Memo to the collections department. Attention Grim Reaper.
Inasmuch as your job description simply states “Death” I want you to know there’s a little bit more to it than that.
We have a little system of checks and balances around here. After all—we’re the after-life and I believe that’s your department.
For instance: People die—then you go get em. Now what could be simpler than that, right?
Statistics suggested deaths were up last year, yet souls were down. And healthcare cost were on the rise, but souls were not and therein, I believe, lies the crux of our problem.
Now I don’t like to complain, however you have and have been doing quite a lot of it of late. Or so I’ve been told.
What is all this wailing I’ve been hearing about, about you feeling that you have a dead-end job?
May I remind you sir that when the position first became available you leaped at the opportunity, “Finally, a chance to travel and see the world!” I believe you said.
Now I’m hearing that you feel the health benefits package I provided for you actually sucks. You get to live forever, and have buku power, so what more could you possibly want?
And another thing: What’s all this talk about retirement?
Didn’t I explain to you at the outset that the job entailed a demanding schedule of 24/7 at 365 days a year. People would kill to have your job.
Then there was this business last year where I covered for you so that you could have a few days off in Vegas. Your behavior at the “Hard Rock Cafe” was unseemly at best.
There were those photos of you at the pool wearing nothing more than a pair of sunglasses, and red polka dotted white swimming trunks! For god sakes man, what were you thinking? Sorry, but I just don’t think you have the body for that and definitely not under the hot Las Vegas sun—and in the dead of August no less!
Talk about getting burned. People were saying you looked like death warmed over, and still you were trying to be the life of the party.
Then there’s this recent obsession over peanut butter?
Ever since that movie about you, you’ve had this unhealthy obsession with consuming PB&J’s. Don’t you know that eating that much peanut butter can kill you? I don’t care how much you wanna be like Brad Pitt, peanut butter is not the answer son.
Have you gone all Hollywood on me or what?
Have you forgot the time that you begged me to let you star in that Ingmar Bergman film “The 7th Seal” just so you could go play chess with your idol, Max Von Sydow, while lounging about on a beach.
Sure, I said go ahead go do it if it makes you happy, but I didn’t expect you to go join actors equity afterwards either!
And if you must carry it about, then at least try not to let it look like some sort of security blanket, okay? Creates a bad image, like you have no confidence in what you do.
Come on now, this job is what you make it. Take a walk among the tombstones—things will look up. Lets lay this whole thing to rest shall we?
Remember, April’s just around the corner, and you know how well you and taxes go together. So buck up and stop your whining.
Sincerely: The Big Guy