NEGOTIATING HELL: a sequel to CS Lewis' "Screwtape Letters." Ch 23-Gluttony

"Gluttony dulls the heart and mind.

Conquering gluttony is foundational, because it trains the will for all other virtues.

Through Adam and Eve’s disobedient appetite: gluttony was the first sin that brought death into the world."

- Venerable Louis of Granada

As Mary left for duty the next morning, she realized one category of torture was monotony. “Let me count the ways…” she said aloud.

As she reached her office, she wondered if she was in a groundhog day movie.

Whoever said hell was fun was a lying, dog-faced, pony soldier. Clearly, their soul deserved to be stuck somewhere, like here, forever.

In x-ray, she wondered what sins the security guards committed to earn their punishment. Or was this their purgatory too? Who else here was purgatorial?

Mary settled down to work in their caucus room. She organized the minion proposal originals. She kept them with her at all times. trusting no one. These originals could not disappear, since her eternity depended on them. Meanwhile, she prioritized and summed all low-cost requests. So far, it was not horrifyingly expensive. Now, for the high-ticket requests. Meanwhile, the door opened as someone waltzed in. Whoever it was, they were wearing an attention-seeking outfit. She stared incredulously.

“How do you like my new outfit?” asked the being. Mary froze. “What?” he asked.

Recognizing Satan’s voice, Mary asked, “what are you doing?” The outfit not only clashed but it anachronized history. Either he was a kid playing dress-up or an old-timer playing a round of golf.

“Why, does it make me look fat?” Satan paraded between mirrors, turning and strutting. Satan sported white boxer shorts under low-slung, hip-hop style, thigh-riding, baggy, variegated jeans, twice the size of his waist. He accessorized the disaster with cowboy boots, gold chains, a flowered shirt and a bowler hat. Could anybody look more stupid?

Mary bit her lip to stifle her response. How does one respond to a question like that? No wonder husbands were speechless when wives asked them thusly.

Satan stared at her, waiting for his answer. Finally Mary asked, “What possessed you to assemble that ensemble?”

“I wanted to mix it up a bit,” replied Satan. Certainly, he checked that box.

Of all the ways to respond, Mary chose to massage Satan’s ego with tact. While technically safe from Satan’s wrath, she feared over-exposure.

“My recommendation is normal clothes. With all your beauty and charm, why cover it up? You don’t need help to look good. Ever hear of too much ketchup? God made you perfect, just the way you were ... "

“You think so?” asked Satan staring in the mirror. Hmm, maybe you’re right. Now I see it. This ignores my regality and sabotages my comfort. I have this constant urge to pull at my ….”

Mary plugged her ears and yelled. “Boundaries!”

Satan left, presumably, to change clothes. ‘Dodged a bullet there,’ thought Mary. Although, it would be fun to see the minions react. Had that been a test? Mary was tired of Satan’s mind games. She needed a raise, a heavenly one.

Alone, Mary skipped to the minion’s no-dollar proposals. They wanted to …

Negotiate the number of minions in hell and close the borders

Participate in planning hell’s total operating budget

Create a consistent disciplinary process and

Vote in all referenda and decision-making processes.

She guffawed. Was Satan was even involved in these things? As Mary worked, Satan strolled in wearing khakis, a Brooks Brothers’ navy-blue blazer over a white-collared long-sleeve, button-down shirt and mahogany-buffed, penny loafers. She was relieved. Obsessed over appearances, Mary was pleased with his presentation.

“Very nice,” complimented Mary, sincerely. “I apologize, but that first outfit looked stupid.”

“Of course it did.” replied Satan, “I was checking to see what you would do.”

Mary responded, “my job is to ensure you are taken seriously by your subordinates.”

“Yes, I’m aware that I am surrounded by yes-men,” sighed Satan. “Your candor is refreshing.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it,” said Mary, wondering if Satan was returning the compliment or testing for weakness. “I was concerned…”

Satan interrupted, “I said I found it refreshing, I didn’t say I liked it.” Satan looked at Mary with angst. Mary didn’t care. She had deadlines.

Mary changed the subject, “now that you are packaged appropriately, what do you think will happen today?”

“I don’t care because they will get nothing,” declared Satan. “By the way, what news of the ice-water pitchers I agreed to provide?”

“Yes” replied Mary. There are several ways to handle this matter.”

“I’m listening,” said Satan, as he walked over to his favorite mirror. Satan’s ego was exhausting. He was true management material.

While he tuned her out, she listed his options.

“You give them pictures of ice water. Pictures and pitchers sound alike. There is no documentation to prove anything otherwise.

You provide a finite amount for all legions to share, say, 2 pitchers.

You put restrictions on water consumption: when, how or where they get it.

Or …” Mary paused to get his attention for the last option.

Satan was half listening to Mary. He was impressed with her maneuverability. She had the potential to be useful. Why hadn’t he noticed this sooner? “Or, what?”

“You give them actual ice water.” finished Mary.

“Tell me again, why would I give them ice water?” asked Satan.

“To prove you can be a nice guy — if they cooperate and conform to your wishes,” said Mary. “Remember, ice melts in hell and water evaporates — some glasses might be empty over time. Here are more ideas.

Assign someone to inventory pitchers so they don’t 'evaporate' with the water.

Make someone responsible to precisely-measure the water. With evaporation, they fail. If they fail, there are consequences.

For egregious failures, you market your generosity through light sentencing.

Or leak it to every soul in hell that union stewards got water while no one else did.”

Satan tapped his chin, “that is a comprehensive set of options. You’ve thought about this thoroughly.”

