Free Awake in Hell by Helen Downing Page A

ask.
    “Follow
me.” he says as he takes my arm and we walk down the corridor.
    “Truck
Bay.” Will announced like he was still on the elevator announcing what floor we
were on.  “And by the way Louise, do you realize that you are 20 minutes
early?”
    Shit!
Being punctual may be the way to go in the land of the living, but in Hell it
is right up there with being helpful. I should have been at least a little
late. Maybe, if Will had taken me all around the stinkified building before reporting for duty. But now, I’m here and Bad Santa is looking
me over like I’m a Christmas cookie. Ugh. I walked up to him and immediately
started in with my excuse-making. “Sorry, I’m early, but the walk wasn’t as
long as I thought,” when he started to laugh.
    “Not
to worry cupcake, the only thing worse than hearing a garbage truck coming down
your street first thing in the morning, is hearing a garbage truck coming down
your street a half an hour EARLY.” Then he patted me on the bottom and took me
to see my newest and shiniest nightmare yet.
    I
am now sitting in the biggest truck I’ve ever experienced. You wouldn’t believe
it, but the stench is actually diminished inside the cab of the truck. It is
still there, and it is still really bad. It’s also even more apparent because
it’s mixed with the revolting “gas-station-restroom-that-has-just-been-cleaned”
smell of pine, coming from a small green cardboard tree hanging off the
rear-view mirror. But, I’m not on the verge of hurling anymore. Well, let me
clarify. I don’t feel like I’m going to hurl from stinkiness anymore. Now, I’m on the verge of a panic attack because they expect me to
drive this truck, all by myself! Bad Santa just tossed me the keys and said
“Map’s on the dash.” Not before he tried to grab my ass again, but this time I
shot him a look that said ‘I’m not the run-to-HR-to-file-a-formal-complaint
kind of a gal. I’m the girl that will find something sharp and do a dichotomy
on you faster than you can blink.’ And while I’m sure that poor, old, scary
Santa hasn’t been face-to-face with his Johnson in quite a few years (before
and after death), he seemed committed to keeping it, because his hand was in
his pocket for the rest of our meeting.
    So
here I am.  Not even sure where or how to start the ignition on this
thing. I probably shouldn’t have scared him that badly. He may have given me a
few pointers before he scurried off back in the direction of the truck bay.
Back to the truck, I’m kind of in awe of how everything in here seems bigger
than it should be. I bet I look tiny in here. That’s a fact I would have liked
to have had when I was alive. No need to diet, girls! Just hang out inside of really
big things and you’ll look small! The steering wheel is actually bigger around
than my arm span. That should make cornering a breeze, right?
    Also,
there are more pedals on the floor than I have feet, so, what the fuck??
    What
doesn’t escape me is that this giant machine, this mechanical monstrosity, has
a sole purpose — to move garbage from one place to another. Isn’t that
remarkable? You have it on your world as well, great, huge heaps of unwanted
waste piling up, spreading out and filling your world with the same stench and
burning piles that are now part of my eternal life. I was never a tree hugger
in life, and I wouldn’t consider myself an activist in any way, even now. But I
have to admit, that I just hate to think that the world above is slowly turning
itself into another version of Hell. And for what? For convenience? Out of
laziness? Out of sheer disrespect for what you’ve got? Well, just wait. Some of
you are bound to end up here.  You’ll see what your children and
grandchildren have to look forward to once you’ve piled up enough trash and
polluted your air and water to the point where Eternal Hell will seem like a
vacation to Club Med.
    Okay,
enough with the soapbox. I have to drive. And I