Their Job for a Day: Number 1 – Death’s PA

It’s a 24/7 job, that’s for sure. Death never rests, never lets up from the continuous gathering of souls, and I have to deal with the paperwork that goes with it. It’s really far too much work for one person to do, but luckily Death can bend time so I do get to have a family and social life. The down side is that I’ll be working ‘til I’m 111. The plus is I don’t age in the time I’m in Death’s realm.

What do I actually do? Removing names from the Ledger of Life and adding them to the Ledger of Death, liaising with the deceased’s God to ensure they have accommodation booked in the afterlife and emptying out the sands of time from every individual’s hour glass. The sands of time have to be emptied into The Abyss; I once made the mistake of using the sand to fill up my egg-timer at home. It brought the poor bloke back to life. It gave the morgue attendant a shock the next morning I can tell you, not least because the guy had actually lost his head in collision with a 72 ton truck, so there was this headless corpse wandering around the morgue all because I wanted my eggs hard boiled. Actually The Abyss is useful for safe disposal of confidential rubbish: old credit card receipts, etc., much better than shredding. You do have to be careful though, one of my green earrings fell in. I won’t be seeing that again.

Contrary to legend, Death usually takes the form of a little girl. I don’t know how the rumours started about Death being a skeleton and all that, I mean it’s not as if anyone would be able to report back on what she looks like. I have to ensure she’s supplied with the dolls and other toys, you wouldn’t believe how often Death loses her dolly.

Say what you like about Death, I believe she takes that form to put people at ease, particularly the boys and girls among her clientele. Many are too young to have a belief in Gods, and are consequently destined for the Void, but I’ve seen Death share her dolly with a girl, talk amicably with her about the afterlife and extract a last minute conversion.

Part of my job also involves talking to the Gods. Ha, that’s nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds. You see a lot of people die expecting to go to heaven, only to be turned away at the pearly gates, fiery doorframe, or whatever, because they failed on some minor regulation; say because they criticised their local vicar, or didn’t attend church regularly enough. I’d try and pick up the pieces, confront the God with the official handbook of the particular religion and point out that, for example, going to church isn’t a requirement of that religion and that the deceased has led a good, moral life. At the same time, a priest who’s done nothing but sin his whole life, who abused his position to rape young children and steal from local charities will just get nodded through.

The easiest God to deal with is the Peruvian Crocodile God, he’ll let anyone in. If I’ve got a confused agnostic, or a lapsed believer in one of the more hardline religions, I’ll try and push them towards the Crocodile God, as it’s a great afterlife and no hassle at all to meet the requirements, you just has to keep away from crocodile sandwiches and crocodile skin shoes. I’ve already signed up.

Another advantage of my job is that there’s no commute, Death merely summons me to her realm. Of course, she can do this at any time, including in the middle of intimate moments, so I always keep a spare set of clothes at work now. I’m not comfortable working au natural, even though, as Death says, she has seen everything there is to see. Literally.

Doing my job makes you think a lot about death and about life as well. I think that’s a good thing, I do tend to treat every moment as if it’s my last. In fact I’ll know in advance when my time is come as it’s me who’ll have to place the ad for my replacement, sift through CVs, organise interviews, chase up references. I’ll be tempted to delay the inevitable by obstructing the admin process, but I think I’m strong enough to resist that temptation.