O living being, gracious and benign, who through the darkened air have come to visit our souls that stained the world with blood, if He who rules the universe were friend to us then we should pray to Him to give you peace for you have pitied our atrocious state. Whatever pleases you to hear and speak will please us, too, to hear and speak with you, now while the wind is silent, in this place.
~The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto V
“So what was so bad about that? That hardly seemed like punishment in there,” Jim asked.
“Those people will never see what the ultimate paradise looks like, because they never believed in the Scranton branch to begin with, Jim.” Michael was looking at him like he’d just told him the sky was green. “The best part is,” he continued as he tried not to laugh, “is that they didn’t know how we rolled in Scranton, so they’ll never even know that Scranton exists.” He began to chuckle.
“So Scranton is Paradise?”
“Um, no, I didn’t say that.”
“You sound kind of defensive.”
“Well, I can’t tell you what Paradise is because I’ve never seen it. David Wallace made me swear…woah, Michael, you’ve said enough…”
Jim tried to press for more answers, but Michael wouldn’t budge. The elevator’s squeaking, lurching descent had reached yet another detour. It looked much the same as the last place, right down to the rock platform and the heavy iron door. Again, Michael removed the key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. With a slight grunt, he pushed the door open and motioned for Jim to step inside. “After you, sir.”
Jim took a step in and noticed immediately that this second room was much more severely decorated than the first one. It was also a large, open space, but rather than buildings and trees, it was populated by small wooden huts. The lighting was dim and the air was cold and damp, with a light, persistent rain falling from the sky, draining into puddles centered in the muddy streets. He could hear the hoot of an owl in a distant, hidden corner covered by dense, sagging spruce trees. He knew that this had to be some sort of step up in punishment…surely they weren’t living the good life here.
At the sound of the door slamming shut, he noticed that the residents of the huts came staggering out into the street, slipping and falling in the mud as they raced toward Michael and Jim. “Food! Food!.” they bellowed…all of them were skinny as poles, as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Rushing to beg at their feet, they pleaded for a scrap of food…anything, to sate their hunger. Michael turned toward Jim and whispered, “watch this” from behind his hand. He removed a Snickers bar from his pocket and tossed it into the throng. That incited a skirmish the likes of which Jim had never seen before…kicking and gouging and biting, until one man who was taller and bigger than the rest secured it. He jumped to his feet and hungrily devoured the chocolate bar. He was clearly a newer arrival, obviously stronger than the rest, and not sharing the same gaunt appearance. Jim thought he looked familiar, and as the crowd dissipated, man’s bald head and uncaring features came into clearer focus. This was….
“PACKER!” Michael shouted, running forward and bumping chests firmly with the much bigger man. He briefly staggered backward at the impact but caught his balance. “Me feeding you, just like always.” Michael was clearly delighted to renew his one-sided friendship here.
“Whatever, Scott. I can take care of myself. So who’s your queer buddy here? Oh, hey Halpert, didn’t recognize you when you weren’t dressed like a little girl.” He cackled. Jim felt that this was going to be an incredibly annoying experience.
“Oh! Oh! Packman in the house!” Michael turned and pushed his arms into the air, as though Jim would find it funny at his own expense.
Jim called out, interrupting the singular admiration party. “So, Michael, can we go now?”
“No, not yet. I’ve got to get something from Packer’s hut over there.” He motioned for Jim to follow him as he slogged through the mud and up the ramp into the hut. The thatched roof and bamboo walls belied a decent existence, save for the lack of food and the terrible weather. He could see into each hut as he passed by it…they had a small cot, a toilet, a sink and a tiny screen that appeared to be a television, broadcasting a faint picture across it. Also, each contained one piece of art…he couldn’t see closely but they looked similar to what he’d noticed in the Stamford office.
He made his way into the middle-aged sales rep’s abode and took the time to survey the surroundings. The tiny television was set to a channel that looked like a satellite feed of the earth. It was barely moving and Jim could see how watching something so methodical and inactive all day would nearly be enough to drive on insane.
Michael was picking up a magazine off the table, apology lacing his voice. “Sorry Packer, but this is illegal material. You know you can’t have Maxim in here. Reader’s Digest and Newsweek only. The Big Guy is making me confiscate it.” He looked as though he was on the verge of tears at the thought of punishing his friend, and he knew that Packer could easily talk him out of it. Surprisingly, he didn’t try, giving in and moping over to sit on his cot. Jim spotted the painting sitting above the head of the man he had no sympathy for. It was another watercolor…lacking a bit of the vividness of the ones he’d seen displayed at the Stamford office, but otherwise a fine portrait of an everyday item. The edges were a little smudged as though the artist’s hand had wiped across it before it had dried…still, the image of a basket of laundry filled with bright, showy shirts and pants sent his mind wandering again…He’d been standing in the local laundry mat…whenever he wasn’t dating anyone, he liked to come here on Saturday nights to avoid some of the rush. Everyone who had a life then was either out on a date or home with their families, leaving single loners like him to either hang around their apartments or go find something to do. He didn’t mind washing, drying and folding as much as he thought he would, the way his mother usually complained about it when he was a kid. Of course, he didn’t have to take care of three kids, feed a family and work a full time job on top of it, so he figured he should hold off on declaring his love for it too much. He silently laughed, then returned to his bitter reality.
