Today’s Concern is the Plight of the Working Man.

 When the alarm clock rings in the morning it shortens a life by a few seconds.  It reaches it’s cold, heartless fingers into a healthy sleep and pulls the last 5 or 6 seconds of a life and throws them in the waste bin of eternity.  Not much, just a few seconds, but it adds up.  A person has no choice but to climb out of bed, after hitting the “snooze” button at least once.  Scientists are still debating if the snooze button alarm has the same effect, and experiments continue but it may take years.  Comfortable and warm the bed is like a loved ones hug, and life, once again, rips a person away, and throws them into the world.  Barely awake, hardly breathing, heart just warming up to it’s daily job of pushing blood through the body, a terrible thought races through the mind, “what if the coffee maker quit working?”  It is in those moments that the ability to pray returns.

Teeth brushed, hair combed, deodorized, anti-perspired, dressed, and ready for the day, sort of, the world calls.  But, it is a siren’s call, it lies in ambush, silently outside the door, barely able to suppress an evil giggle.

On the way to a car that won’t start are puddles, some of which are bottomless, barking dogs, which ones will

bite, rain, hail, sleet, and snow.  Is it Monday, again?  It is a windy, chilly, wet walk to the bus stop.

Finally, against all odds, work begins, daily toil, responsibility, the stuff of legends, sort of.  Except, the printer is out of toner, shoot, how does this always happen? 

Well, might as well get some coffee, see if there are any treats in the break room, yesterday there were bagels, and cream cheese.

Dang, no treats, and no coffee, either.  Why is the stupid thing always empty?!?!?!?!?  It doesn’t take long to make a pot, so, just wait there until it is finished, no cheating and taking the pot and letting it run right into the mug, either, screw that.  Just wait, right there, until it is done.

Lunch time is special, there is magic in lunch time, it passes more quickly than other time, but it carries power, and it is wonderful.  Unless someone steals your lunch.  Son of a bitch!  A pastrami and swiss with Dijon on marbled rye, salt and vinegar chips and a greek yogurt for desert, and someone took it.  Lunchtime from the vending machine is not the same, it doesn’t sparkle, it glares.   Those cookies had to be a year old, they looked like Dali’s clocks, and tasted like dust. 

Everything has to get better now, this has already been as bad as it can be, right?  Maybe not, the only seat left on the bus is right next to a person who smells like a corpse, and is eating something that has the pleasant aroma of carrion.  Curse the luck.

Walking home a ten dollar bill floats blissfully in front of you and clings to your leg.  Now that is some good luck.

“Hey Mom, I had a great day.  I found $10.00!”  And the phone call just gets better, the smiles are contagious.

Sam Dorpman. The Ongoing Saga of Satan’s Attorney.

Hades has a lot of noise, there is all the anguish and moaning, gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, and general pained bitching and whining.  It is hell, after all.  In an atmosphere like that you need to have a liberal view of volume while watching Television.  So it was with Satan, he had it gassed while watching “Keeping Up With the Almost Famous.”  He planned on taking some notes, and using them in his next negotiation, but forgot to grab a pen, and thought, “I’ll just remember, I’m real good at that.” 

When you keep your TV loud enough to drown out all that misery you need to make sure your phone rings like a siren.  Satan doesn’t take chances, his phone could wake the dead, if they weren’t already awake, and doing the lowly jobs that keep the fires of the underworld stoked.  When it rang, Satan was so startled, he may have been dozing, he spilled a little of his drink, right on the front of his fiery red, asbestos pajamas.

“Damn,” he exclaimed.

“Hello, Beelzebub here, can I tempt you?” he asked the caller politely.

“Hey, it’s Sam, Sam Dorpman.  Your lawyer.  I have a deal, a sweet, sweet deal, for you.  We can make some serious dough on this one.  Do you have a minute?”

“Not sure I should give you a minute, you have been pretty hard on me the last few times I was there.  Remember that guy, Bob, I think, from the roof, he was on board, ready to ink the deal, and you let him slide.  But, the donuts were good.”  Satan said, longing for something sweet, thinking there was a package of cookies in the cupboard, and making a mental note to get a cordless phone.

“It never would have stood up in court, I was looking out for you, that’s all.”  Sam sounded a little hurt.

“Listen, though, here is my plan.  I will represent you, and we will sue me!  It is genius, Lucifer.  We will start with the Bob Williams case and work our way through all of those contracts you fouled up so much.”  Sam was getting so excited his voice was beginning to rise.

“Not so loud, soon we won’t need a phone.”  Satan said, moving the phone away from his ear a little.

“Sorry, but this could make us rich.  I will put you on the stand, and you can tell the jury how I took advantage of our relationship to make you look incompetent.  You can tell them how you started losing self confidence, it cost you souls, and you started drinking, which only exacerbated the whole situation.  Juries love to take pity on a lost soul, and normally they hate lawyers.  That is where we will get them, too.  I will put myself on the stand, and badger and browbeat me, I will be ruthless.  Until finally I breakdown and admit that I have been intentionally misleading you.  The jury will have no choice but to award you a huge settlement, and we can split it 60  /  40, and both come out way ahead.  What do you think?”  If you had been in the law offices of Sam’s Good Legal Advice you would have seen him wipe the sweat from his brow and the spittle from the handset.

“I love it,” replied Mephistopheles, “but, who is going to pay the settlement?”

“You know, I never really thought about that.  Let me get back to you.  I won’t bill you for this call, ok?”

“Thanks, I’ll talk to you later, Sam.”  Satan hung up, got some cookies and thought about getting a new lawyer.