Free Remembering Hell by Helen Downing Page A

been back here for
less than a day and this horrible place is already fucking with me. Welcome
home, Louise!” I say, just as Joe walks through the door and onto the street.

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
     
    Linda was kind of proud of the fact
that she had never learned to type. Not even when everyone got computers and
the internet and the average kid could type seventy words per minute before
they could eat solid food. She had only worked for a few years before marrying
Hank. Always as a hostess in a restaurant, or a “Can I get that in your size?”
girl in a retail store. With all of that in mind, her first day as a legal
secretary did not hold a lot of promise.
    Until she actually walks into the
offices of Davis, Morgan, and Lugner, the largest law firm in Hell as far as
she could tell. Behind the desk at the entrance is the woman who has
interviewed her yesterday. She smiles to herself as she remembers the so-called
interview. It basically went like this:
    Linda walks in and states that she
is looking for a job.
    This very crabby woman looks at her
through teeny tiny slits of eyes and says, “Have you ever worked in a law
office?”
    Linda says, “No.”
    “Do you have any secretarial
skills?”
    Linda says, “No.”
    “Nothing? No typing, no dictation,
no phone étiquette?”
    Linda says, “No.”
    “Would you consider yourself a
people person?”
    Linda stops and thinks about it.
After ninety years of dealing with just a handful of folks, many of whom she
was related to or thought of as family, she still ended up taking out the one
that was supposed to be her favorite before shuffling off the mortal coil. So
ultimately she gave the only answer she could. “No.”
    “Okay, you start tomorrow. Nine
am,” says Ms. Grumpy Pants, then goes back to doing whatever it was she was
doing, which by Linda’s best guess is pretty much pretending Linda doesn’t
exist. So she turns around, walks out the door, and leaves. Officially an
employee!
    Now, Linda is awake and ready for
her new career. She notices that the closet once again has a single outfit
hanging inside. Ah, she thinks to herself, the magical world of Hell. She
notices that this particular piece of magic is a skin tight pencil skirt dress
with a print that she is having difficulty looking at directly. This dress
pulled over her aged body, with all its lumps and bumps really should come with
a warning label that reads “May cause epileptic seizures.” Not to mention
actually trying to move or walk in this skirt will be downright comical. Her
thoughts land on an old memory of a character on the Carol Burnett show. Mrs.
Wiggins, a ditzy secretary who inches along like a penguin walking with an egg
between her legs. Unfortunately, I have neither the figure nor the comic timing
of Carol. Linda thinks with a sigh.
    Setting off on the somewhat
short—today is a bit longer, due to the skirt—walk to her new office, Linda
begins to wonder about the nature of her job. Why do we need a law office in
Hell? To sue people? Can you sue someone for screwing you over in a place where
virtually everyone has screwed someone over? And what do you sue for? A million
dollars? Why the fuck would you even need a million dollars here? So you could
buy the biggest house or the nicest car in the grandest shithole in the
universe? She starts to actually laugh at the absurdity of that idea. Perhaps
she will have the chance to ask Ms. Frowny Face during orientation or whatever.
But Linda is also a bit doubtful. She has found pretty consistently since
arriving here that no one is forthcoming with information, and certainly not up
for friendly conversation either.
    When she walks into Davis, Morgan,
and Lugner her doubts are confirmed. No one greets her, welcomes her, or tells
her what to do. So much for orientation. Linda thinks as she wanders through
the office.
    “Hello? I’m supposed to start
working here today!” She yells to no in particular.
    “Well then, I suggest you