At thirty, Avinash was the youngest employee in his department to be promoted to the post of manager. His friends asked, nay, DEMANDED a treat from him, and a light pocket was not an excuse he could make anymore.
After a hard night of partying, he was abruptly woken up in the middle of the night. He had no memory of arriving home or of falling asleep – still wearing his puked-on shoes. He opened his eyes and saw a man with horns; he was sitting upon a bull.
Woah! A Viking! I must be really high! Avinash thought to himself. He closed his eyes again.
Yamraj rolled his eyes. He nudged Avinash awake and said, “Abbe yaar, I am not a Viking! I am Yamraj – the Lord of Death!” he thundered the last words as arrogantly as possible.
“Great, whatever, I am going back to sleep,” This was turning out to be a weird dream.
“Well, sleep, yes. That’s what I came to speak to you about. I have a proposition for you.”
“Wha – ?”
“The thing is your time’s up. Come tomorrow morning, you’ll be dead of – err, let’s see here,” Yamraj consulted a printout that he was carrying, “alcohol poisoning.”
“Bro!!! NOT COOL, BRO! I just got promoted! I JUST –” protested Avinash.
“I am sorry. Management’s orders. It’s nothing personal,” Yamraj said, almost apologetically. “If it makes you feel any better, I have been asked to give you this no-stops-on-the-way coupon to heaven.”
“I don’t want your stupid coupon!”
“I am sorry, this isn’t a negotiation. Management’s orders. No bargain.”
“I don’t care about your management. I will sue –”
Before Avinash could protest further, Yamraj had made him sign a sheet that said, “I agree to all Terms and Conditions.” And off they went! Straight to heaven – no stops on the way.
After spending a few hours in heaven, Avinash was terribly bored. The place was clearly overrated and there was absolutely nothing to do. He went to the gates and said, “Could I speak to the manager, please?”
“What is this about?” asked the stern gate-keeper over the rims of his spectacles.
“I was wondering if I could be transferred to hell.”
“Sorry, you have already used your coupon,” said the gate-keeper not sounding sorry at all. “You signed an agreement that explicitly stated no exchange, no refund, no cash-backs.”
“What the hell, bro!”
“What the heaven, you mean,” the gate-keeper commented, with an expression of supreme boredom.