have. Other times the call simply disconnected mid-sentence. Often the screen would go completely blank, without responding to anything he typed, and it would stay that way until the caller hung up. No matter what, James never had a single call result in a freed soul.
Eventually the devil with the curled eyebrows came for him.
"Come with me".
"Where are we going?" asked James.
"All in good time", said Curly Eyebrows. He led James to an enormous dining room, with a vast number of round tables with up to eight people seated at each one. James was shown into the kitchen, a filthy, foul-smelling place run by a fat devil wearing an apron but no hairnet. This one didn't seem so jolly.
"I'll keep it simple, I give food, tell you where it goes, you take it out, then come back. Any slacking off, I put you in the pot! Meatloaf, Table 20!" He thrust a plate at James. As James took it out to the dining area, he noticed that the meatloaf, with some greens on the side, actually looked quite good. He found table 20, which had three brutish-looking men sitting there.
"Meatloaf?"
"Right here," said one of the brutes, who inspected the plate as James set it in front of him. "Huh, actually looks pretty good," he looked around at his fellows, "I think we'll do alright here, boys!" Then he started to dig in. James went back to the kitchen, bemused. "Did I just luck out, will this job be easier?" Daring to hope, he took another plate from the kitchen, this one of sesame chicken, and delivered it to the requisite table. As he turned to go back to the kitchen, he heard a shout.
"Hey" it was the brute he'd served before. "There were maggots in that meatloaf!" He smashed the plate on the floor. "Get me some decent grub!"
"R-right away sir!" James turned to go back to the kitchen, when he heard another shout.
"This chicken tastes like gasoline!" The person he delivered the chicken to, a very fat man, thrust the plate at him. "Take it back now!" A snooty-looking woman sitting at the same table chimed in, "This caviar is nothing but lead pellets!" James muttered his apologies as he collected the plates, then took them back to the kitchen. He wasn't given a cart, so he had to stack them in his hands. He hoped there was someone who could sweep up the mess on the floor.
Back at the kitchen, the cook devil wasn't happy. "First day and already messing up the orders. Guess you didn't hear very good when you were alive!"
"What?" James was flabbergasted. "I didn't cook the food, you did!"
"Talked back to your boss too, I imagine." Cook Devil grabbed a trident that was leaning against the wall. "One singe for every plate they don't like." Fire shot from the trident, scorching James' face. He cowered, putting his arms up. Two more shots hit him.
"Don't forget to sweep up the mess on the floor out there," the cook said gruffly as he put the trident back. "Broom and dustpan are in the back closet."
Again, James lost track of time as he delivered dish after dish of food that looked nice at first glance, but always had something terribly wrong with it. The diners would shout, berate him, and some would even beat him. And for every rejected dish James would get blasted by the trident. After what seemed like another eternity, Curly Brow came to collect James and take him back to his room, where once again he was stuck on the phone, taking calls from lost souls looking to escape.
One repeat caller seemed to have everything the system asked for, but the call would always drop just before James could read the final script. As for the others, they raged, swore and cried as James protested that he couldn't help, that he was stuck just like them. After what seemed like the thousandth call, James had enough.
"HELLLP!" He cried out, as the current caller was weeping and pleading on the other end. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry!" The pain from his headset was excruciating, but he didn't care. "I'll do anything, anything at all, just make this stop!" The call disconnected, and Curly Brow came in. The pain from the headset ceased.
"Ah, the sweet music of a humbled soul," the devil said joyfully. "Is there anything I can do for you? Go on, tell me, so I can say no."
"What did I do to deserve this?" James put his head in his hands. "I just want to know...what, did, I, DO?"
The devil never lost his smile. "Well, since I'm such a nice person, I'll give you a hint. We tailor our punishments to fit our subject's crimes. For example, that one caller you have that keeps getting cut off before you finish? He used to work for a 911 call center. Didn't like his job much. Kept hanging up on caller after caller in life-threatening situations. Now he gets to feel what it's like. This give you any clues?"
James was scornful. "I've never worked customer service, but I can tell you, I met a lot of folks that did who sure deserve to end up here! Yes, those losers should definitely know how it feels to be on the receiving end of..." suddenly, a switch flipped in James' mind. He remembered all the times he'd called a help line and cussed out the person on the other end, all the times he'd yelled at a waiter because his food wasn't just right. Every time he was rude to a service person flashed before his eyes. James looked up at the devil with the curly eyebrows, who gave his biggest grin yet at the look of horror on James' face.
"Welcome to your just reward, Mr. Jensen!"
The good book says, "With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again". Or in more modern terms, what goes around comes around. Just a little message, phoned in from the Twilight Zone.