The Job

There's no possible way man. I don't know what's actually happening here... Wait... Did she drug me? Did that lying wench put something in my drink? Oh man, that has to be it. Oh... Oh... There is going to be absolute HELL to pay when this garbage wears off. I swear I'll kill her. And as for you - SHUT UP! You don't exist and I don't have time for your BS..."

Page 152 of the handbook says that we should be patient, that each individual "processes" these things in their own way and on their own terms. But I honestly have to say that, with people like this, it would make my world a much better place if they "processed" more quietly. In fact, in this case, I would be much more content if this jerk didn't have to "process" at all. Some don't you - need to process that is. Some simply seem to grasp and understand it. But not old Hoss here. "Old Hoss" being a Mr James Vincent Milligan, formerly of 2761 Ivy Terrace, Mt Clemens Iowa.

The ironic part is that the twit had a massive coronary during his nightly war with his wife. Married for over twenty years and the ritual never failed to transpire. At least not on the nights he was home - which, thankfully for the now widowed Mrs Milligan - was only about half the time.

Given the nature of things and since he is still "processing" loudly and with an abundance of profanity, I think maybe we should give him his space and take some time to talk. It will do us all some good - particularly me. So, for those of you here with the rare gift of being able to hear Mr Milligan and his livid last diatribe, might I suggest a skill that I learned eons ago. A magical and deeply transcendental ability that allows one to engage in such moments without becoming overly emotionally stressed or attached.
Ignore him.

By now you are probably putting two and two together - or as together as you can with the information that you possess - and have figured out that I am what you might call The Grim Reaper or the Angel of Death. Those seem to be the two terms that get used most often in this day and age. If so, you are correct in concept, but wrong in the specifics. The entire scythe bearing skeleton wearing a raggedy, hooded cloak? Yeah - some artist in the dark ages got a bit carried away and came up with that one. His little moment of imagination still haunts me and my associates.

That is correct. Associates. As in "more than one". In fact there are so many that I honestly could not provide you with any sort of guess as to the actual number. Think of us like a fast food chain. We're all basically interchangeable and the same, but there is one of us in every neighborhood on Earth. Oh, and we are not called Reapers, nor Angels of Death or any other term that your species has come across. We are not even Angels. We are human souls that have yet to be born, or who were already born and died long ago... it gets fuzzy and we often disagree as to which applies. The proper term to describe us is "Dimensional Transition Facilitators". I refer to myself as "The poor shmuck who has to tell people they just died and then wait while they freak out until they finally cave in and get quiet enough for me to send them on to what's next".

Oh, and don't bother asking me the obvious question about what is next. I haven't the slightest clue. If there is a "next" I've never been there.

Hold on a second, duty calls...

Mr Milligan... Mr Milligan.. James... HEY JIM! Look man, you can't hang yourself. You're already dead. So please take the belt from around your neck and put it back on your pants where it belongs. And when I say "please" I truly mean "please" because, frankly, with a beer gut like that you should really have spent more time buying pants that were not that baggy. Jim... Seriously. Squeeze all you want. I'll even jump in and yank as hard as I can if it will convince you that you cannot hang yourself. You good? You catching on yet? Any of it coming back? Middle of calling your wife a worthless piece of trash, sharp pain, drop to the floor... any of this ringing any bells? OK... OK... you sit there and think about it. I'll be right here.

Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh, yeah. As I was saying, if you think I can give you the inside skinny on anything beyond the fact that I, or someone like me will show up when you die? Sorry to disappoint but we simply do not know. God works in mysterious ways and all. Or so you people say at least.

Changing topics... Between you and me I am actually pretty shocked that this guy is having such a hard time grasping this concept. He drank more than a case of beer a day for decades. He ate pork like there was a pig shortage. The last time he had a salad he was wearing a neon "Frankie Say" shirt, had a mullet and Duran Duran was playing in the background. I just don't see how this is such a shocker for him.

