Divine Promotion

He died.

But that is understandable. I mean, you wouldn't expect to survive such a fall, would you? Then again, you wouldn't expect a story that begins with the main character dying, now would you? Probably yes, but I'm not here to discuss your deduction abilities, reader, so don't worry about it.

I'm here to tell you that, seconds after dying, he was in a waiting room...Don't ask me how in your mother's name he went there...and don't ask me where "there" was. I'm here to entertain you, not to inform, and the knowledge of that would hinder your enjoyment of this tale.

Most people would've guessed that the waiting room was a nondescript small room with a couch or two, some reading material and a door, maybe two. And in this case, they would've guessed right. But that was of little importance, since, even before he was able read one of the magazines, a red light went on, and a voice was heard throughout the room, saying, "Please, come in."

After he went through the door and sat on a chair, he noticed a teenage girl with a headset, chewing bubble gum and cutting her nails, "Welcome...sir! My name is Jarnia, and I'm here to show you the way to your chosen afterlife...sir!"

"Well...thanks. My name is..."

"Oh don't about it...sir! I know your name and everything else too...sir!" she giggled as if she had made the funniest joke, "It's here in the files...sir! Now, it looks like you never got around to deciding where you want to go after you died while you were, like, living...sir! So I'm here to show your options...sir! Do you have any, like, preferences...sir?"

"Well...I heard you get to have girls in the muslin heaven."

"Righto! Oh...wait, no, you can't, like, go there...sir. You need four prayers a day and everything, but you only prayed, like, three times...in your entire life...sir!"

"But they were good prayers, no?"

"Actually...no...sir."

"Dammit! Okay...so, which afterlife am I qualified to go then?"

"Well, the christian heaven is always accepting, but you'll have to do..." she swiped a big calculator from her pocket and pressed some buttons, "59087645395847593.8765 years of purgatory...sir."

"I'll pass."

"Righto! Well...the Jade Emperor needs folks to clean Monkey King's poop...sir."

"Isn't there something less...boring?"

"Hmph...Odin needs more people to clean the dishes every night after they eat the unending boar...sir."

"I wanted something more...unorthodox. I've been a public servant all my life, I want to have a well-deserved rest."

“Unorthodox…sir? There’s those guys in room 312, they started last week…sir, and they’re trying to mordenize the market, or something…sir. But they haven’t decided for an afterlife yet, so you may talk to them…sir”

“Well…it probably won’t kill me to try. Thank you.”

“Righto! And have a good day…sir!”

After this exchange, he went through a nearby corridor, with various numbered doors, “Greek Pantheon”, “Egyptian Pantheon”, “Nordic Pantheon”, “Taoism” and so on. Until door 312, that read “Paulson, Paulson & Paulson”.

Now, most people would’ve guessed that the place where the Gods from Paulson, Paulson & Paulson resided would be a heavenly place with choir voices chanting songs of unending praises. In this cases, most people would’ve guessed wrong.

The place was a run-down office with cardboard boxes all around and a faint sound of experimental rock music seemingly coming from the walls. When he entered, a man in a blue business suit and a purple bowtie came to him and said, “Welcome! I suppose you’re here to hear about our afterlife opportunities? I’m Jack, the democratically elected representative of the Gods.”

“Wow.”

“Yes. They have leaders of the Gods, kings of the Gods, emperor of the Gods, God of the Gods and so on, but I’m the first of this new generation of modern administrators.”

“Uh…I’ve heard you’re starting now, and I wanted to see what advantages your religion can offer to me.”

“Yes, yes, of course. You may ask anything.”

“How many followers do you currently have?”

“Well, as of now, we have a guy in…Brazil?” the God said, asking not him, but a girl with pink dyed hair.

“Yes, but we intend to branch out soon.”

“Thank you! That’s Gloria, Goddess of statistics, by the way.”

“Goddess of statistics?”

“Yes, most of the cool positions have much competition, so we decided for a niche market. Steve here, for example, wanted to be God of war, but they have an ‘’aggressive’’ competition for that, so he had to settle with hexadecimal numbers.”

“Hmm…so, when you’re not the democratically elected representative of the Gods…what do you do?”

“I’m the patron of microbiology and step dancing, and I may help you with skin diseases, if you give me enough time. But come here. That’s Mike, the God of rock ‘n roll. He paid for the office, so we have to let him play that fricking guitar all day.”

Suddenly, Jack turned around and faced him. So suddenly, in fact, that he wasn’t prepared to stop, and his elbow hit Jack’s nose.

“Ouch! Take care with that! Caham…say, are you interested in Godhood? We have some positions that need filling, specially the whole organization matters: sins, rewards and all that stuff. I’m a people’s person, but I’m terrible in organization.”

“Well…I dunno. I was expecting to rest.”

“See, another thing we’re lacking. We need a proper afterlife. Maybe you could work part-time? We seriously need someone to help us.”

“Alright. What position do you need filled?”

“Well, you could be the God of finances…oh no, Hades will not like that…what about God of organization, patron of public servants and treasurer of the Gods?”

“…Okay, but I want five months of vacation every year, only work four hours a day, a nice room…and a dog.”

“Yes, yes, of course. When can you start? We have those boxes that no one is quite sure where they should go and…and we need proper names for things, I mean, Paulson, Paulson & Paulson is only provisional...And we also need a book of some sort, I’m a terrible writer…”

And thus was how that recently dead, greedy, incompetent lazybones become the God of organization and public servants...that explains much, don’t you think?