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THE MANAGEMENT CAUCUS ROOM: the next day
With the strike looming, Mary arrived early for contingency planning. In a zone, she was working at her desk when poof! Satan appeared in her face, intending to scare her. She felt his presence, ignored it and continued writing. Mary was becoming immune to Satan’s dramas. This forced him to seek new ways to get a rise out of her. After a few seconds, she finished working and looked at him.
She kept her poker face but holy hiccups, he looked amazing. He was dressed in full Scottish regalia. Later, she learned he avatarred the brazen, Laird Lachlan MacIntosh, notorious Highland cattle thief. Satan’s scarlet argyle kilt was accessorized with matching vest, flashes, brooch-fly, sporran, ghillie brogues and sgian dubh. Impeccably, he pulled everything together with a ‘Stirling’ silver kilt belt, buckle, pin and matching tartan bow tie.
Without missing a beat, Mary asked, “thanks for coming in early, but when you get a minute, would you be willing to discuss strike strategy please?”
“Not right now, I’m busy.” said Satan, talking to a mirror.
“I can see that,” said Mary as she continued to write.
“What are you writing?” asked Satan, feigning interest.
“Your Spiciness, we are facing a strike,” said Mary. He ignored her.
He was in denial. Loud enough for Mary to overhear, Satan mused, “I’m so incredibly handsome, I can hardly stand myself.”
“You and the entire universe,” she muttered. He was the plot twist that no one asked for. In her head, she played vanity songs by Carly Simon, SZA and Olivia Rodrigo.
Mary shook her head. Negligent, earth-leaders skipped strategy also. They prioritized appearances and promotions over solid agreements, which benefited both sides. Good faith communication is cleansing, within the correct circumstances. It reminded her of the sacrament of confession. Yes, confession.
Together in this sacrament, the entire Trinity works together to receive prodigals back into the fold. A cruder way to describe confession is — it allows souls to vomit every evil hairball that demons have convinced us to swallow. Whether literal or figurative, nothing feels better, than to up-chuck and walk away. Mary felt sorry for priests, sitting in layers of evil emesis for hours in a claustrophobic confessional. Emotionally exhausting, good priests take on our sins similar to Old Testament scapegoats. As shepherds, they vow to save all souls in their flock, or at least the cooperative ones. In turn, they pray for us, remove community temptations and preach avoidance. For the sinner, confession is a shower for the soul.
Negotiation in general is similar, in theory. It allows first-hand, employees stuck in corner-cutting and anger-provoking situations; to participate in good-faith and diplomatic dialogue toward positive growth. In practice, both involves fallible humans who bring peevish personalities and confounding variables. When applied to unions, Mary did her best to help those caught in the middle.
THE NEGOTIATION ROOM later that afternoon
Along with extra ice water pitchers, the early morning’s refreshments included new varieties of cookies and petit fours. This was in addition to donuts. The day passed in another glutton fest. Strike details were discussed. Tedious minion requests were presented on how to frame it, followed by unhelpful outbursts from Satan.
At the moment, the minions were caucusing about picketing. This left Mary and Satan alone to debrief the day thus far. He hated hell’s tanking soul-collection data.
Frustrated, Satan asked, “what’s taking so long in their caucus? We better not have missed their sugar crash. You promised me a sugar crash. I want a sugar crash and I want it now.”
Mary agreed. She looked at her watch. They caucused over an hour ago. She walked over to listen at their door — nothing. She knocked on their door — nothing. When she opened it, the room was empty of beings. She guffawed, entertained by their courage. Satan got up to see why she was laughing.
“Valid! We ghosted them yesterday. It’s only fair, they return the favor. My guess is they snuck out for a drink,” chortled Mary, slowing to a titter.
“Snuck out? Snuck out?” asked Satan. “How dare they?” He verified her supposition. Indeed, their caucus room was empty. “Why I oughtta …” as he escalated.
Mary gave Satan the side-eye of doom.
Satan sat down, quietly. It was the same malicious vibe as when she called him a big baboon. That moment traumatized him for a lifetime.
“I’m not a baboon,” he whispered to himself. “They have little pink butts.”
“What did you say?” asked Mary in a deep, dark tone, thinking she heard mumbling.
“Nothing,” sulked Satan. He got up to pace. Meanwhile, he caught himself in the mirror. He double-checked his backside. He was happy to see there was no little pink butt.
After a minute, he snapped. “I want those lint-licking leeches back here this instant.” If there had been minions around, something unspeakable might have happened.