Here he was on Saturday night, completely alone in the laundry mat, thinking about his disastrous date with Brenda from the night before. She probably blocked his number by the time she got in the front door of her apartment. Talk about nothing in common, he thought. He was only in that position because he’d dumped Katy in a knee-jerk reaction over Pam‘s engagement on the booze cruise. He sighed as he pulled the last fabric softener sheet from the box and put it in the dryer. This time it was for real, and as he slid the sheet between his fingers, he couldn’t help but feel the thinly veiled irony of the minute gesture in the grand scheme of his life. He closed the machine and sat down in a random chair, grabbing the Time magazine off the table to read over. He had just flipped open the table of contents page when he heard a familiar voice.“Jim?”
“Hey Pam,” he responded before he’d even looked up. It was as natural a reaction to her voice as breathing when he needed air. He turned his head upward and beheld Pam, a basket full of laundry under each arm and a bottle of Tide dangling from her weary fingers. He snapped out of his gazing mode and quickly jumped to her aide. “Here, let me help you with that.” He grabbed the bottle of detergent and one of the baskets, carrying them to the counter beside the machine next to his. He hoped it didn’t seem too presumptuous, and was relieved when she set hers beside it and opened the washer. “So what are you doing here tonight, Beesly?”
“Oh, the washer broke and Roy’s out at Poor Richards with his brother and some friends. We’re supposed to be at his step mom’s for dinner tomorrow night so I have to get this done tonight.” She gestured toward the laundry, her eyes begging him not to make a comment on Roy. When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “Sooo…one could ask the same of you. I thought you’d be out with Brenda again.” He thought he could hear a little bit of jealousy tinting her words, but he thought it best to ignore it.
“Yeah…we went out last night. Didn’t go so well…I accidentally knocked her wine glass into her lap, picked a dud of a movie and ended up running into a college girlfriend of mine who just wouldn’t leave me alone. Plus, she never laughed at any of my jokes. So I *don’t* think I’ll be seeing her again,” he chuckled a bit uncomfortably.
“Oh, too bad…so you traded a warm body for some warm clothes, eh?” Her bright smile melted the nervousness out of his expression.
“I guess so,” he shrugged as he let out a hearty laugh.
Quickly, they fell into their usual routine of joking and laughing, scanning the magazines on the table for ridiculous articles or funny captions; creating wild commentaries, news bulletin-style, for what the people who sauntered by on the street were doing.. When his laundry was finished drying, she helped him fold it…he felt a little uncomfortable at the thought of the woman of his dreams, whom he was barred from being with, helping him fold his boxers, but she didn’t miss a beat…in fact, everything looked a lot better than when he did it. He stayed around and gave her a hand with her laundry, she gently needling him that she would be blaming him for any wrinkles in her clothing and he telling her that with free help, you get what you pay for. He imagined that this could be their life….their Saturday nights spent doing the mundane tasks that he just couldn’t envision ever getting boring, so long as he had her in his life…if he would just take a chance…if she would just let him.
It was nearly midnight when they finished up…he’d taken his clothing out to his car some time before and then helped her carry what she had out to hers.. The laundry safe inside, he straightened his back out to face her and say goodnight. She caught him off guard when she quickly stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the cheek. “You’re the greatest, you know?,” she said softly. “Some girl is gonna be lucky as hell to have you take care of her someday.” She smiled…he could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
“Oh,” was all he could manage, feeling both ghostly white and beet red at the same time. Regaining his composure, he quickly opened her car door and she slipped inside. “Well, goodnight Beesly. See ya at work on Monday.”
“Night Jim,” she said as she closed the door and turned the key. As she was driving away, all he could do was stare into the darkness, smiling uncontrollably. Yeah, it was a good night.
His deep thoughts were broken by the sound of a bell clanging loudly outside. Packer nearly knocked him over in his mad rush out of the hut. Jim moved to the doorway and watched as the entire village traipsed through the deepening mud toward a truck parked in the corner nearest the entrance door. He and Michael walked their way slowly across the slippery expanse to the iron door and paused for a few seconds to take in the chaos of what apparently was feeding time in this area. It looked like little more than slop, but the men devoured it before it would even hit the ground. On the off chance that it did hit the ground, some would eat mouthfuls of mud, desperate for nutrition. Sometimes, they’d try to jump onto the chow wagon, but the guards would simply push them back down with a three-pronged fork. One solitary person didn’t make it, lying face down in the mud halfway between his hut and the wagon. With once last glance, Jim and Michael left the room and closed the door behind them.
“So what were those guys in for? I figured Packer would have a lot worse fate than that,” Jim quipped.
“Well, those are what we call corporate pigs,” Michael said. They didn’t do much good in their dealings with us, but they were relatively harmless because they just didn’t know what they were doing. You see, Jim…Packer…he’s a boor, but he doesn’t know any other way. He never has known any other way. Some people just don’t have the self-awareness of you or I.”
Jim tried hard not to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of Michael’s declaration of self-awareness, although he could see his point. “Huh. I never thought about it that way.” As they stepped onto the elevator platform, he could only wonder just what kind of sights the rest of this journey would bring.
