Hell is a Woolworth’s Counter

We all know you can make a deal with the Devil; people have been talking about this since time began. Maybe in the beginning, they wanted a bigger stone to use against their enemies. Now, people want wealth, fame, good looks, or just fun. I wanted all of these and knew I would not be able to have them, not without help anyway. I never met the Devil, though. I did try to run into him in the kinds of places people said he be found. I tried cross roads, cemeteries at midnight, barn dances, the docks, the places frequented by the homeless, but all I saw was what I thought must be proof of his work, in the form of misery, despair, crime, and violence. The Devil wasn’t there, and eventually I gave up.

One day not long after, I was sitting on one of those chaise lounges they have around swimming pools at one of those old fashioned, white hotels in Miami Beach. No one paid any attention to me, so I passed the time watching the other vacationers. A few of them were the kind of stunning specimens you see in magazine ads, the people clothes are made for and whose lives are full of the unending excitement we all crave. They don’t worry, not about money, what they eat, getting cancer, paying their income taxes, or getting along with the boss. They are the bosses and let others worry for them. Even the ones who were not stunning and were physically not very different from me were all having a much better time than I was. I could see that they were free of cares and happy in each other’s company. I was miserable and had a can of Coke as a companion.

“If I could only be like them,” I said to myself. “Even just a few years would be enough to know what it’s like to have a life like that.”

This is what I would have asked the Devil for if I had ever managed to meet him. A life of fun and excitement like what the TV ads promise us.

I now understand that I had just made an implied contract, as the lawyers call it, although I did not know this at the time. Nonetheless, at that very moment, the world seemed to shift around me, and I realized that I was no longer sitting by the slightly greyish swimming pool at the Fontainebleu Hotel on Collins Avenue but was relaxing beside a luxurious infinity pool at the Burj Al Arab Jumeirah in Dubai, said to be the most elegant hotel in the world. For several years, I lived like that. I always had enough money to do whatever occurred to me and enough fun and excitement for several people over several lifetimes. My previous life faded to a dim memory that I eventually came to feel must have been something I saw in a movie or perhaps read in a novel in the course of my extensive travels.

That passing of that period of time one day found me at a lunch counter at a Woolworth’s store ordering a tuna fish sandwich. Sometimes, even the beautiful people need a quick meal and enjoy seeing how those less blessed with excitement and leisure spend their days. It was lunch time, and the place was crowded. I became aware of a man seating himself on the stool next to mine. He was the most ordinary of people and wore a raincoat of a type you rarely see anymore but that identified him as one of the millions of office workers in this city. I paid the man no more attention and didn’t look up again until I realized he was looking at me smiling slightly.

“How are you?” he asked in a voice that could have belonged to anyone.

“Fine,” I answered curtly. I was no longer used to engaging in small talk with strangers.

“I see,” he said cryptically. He looked me over as if appraising, not just my outfit, but my manner and style. I tried to take a bite of the sandwich which had been placed in front of me, but it seemed dry and unswallowable. The man watched my attempt to eat and smiled encouragingly.

“Are you having something?” I asked. It was awkward to have someone watch me trying to eat as clumsily as if it was the first time I had to feed myself.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said politely. “It’s time, you know.”

“Time for what?” I asked. I was genuinely confused.

“I think you know. It’s been 10 years, almost exactly. I feel I have been most generous.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Deep inside, I began to feel a pang of alarm, as if a memory I had long repressed was being awakened.

“Our contract, of course,” the man replied conversationally. “I provided everything you wanted. It’s time to pay up.”

“I never signed any contract,” I protested, as fear gripped me tight.

“Signatures!” The man dismissed my suggestion. “You entered into this of your own free will.” He made a sweeping gesture that took in the racks of outdated merchandise just beyond the store luncheonette. The goods seemed faded even though they were new. There was no way to tell just by looking what year or even decade it might have been; even the shoppers were oddly timeless as they went about their business with their eyes on the floor, glancing up only occasionally to locate the item they needed.

He was right. I had come into the store on an impulse. I had not been into a Woolworth's for more than a decade and, in fact, had a vague idea the store had gone out of business, until I saw this one on a side street somewhat removed from the main shopping strip.

“You owe me your soul as well as your spirit. That was the deal,” the man went on calmly, as if he transacted this type of business every day. Thinking about it, I realized that of course he did.

“Are you the Devil?” I cried.

“Of course I am,” said the man. He seemed affronted. “You made an agreement with me 10 years ago.” He tapped his wristwatch to emphasize the point.

“Am I going to Hell?” I asked. In a way, the thought was a relief from the unease I had felt, but refused to acknowledge, at my sudden change of circumstances all those years ago.

“But, my dear, you are already here.”

At this, I looked around me and found I was no longer sitting but was standing on the other side of the counter wearing one of those old fashioned aprons with the large pockets. I reached inside and found I had a handful of coins and a pad and pencil.

’Hell is a Woolworth's store?” I thought back to the many jobs I had held before my miraculous good fortune and how they had pushed me towards the agreement that I now had to accept I made.

“Well,” the man seemed to be thinking about it, “not for everyone. But you now know another kind of life, so perhaps it is.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” I demanded. “When can I leave.”

“When your shift is over of course.”

“When is that?”

The man shrugged.

“Now, take this away,” he said pointing to the sandwich I had been trying to eat before. I still don’t know what possessed me to come to this place, but the man was right I had done so of my own free will. “And bring me some lunch,” he went on. “I haven’t the rest of time."