“Now wait a minute,” said Mary. “Let’s find out where they went. My guess is they’re at a local watering hole, assuming hell has them?”
“Yes, we have one,” replied Satan, clueless. “Why?”
“Two reasons, off the top of my head.” Mary showed him 2 fingers.
Mary continued, “they wrote beer at least once on every page of their proposal. In fact, their final 799+ pages contain in-detail: every type, brand, brew, IPO, micro, earthly recipe and geographical hop they want to taste.” She thought, with a good photographer, it would make an elitist, oversized coffee table book.
“Where’s…. where’s…what’s his name?” stuttered Satan.
“You mean Virgil,” said Mary.
“Yes, Nigel!” bellowed Satan. “Get in here this instant, I have a job for you.”
In strolled Virgil, “you bellowed, Your Flatulenceness?”
“Yes, I bellowed,” yelled Satan, realizing what he had just said. “I want my minions here this instant and I mean now…”
Mary interrupted, “hello Sir Virgil. Good to see you.” She turned back to Satan, “again, maybe we should find out where they are, first.”
“They are at Smokey’s, Miss Mary Ma’am,” Virgil bowed to Mary.
Satan cringed at the spoken name of Mary. He was afraid of that 16-year-old Jewish girl, the mother of God. “What are they doing…?” Satan started in again ...
Mary held her hand up as if to say, ‘shut up and let me handle this.’ “What’s Smokey’s?” asked Mary politely.
“Smokey’s, Miss Mary, as you put it, is the local watering hole,” replied Virgil.
“What do they serve?” asked Mary.
“Smokey’s serves the worst watered-down beer that I will allow.” Satan butted in, quite pleased with himself.
“Well, what if the beer is un-watered down this time around?” asked Mary.
“What?” yelled Satan, horrified. He choked on the very thought. “You want them to drink real beer? I’m shocked that you would suggest such a thing!”
“If they’re used to watered-down beer,” explained Mary, “what happens if they consume real beer?”
“If I may?” Virgil interrupted, “they become beverage-enhanced. Or in common parlance, intoxicated.”
Mary continued, “Satan, you’ve achieved a trifecta: drunk, dopamine-drugged and deep food coma. In their current condition, your minions may sign anything. I can prepare an agreement, ready to sign, if so directed.” This must be Satan’s idea.
“How unfair of me,” boasted Satan with a big leer on his face. “They won’t be in control of their faculties. Yes, I am a devious devil.”
“While I cannot officially advise it, you are responsible for all final decisions. Out of curiosity, what defines, ‘being of sound mind’ in hell-legalese?” asked Mary.
“Vinnie,” Satan pointed at his butler as he waved off Mary.
“Smokey will ask, Your Unbearableness, who is to finance this secret-sauce sabotage,” Virgil both stated and asked.
“Tell him to put it on my tab,” Satan ordered.
“Very good, Your Preposterousness, “Virgil nodded, and left to obey.
“You have a tab?” asked Mary, incredulously. “Aren’t you the Prince around here?”
Satan said, attempting his patented look. “I take it off his rent.”
Mary shook her head. She could not imagine paying for the privilege to run a commode-hole tavern here. Then, she wondered what sin this poor Smokey-character committed, to earn this degree of punishment.
< See below link for Chapter 26: “There is no light at the end of this tunnel” >
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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 9: It’s all in the sales pitch
Chapter 11: Just the first day
Chapter 12: Let’s get comfortable
Chapter 14: The 2nd day & who is messing with whom?
Chapter 15: The meeting of the minds—to waste
Chapter 16: The minions in the Caucus Room
Chapter 17: Stop & smell the roses
Chapter 18: Same evening, different place or the mindless are meeting
Chapter 19: Paper, Rock or Scissors
Chapter 20: My issues are stupider than yours!
Chapter 21: You have the right to remain silent
Chapter 22: Let the stupidity begin
Chapter 23: When in hell, it doesn’t matter what day it is
Chapter 24: Insolence at its finest
Chapter 25: Striking for the hell of it
Chapter 26: The signing ceremony
Chapter 27: Mary’s contingency is fulfilled
Science cannot explain suffering. As Lay Passionist and nurse, she challenges modern health care assumptions; contraception, abortion, euthanasia, herd immunity and more. Behind every health dilemma, God asks us to abide in Him. Author of 7 books & >20 peer-reviewed nursing journal articles; she also writes as "The Catholic Nurse" on Substack, see "Archives." She is a veteran of the Army Nurse Corps. Her primary charism is mercy through which she explores redemptive suffering, spiritual healing and the joy of bringing of souls to God.
