The American Dream

Ring ring.

"Yesssss..." the raspy voice answers.

"Hi, Satan. It's me..." I say.

"Yessss....."

"Uh, I was wondering...is there any way I could get my soul back?"

"We made a deal. I got you what you wanted, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. It's just that it's not exactly what I'd hoped for," I quiver.

"And why not? More money, less work. Isn't that the American Dream?" he chides.

I can picture his toothy grin and his forked tail wagging slowly behind him.

"I thought so..." I answer.

"So what's the problem?" Satan asks.

"There's nothing to it. I drive around all day in the hopes of getting 15 seconds with any of my assigned doctors. I do this 6 or 7 times a day. Then I go to bed and wake up and do it all over again."

"Sounds easy enough...what's there to complain about?"

"I've never been so bored in my life." I sigh.

"Ah. Be careful what you wish for," he says. "Sorry about your luck- but I'm keeping your soul."

"That's why I'm calling. Can we make another deal?" I beg.

"I'm listening....."

"Can I get my soul back and give you my brain instead? I really don't use it anymore....please."

"If I made that deal with every pharmaceutical sales rep I helped out it would be very lonely down here. Sorry, I can't help you."

Click.

Ring ring.

I grab for the phone hoping Satan has changed his mind.

"Hello, Jan?" says a young female voice. "It's Debra from Dr. Horn's office. I'm just calling to find out what you're bringing us for lunch tomorrow."