“Don’t hold the knife like that,” said the Devil, sensing his young assistant’s obvious lack of culinary skill. His last assistant was a cheese monger from Tuscany, and the one before that was an Argentinian swordsmith who could handle himself around all forms of kitchen cutlery.
“Would you relax?,” said Ronnie, the assistant, slicing into a ripe avocado.
“If you cut your hand, I’m not driving you to the ER again,” said the Devil.
“I wouldn’t be driving myself either. Have you ever driven stick with a slice across your palm?”
Whether this was a rhetorical question or a stupid one demanded the same thing: no answer.
“Are you done yet?,” said the Devil, getting impatient. Avocado toast was just now becoming popular in the region, since all you had to do was put the bread outside for a few seconds to get it perfectly golden brown. Burning was a reasonable risk, given the climate.
“Almost, almost. Don’t forget your meetings this afternoon. Pol Pot is coming by later and Mr. Dahmer called to ask if he could reschedule.”
“I need a vacation.”
“And you wanted me to have someone come by to repair the thermostat. So that’ll happen sometime between 2 and 8.”
The Devil was getting antsy.
“Oh, and I’d like the weekend of the 16th off. My uncle, the Godless car thief I mentioned the other day. He recently moved in and I want to bring him a housewarming gift.”
“Sure. But no visitors, please. You try signing autographs for a living. It's strenuous work.”
“Who said anything about visitors? I got you those card show gigs to supplement your income - which, I might add, was paltry when we met. You should be thanking me. Your problem was that you couldn't sign the same thing. First it was "The Devil," then "El Diablo," "Lucifer," "Damien," and finally "Giuseppe Demoni." How are you supposed to garner any interest when you're undercutting the value of your own John Hancock with each signature? ”
“You should know by now that I’m not the entertaining type. I prefer to let my resume speak for itself.”
Ronnie nodded along and tossed the avocado pit into the garbage can.
“Woah, woah. What are you doing there?,” said the Devil.
“Throwing out your garbage. You're welcome.”
“That’s not garbage. That’s a collector’s item. Big difference.”
“You save these?,” said Ronnie, pulling the pit out of the trash and staring at it, hoping the mere sight of one would help explain why his boss held onto them.
“Eternity is all about hobbies. There’s no other way to pass the time. In different eras, I’ve gotten into sewing, model trains, auto-tuning. When traditional pastimes falter, you have to start making up your own. It'll be art one day. Either that or I’ll burn them all in the big fire pit out back.”
“Toast’s ready,” said Ronnie, grabbing the still-smoking pieces of bread from the ledge.
“I really should get an avocado tree. I hate going to the store, forced to squeeze fruit in public. It's undignified for someone of my stature.”
“Good luck. But you’ll need consistent rainfall.”
“Maybe in the next life.”
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