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Disclaimer: The Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, WB Network, and whoever else that has rights to BTVS. No profit will be earned as a result of this work, I promise.
Author's Note: Thanks to Robyn TSH for inspiration and feedback. And an anonymous friend for the email that this fanfic is based on.
(Somewhere in Hell)
(Knock, knock)
Come in. Oh, it’s you. The nincompoop.
Begging your pardon, sir, my name is...
I know what your name is. I don’t care! You’re the nincompoop to me, plain and simple.
Uh, sir? I don’t get it.
You’re a complete screw-up. You know that, don’t you? I’d like to know how you managed to join this organization in the first place.
Well, sir, you hired me.
I must have been drunk at the time. In fact, I’m sure I was. Look at this. (slides a piece a paper over the desk) In your application to join us where it asks what you plan to be doing in five years, you answered, “To lie on the beach with a rich supermodel, who thinks I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread”?
That’s not exactly accurate, sir.
How so?
I’d like to be doing that right now.
Ohhhh, I’m getting a headache. All right, let’s look at your record. On your first assignment, you were sent to this place called...Sunnydale. Now on your first day there, were you or were you not in the back of a crowded elevator in the mall, gasping and crying out, “Damn, I’m gonna hurl, I’m gonna hurl!”?
It was in the line of duty, sir. The person I was assigned to, he was desperate for ANY sort of female touch at the time. Besides, I was paid for it.
How much money did this involve?
Oh, it wasn’t a cash deal. I was paid in Ho-Ho’s and Twinkies. My assignment swore that they were vital to my cognitive processes.
Okay, that headache just got worse. Let’s continue. On your second assignment, you were sent to – the same town? Yes, to someone who – this can’t be right – someone who used to help with musical jingles years ago, to offset paying for college in England?
Yes, sir. He was in bad shape, wore nothing but tweed. Even down to the underwear! That’s why I suggested to him to write one for a bumper sticker that goes something like, “When you do a good deed, get a receipt – in case Heaven is like the IRS”.
Unbelievable.
Sir?
Never mind. Uh, not that it matters – but did he do it?
Actually, no sir. He just mumbled something about, “coffee definitely lowering the average citizen’s IQ in this God-forsaken country.”
(Slaps his hand onto his forehead) My head is now killing me. Right, let’s move on. On your last assignment, you were sent to the Sunnydale Memorial hospital to work on...the Slayer?
Yes sir.
How could you have such a mess of things, and so bloody QUICKLY? It’s almost as if...
I don’t understand, sir.
You were the one that suggested installing the mental health hotline to the hospital staff, weren’t you?
Well, yes sir. There was nothing else to do, while she was unconscious.
Didn’t you realize that they would franchise the idea all over the planet?
Not at the time, sir.
Do you have any clue at ALL how much you’ve affected the incoming traffic of souls? We’re almost at a complete standstill because of you! All those rampaging demons, with nothing to do? It’s been Hell down here.
I thought that was what this place was supposed to be, sir.
Don’t try to act wise with me! Listen to this. (gets out another piece of paper) “Hello, and welcome to the mental health hotline.
If you are an obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.
If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5 and 6.
If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the little green men flying around in orbit over Pittsburgh.
If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, phone number, date of birth, social security number and your mother's maiden name.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969.
If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, slowly and carefully press 000.
If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.
If you are depressed, it doesn't really matter which number you choose to press: no one will answer.
If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want, stay on the line so we can trace your call.
If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep. Or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.
If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with any button you like until an operator comes onto the line.
If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All our operators are too busy to talk to you.” You idiot!
That’s not fair, sir. I did the best I could.
What am I going to do with you? Upper management is breathing down my neck over this.
You allergic to the sulfur and brimstone, sir?
No! Oh, my head. All right, that’s it. The last thing we need, is your help around here! I’m sending you back to Sunnydale, while I try to figure out some way out of this mess. Stay out of trouble, and don’t come back until I call you or Hell freezes over.
You want me to bring you back some mochas from the local Starbucks when that happens, sir?
GET OUT! (he does) Oh, why me? Please, I need a vacation....