Meh. I shouldn't be surprised. Actually I should be thankful that he's at least "processing". You know, when I showed up to facilitate Socrates I ended up wasting fourteen years - of your time - debating with him that he was dead and that he ever existed. That bastard has a counter argument for everything and half of it was enough to make Descartes flinch.
By way of comparison, Descartes was rather happy and eager about it all. I could not finish my mandatory checklist fast enough for him. Whisp - through the next door he went.

What's it like to be one of us? I hate when you people ask that question. Look. We don't sleep. We don't eat. We don't have hobbies or interests. We do this, all day, every day, for what you would refer to as eternity. The ONLY blessing to it all is that we exist outside of time and, therefore, have no awareness of it's passage. I suppose it's the only way we can keep up with the demands of the job. Billions of you and, even with our numbers, my plate is always full. There is always a next appointment the instant that I finish up the paperwork from my current assignment. Group transitions are not uncommon even. Particularly when an accident or your species stupidy causes a lot of people to find themselves dead all at the same time and in the same place. The handbook is very clear out the whole thing. Round 'em up, let them help each other "process" and then shuffle them on as politely as possible.

Groups tend to go easier anyway. I suppose it's the whole "not alone" thing. It's kind of rare for anyone in a group to have a Mr Milligan type breakdown. Even when one does, it actually helps the rest of the group as they tend to get caught up in watching the spaz and their "processing" happens organically and on a subconscious level.

Well, except for war zones. If I had a nickel for every dead war zone guy who saw me and then spent the next minute or two ( contextually speaking ) trying to shoot me... Well I'd be a non-human ethereal entity with a lot of nickels. There was this one time a guy threw a grenade at me and I got in a LOT of trouble because I could not resist the urge to catch it and throw it back. This resulted in, as far as I know, the transitional dimensions first and only came of hot potato.

Yeah. That got me sentenced to a very long period of only transitioning Jihadists. Imagine all the fun and joy of explaining that there are no damned virgins here, over and over again. All day, every day. That was a rough gig and more than enough to teach me to follow the handbooks rules about being polite.

Nope. They never let us have any fun.

Hey. Look at that! Milligan seems to have calmed down. Give me a minute if you don't mind.

Jim... Hey buddy. Is the fog clearing? Do you remember now? The pain? Falling? Do you understand what is happening? That's right. You passed away. You have left the human condition. No... No... I'm not an Angel. I'm simply here to be here. To be here for you. To show you that there is more. Soon a door is going to appear and I am going to need you to walk through it. I'll be frank Jim and tell you that I don't know what's behind the door. Heaven? Hell? Nothingness? Reincarnation? Any or all of the above? I truly don't know. What I do know is that you are an entity and entities remain whole. That is the long and short of what I understand. You will continue being you regardless of where that door leads. Are you ready? Good man... Wait... calm down brother. She's going to be fine without you. She will miss you, but she'll be OK. She's not on my list anytime soon. That work? You ready? Fantastic

What about you? Are you ready?

Wait. You hadn't figured it out had you? Damn, the group thing didn't fully click this time. Think about it. You've been standing here talking to a Dimensional Transition Facilitator for awhile now. Did that not strike you as odd and out of place? I'm truly sorry. You are a much brighter subject than our companion and I took it for granted that you would piece it together and let it all sink in as we spoke.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the door is waiting for you as well.

Look on the bright side. At least you get a door. I'll never get to walk through one and I envy that more than anything else. You have the blessing of finding out the ultimate mystery while I am stuck here putting out emotional fires. Trust me - even if that door opens into your worst nightmare, you're better of there than here. And, truthfully, probably better off than you were down there.

Ah, and there's the door. Best of luck you two. I would stay and wave but duty calls. There is always somebody waiting for their door to close and for this one to open.

At least he stopped drinking more than a case of beer for decades.
Maybe I missed it.
But who is the "companion" that's crossing over with you?

a reply to: Hefficide

That's a great story, man. I don't think I'd like that job. The narrator sure doesn't seem pleased with it.

Hm. That was interesting. I don't much care what you write Heff, as long as you write!

" Dimensional Transition Facilitator". Love it. ( I wonder if there really is one.) This is sorta For Whom The Bell Tolls-ish.