“Thank you,” said Mary. “This demonstrates why the how is never discussed. How is where leverage lurks. Mary looked at her watch. "Is there anything else? I’m ready to go, if you are ...”

AT THE SAME TIME, THE MINIONS, IN THEIR CAUCUS ROOM…

The minions gathered in the morgue. Vladious the Green was missing, presumably nursing his hangover. Only Vlad could get drunk on watered-down beer. He was a lightweight, in more things than ethanol.

“I say we start without him!” declared Adolphious the Black.

“Maybe we should wait,” said Ebenezious the Orange. “Green said he had a good idea.”

“Wanna bet?” injected Stalinious the Red, mimicking the missing gambler.

“Vladious the Green has never had a good idea. He’s all talk but no guts.”

“I’ll take that bet.” interjected Hilarious the Yellow.

“We must wait!” declared Ebenezious the Orange. “We must present a united front.”

“I don’t trust Mary,” muttered Adolphious the Black. “Not only is she human, she’s a girl!”

Ebenezious the Orange emphasized, “I like girls. Whatever we do, we stick together. Everything must be solidly united, including our disagreements.”

“How do we disagree in unity?” asked Adolphious the Black.

Ebenezious the Orange pontificated, “it’s time for a change. I want to fix this place!”

“Aren’t you taking this too seriously?” Hilarious the Yellow questioned. “Do you think Satan will bow to any of our demands? He won’t bow to gravity.”

“Yes, I believe in us.” stated Ebenezious the Orange. The other minions looked at each other, laughing. “Stop! I’m serious,” asserted Orange. “We can do this. Our proof, is ice water pitchers.”

“Ebenezious, how many 13th-century opiates did you do?” asked Adolphious the Black.

Ebenezious the Orange raised his hand, “I want to hope again.” The others gasped. Hope was contraband in hell. Just then, Vladious the Green ran into the room.

“Guess what,” he said breathlessly. “There are donuts in the negotiation room! Real donuts and 3 full pitchers of ice water.”

“What?” the others asked in disbelief.

“Fresh, warm donuts and they’re frosted, with jimmies! They look real and smell heavenly. Oopsies—sorry!” said Vladious the Green. “Plus, there’s ice water in frosty pitchers.” Immediately, the minions clogged the doorway. They were in such a hurry, they plowed over their negotiation chairs, the table and Green.

On a side table with a lacy, linen tablecloth; was a towering display of tiered donuts. There were every kind imaginable, accompanied by full pitchers of ice water. With both hands, donuts of every kind were shoved into their mouths.

“Wait,” yelled Ebenezious the Orange. “It could be a trap. When has Satan given us anything good or shown kindness?”

“Never!” said Hilarious, spitting crumbs as he talked. “I’m going all-in. Who knows if it will ever happen again and we can’t die from poison!”

“Probably not a trap,” said Stalinious the Red, gulping ice water at a brain-freeze pace. Standing back, Adolphious the Black watched the ice water evaporate, as a door slowly opened. They scrambled behind their up-ended table to hide.

Mary entered first, followed by Satan. Mary set files on her table and came to check refreshments. From the wreckage, it was obvious the minions were here. Mary was impressed. Virgil outdid himself. She didn’t think it was possible. She would thank Virgil for the miracle. Even so, Mary passed on the refreshments. The minions would have licked or fingered everything by now.

The minions peeked over the furniture, looking for Satan. Quivering, they sported ‘beards’ of colored frosting and sprinkles.

“You!” said Satan angrily, aiming a finger at Mary. “I want a word with you, in private.” He headed into their caucus room. Satan’s selective memory was jammed in overdrive.

Mary stood fast. She asked calmly, “did you mean to call a caucus?” She was ready for this.

Satan roared, "now!" Confidently, Mary followed and closed their door.

The minions, suspecting a final chance at donuts and ice water, returned their focus to their ‘refreshments’.

MANAGEMENT’S CAUCUS ROOM…

“What is the meaning of this? Who authorized this?” demanded Satan.

“You did,” replied Mary, expecting worse. “You said no beer. Did you see beer anywhere?”

“I did no such thing” said Satan angrily. “I would never agree to this. I am disappointed.” He stomped to the mirror and muttered, “disappointed, yes indeedy. And to think I had such high hopes for you.”

Mary ignored the sabotage and changed the subject, “thanks for sending Virgil to help arrange this. Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Who’s Virgil?” asked Satan, confused.

“Virgil is your valet, your manservant and your butler,” retorted Mary.

“How do you know his name?” demanded Satan.

“Again, because I asked him. It’s called communication. You might enjoy his repartee,” replied Mary.

"I hate fun," declared Satan. "Fun is a tool to attract and consume souls. I despise beings."

"Do you despise yourself? If I may continue,” said Mary. “This works to our advantage. Hell’s five most entitled negotiators are overdosing on carbs like marathon-running, death-row convicts. Their brains are swimming in serotonin and drowning in dopamine. That and their blood sugar-buzz will be followed by a major crash-out. You, of course, will take full advantage of both situations.

“Yes, I will,” said Satan. “I planned this all along.”

“Yes,” drawled Mary, “It is a brilliant strategy, and you are a genius.”

“Yes, I am,” replied Satan, agreeing to himself in the mirror. “I appreciate you remembering. We need more gratitude around here. You will develop a training manual that captures all my tactics.”

“I’ll add it to your to-do list,” sighed Mary. “Let’s go watch. I don’t want to miss the show ... ”

< See below link for Chapter 24: “Insolence at its finest” >

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