NEGOTIATING HELL: a sequel to CS Lewis' "Screwtape Letters." Ch18-the calm before the firestorm

“How do you think the Mary-meeting went today?” asked Red, trying to balance an empty beer bottle on his nose. The five minions sat at a table at Smokey’s Bar and Grill.

“Take that thing off, you moron,” yelled Black. “Today was a disaster. We looked like idiots.”

“Well, maybe that’s because we are idiots,” said Orange, the others glaring at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t have started this. We’ve got no documents, no organization, no equipment, no skills, no nothing ...”

“We do too have nothing,” Yellow contradicted him.

“You’re right,” said Black. “But since we’ve unionized, let’s just see what we can get out of Satan. What’s the worst that can happen? We’re already in hell. And look. We’re excused from daily punishments for missing our quotas. We’re big shots now!”

“Yeah, ‘cuz daily punishments are such a morale booster,” said Yellow, sarcastically.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Red with a poorly conceived sense of cooperation.

Immediately, Black turned to Red, “you can help. Since you volunteered, go to block 13 and get the Personnel pawns to help us. Once they help write our list of demands, we’ll nail it to the door of ‘Block-Beelzebub,’ Luther-style.”

Green, Orange and Yellow immediately chimed in with votes of confidence. They were relieved that they were not volunteered for this task. After a raucous discussion, the 4 minions pushed Red out the door, patronizing and reassuring how he was perfect for the job.

“Good work, men! We checked that box,” panted Orange. “Now for a long list of things we want. First of all, how about names?” shouted Orange, turning to watch Black. “I think Satan should know all your names.”

Black popped a vein, “Are you insane? NEVER do we want Satan to know our names. It’s bad enough he knows what we look like. He’d be jerking us around for every scummy job that came to mind. No way in heck…”

“How about lower quotas?” interrupted Yellow. They all chimed in, “…

“Let’s form a stewardship council with office hours. We could change Chapter 3 in “the Book of Torment” to allow more than 2 bathroom breaks per eternity.

Color paint for our prison cells. Maybe some windows would help?

No lines at the grocery store for crappy food? How about better food?

Install showers with soap and shampoo. Restock flip-flops back in the shoe store!

We could ask for impossibilities, like the MN Vikings winning the Superbowl. It's the least we could do for them, with all the hell we are raising there. BTW--that would mean hell froze over. Then, climate change would be for realsies!

What about finding out where the union guru, Jimmy Hoffa is buried?”

“I want free beer.” said Green, taking another swig.

“Yeah, yeah, we all want beer,” said Orange. “Keep the suggestions coming for negotiations. Some things we’ll give up, just to get stuff we want.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Yellow excitedly. “We list ridiculous, stupid items. Then we trade them away for the important things.”

“I just said that you Grapefruit! We need pages and pages of fluff to get more than we need,” added Green.

“All right! It’s a great plan. Let’s go back to our cell blocks to think. On your way, ask all your family, friends and enemies for every kind of banal input. We'll flood and misdirect with minutia. Bring your stupid-stuff lists to our meeting tomorrow,” said Orange. They all nodded in agreement because they were good at stupid.

Black nodded and declared, "hell’s first union meeting is adjourned. May the good Lord help us all.”

As they left, the owner, Smokey shrugged. Something bad was coming but what could he do? Smokey bussed their beer bottles watching them go, thinking, ‘woe unto them, who tippeth not.’ If he watered the beer down anymore, it would be water. That wasn’t allowed. He’d buy beer glasses with thicker bottoms.

Just then a strange, new soul came in and ordered a happy hour beer on tap. Smokey set up a tall one as the Nube took a big gulp. Just as quickly, he spit and sprayed the bar, screeching in disgust.

“Is this part of the initiation here? Your beer tastes like sewage!” The rookie wiped his tongue on his sleeve.

“You’re obviously new around here,” commented a patron at the end of the bar. “You still have taste buds. Like hope, they too, will die. The Prince of Perdition calls that brew, his ‘Cup of Wrath.’ It’s 2-for-1 Tuesday.”

Smokey the owner, had been eavesdropping as he wiped the bar. There were no flunky fights tonight. Except when they pushed Red out the door. Why? That wasn’t normal. Something was up and Smokey didn’t like it. Each visit, those boneheads picked at least one knockdown, drag-out, rollover fight, just for funsies. Was this an omen, the calm before the firestorm? Truly, the end must be near ...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Talking to a wall

Chapter 2: Jerking Satan’s Chain & the burning laptop

Chapter 3: “Hmm …. I guess I read that wrong”

Chapter 4: The devil is in the details

Chapter 5: And what was it they wanted to organize?

Chapter 6: Nothing is ever good enough

Chapter 7: What could be worse?

Chapter 8: The learning curve

Chapter 9: It’s all in the sales pitch

Chapter 10: Uh, huh?

Chapter 11: Just the first day