Catholic priest
They gave me a collar and immediately started calling me Father. No children required. No references checked. After a week of men punching me, I cannot recommend this arrangement highly enough.
The Cloven One wants to know why the dead apologise to me for things they could have apologised to each other for. I've been sent into the competition's premises to investigate.
I also get a microphone.
Monday
Walked through the parish introducing myself. People lowered their voices, stood up straighter, told their children to behave. Yesterday I couldn't get a dry cleaner to take me seriously. Today a strip of white plastic has made me an authority on eternity.
A man asked if I thought his mother was in a better place. I checked the list. She was still alive. He meant the care home.
Must stop reaching for the list every time someone mentions a relative.
Later, a woman asked me to bless her car. She'd parked it across a dropped kerb, so I suggested moving it first. She laughed. Thought I was being charming.
I tried again. Pointed at the man in a wheelchair waiting on the pavement. She said she'd only be a minute. God could apparently fit into her schedule. The man couldn't.
Blessed the car. Suggested he scratch it. He gave me a look that made me wonder whether I'd got the job wrong.
Tuesday
Sat inside a confessional, listening through the wooden lattice. They'd built a small cupboard where a person could tell a stranger anything, provided neither had to look at the other. Sensible. We could use these at family dinners.
One man confessed to cheating on his wife. He wanted forgiveness. I asked whether he'd told her.
"I couldn't hurt her like that."
Fucking considerate of him to start now.
Another woman felt guilty because she was relieved when her father died. She'd nursed him for years. I waited for the wicked part. There wasn't one. I told her she could go.
She asked what her penance was. I said, "Get some sleep."
She cried. I checked the grille for a button I might have pressed.
Wednesday
The parish treasurer showed me the collection figures. I briefly thought we were in the same line of work.
A large donor wanted his name on the new hall. There was already a plaque from the previous donor, but apparently humility is replaceable if the cheque clears.
I asked what happened to anonymous donations. The treasurer said people still made them. Then he told me who they were.
Started writing Sunday's sermon. Took a few notes from the confessional, changed the details, and discovered I could do this for hours. All those people sitting still while I described exactly what was wrong with them. At last, some fucking job satisfaction.
Thursday
Got into an argument with a man blocking the entrance to the parish fundraiser with his car. He said he'd paid for the event, which apparently included the pavement. I told him where he could park it.
He shoved me. I tried something I'd watched at the gym. It worked much better when the man on the video did it.
Woke in the emergency room with my arm in a sling. The nurse recognised me from last week. I said I was a different person. She said that's what they all say.
Finished my collections late, but finished them. One woman waited until we'd left the ward before asking if the sling was a bad sign. I said the service usually looked more professional.
Friday
Sister Agnes read a page of my sermon and asked if I was trying to get transferred.
"I'm trying to make them think."
"You're trying to make them look at you."
Unnecessary distinction. I took the page back.
Saturday
Saw Agnes at the bowling alley. She glanced at my sling, then at the ball I'd chosen. Put it down before she could say anything. I'd already had enough physical education this month.
She offered to hear the rest of the sermon. I told her to come tomorrow. Preferably bring a friend. I'd put a lot of work into it.
Sunday
"Good morning. Before we begin, could the man watching football on his phone turn the sound up? If I'm going to compete for your attention, I should at least know the fucking score."
He put it away. Excellent. A room full of people and I could actually make them shut up.
"You come here asking how the Devil gets into your life. As if he has to break in. Have you seen your calendars? He'd need an appointment."
"You'd make him wait while you finished an email. Then apologise to him. 'Sorry, Satan, work's been fucking mental.' He'd understand. He's very proud of that one."
A few people laughed. Some waited to see whether laughing was allowed. I leaned closer to the microphone.
"Look at how frightened you are of using something you already own. Save the good plates. Save the nice clothes. Buy a sofa and cover it so nobody's arse can experience the sofa. Then die, and let some ungrateful cunt clear the lot for 50 quid."
"Meanwhile, there's a person living in the same house as you who can't finish a sentence without being told you're busy. You'd spend Saturday polishing that fucking table. Sit at it with them."
A man in the front pew folded his arms. I recognised him from the fundraiser. His wife was already collecting her bag.
"Don't worry, this isn't about anyone in particular. Unless you've had a plaque made to tell everybody how generous you are. Then, yes, it is about you."
The couple bent low and tried to crawl past the pew towards the side exit. I watched them go. So did everybody else. I was enjoying myself far too much to let them leave with dignity.
"Lovely. A demonstration of modesty. Right down on the fucking floor."
Agnes stopped smiling.
"And what about forgiveness? You people love forgiveness. Particularly when you're the arsehole. Then suddenly we've all got to move forward. Don't dwell on the past. It was Tuesday, you prick. Some of the past is still on her fucking pillow."
"But let someone short-change you and it's a matter of principle. You'll carry 40 pence to your grave. The person you've hurt should let it go. The shop that owes you money should hear from your solicitor."
I slapped the pulpit. It made a wonderful noise.
"You want a sign? Fine. You're still fucking here. That's all I've got for you. No burning bush. No face in your toast. You've got this afternoon, unless I hear otherwise."
"And before you turn that into another job, I'm not asking you to become a magnificent person by teatime. You're exhausting enough as you are. Call someone. Have lunch. Do something you keep saying you'll do when things settle down. When the fuck have things ever settled down?"
The man at the back raised his phone. I thought he was recording me, which pleased me enormously. He was checking the football again.
"What's the score?"
He told me. I had nothing prepared for that. Lost my place.
An old man near the aisle had fallen asleep. His wife nudged him and whispered something. He woke, looked directly at me, and nodded as if we'd just agreed on an important matter.
I'd collected kings with less dignity than that. Considered waking him properly, then caught myself checking how many people were still looking at me. Almost all of them. Good enough. I carried on.
Finished the service and stood at the door accepting praise. One woman said I'd given her a lot to think about. I said that was the intention. I didn't ask what she'd thought about. Someone else was waiting to compliment me.
Agnes handed me my notes. "You noticed the phone," she said. "Did you notice who stayed afterwards?"
The woman from confession had been sitting alone. By the time I looked, she'd gone.
I left the bit about making people think in my report. Couldn't quite bring myself to cross it out.
G. Reaper.