The Recruitment Process: Recession Profit Strategies #3

Understanding the current economic situation and the US unemployment rate of over 8%, many of you will be entering the job market, if not already in it. Before we get to the lighter side of this story, always remember: The choice is yours. Picking the wrong job can be more disasterous than having no job at all. That said, the following story regarding the recruitment process may more fully illustrate the point:

A guy dies and St. Peter tells him he gets to choose between Heaven and Hell? And the guy says, "What's up with that?", and St. Peter sez, "Well truth is we can't decide what to do with you. In your life you did some good things, but you did some bad things also... I know you took care of the wife and kids and got em' through college, but you were sleeping with your secretary and pilfering money from the company for your coke habit, so God said...to let you decide."

"Well, that seems fair", the man replies, "let's take a look."

The first stop on the tour is Hell. They descend in an elevator in a long dark shaft but strangely, just like earth, as they descend deeper it gets cooler instead of hotter. As the doors open up the man is greeted by the view of the most beautiful casino he has ever seen. Long maroon velvet curtains drape the bar and tables and Dean Martin is , Martini in hand, singing with a piano and a sax player and Louie Belson on drums. It's positively fucking charming. Everyone is in black tie and the women are fabulous. The man is handed a complimentary cocktail and ushered to the Devil's table under a great chandalier. He speaks with the Devil for a few minutes with all the questions about hell a man might have, based on what we hear on earth, and the Devil says, "Oh, that rot. You know those PR bastards. God's got a million of em and they do a real blackwash story on this place. I need to look after that more". The man agrees and finds the Devil to be a perfectly likable fellow. He bids him farewell and hopes to see him again.

The next stop is Heaven. As they exit the elevator, the man is greeted by a pastoral scene of upscale American suburbia. The sun shines, hills roll, birds tweet, dogs chase boys on bikes riding down the street throwing newspapers at porches, and the sound of a couple of guys mowing their lawns can be heard as the milk truck rings his bells with the freshest delivery of the day. It's positively fucking charming. The women all look like June Cleaver and the men like Cary Grant. The man meets God as the Lord is pulling himself out of the pool at the country club after a couple of laps. "Let's drop into the 19th hole for a Manhattan and talk a bit, shall we", the Lord asks him. "Sure, sure", the man replies.

"So whaddaya think?", asks God to the man. "What's it gonna be? Heaven or Hell?"

The man stumbles for a second but regains his composure and addresses the Lord in a straightforward manner. "Well, your excellence, if it's all the same to you, may I be perfectly honest?"

"Of course, my son", the Lord replies.

"What you've got here in heaven is just positively fabulous. I mean, everybody looks so happy and the dogs are cute, and whatever...but to tell you the truth, Hell didn't look so bad at all. I mean shit, uh, shoot... Dean Martin's there and that's not so bad is it?"

"Oh, that Deano", the Lord chortles, throwing his head back in a cheerful chuckle. The man continues, "... so all-in-all, I just think I'd fit into Hell better and in that way everybody will get along better for eternity".

"It's your choice", the Lord says to the man. "Peter", he yells, "give him Hell!"

On the next trip down the temperature is rising so quickly that by the time they arrive the man has taken off his tie and is sweating profusely and begging for water. The doors open. Burnt corpses are dragging themselves across the floor with large steel balls chained to their legs as the curtains burn and screams of agony can be heard for miles. The piano collapses in a heap of ash. The Devil arrives, cloven and carrying a Satanic pitchfork as he laughs evily amidst the flames "Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha", he echos into the hollow chambers of the deepest darkest catacombs of the forgotten.

The man is shocked! "Devil", he says, "what happened to the casino? The cocktails? The beautiful women? Dean Martin?"

"Jeeziz kid", the Devil replies, "Whaddidja stay in the same job yer whole friggin' life?

Before, we were recruiting you. Now you're on staff!"

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Thanks to Hieronymous Bosch for the illustration of "Hell" and to the ,"Crazy Deranged Fools" group on Facebook for encouraging both fortitude and humour in the face of uncertain odds.

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A Buddhist Funeral Prayer

A few months ago a friend here in Saigon, Ramsey Montgomery passed away at a rather young age. His parents held his memorial service in a Buddhist temple. Following is a prayer passed out to the gathering. We didn't speak this prayer in unison. Rather we were left to use it as we chose whilst the monk chanted and tapped out his rhythm with a wooden stick on a gourd.

The phrasings and Capitalization are how it was passed on to me:


O Buddhas and Bodhisattvas,
abiding in all directions,
endowed with great compassion,
endowed with fore-knowledge,
endowed with the divine eye,
endowed with love,
affording protection to sentient beings,
consent through the power of your
great compassion to come forth.
Consent to accept these offerings concretely
laid out and mentally created.
O Compassionate Ones,
you who possess the wisdom of understanding,
the love of compassion,
the power of doing divine deeds and of
protecting in incomprehensible measure.
( __________ ) is passing from this world to the next.
He/she is taking a great leap.
The light of this world has faded for him/her.
He/she has entered solitude with his/her karmic forces.
He/she has gone into a vast Silence.
He/she is borne away by the Great Ocean of birth and death.
O Compassionate Ones,
protect ( _________ ),who is defenseless.
Be to him/her like a father and a mother.
O Compassionate Ones,
let not the force of your compassion be weak,
but aid him/her.
Forget not your ancient vows.


My enjoyment and surprise is this particular evocation comes in the last line – "Forget not your ancient vows" – in that it nearly chides the Gods should they be remiss in their duty to our human friend. To me it indicates a sort of equality, a communication between the two parties, in that the Gods and we as devotees share a symbiotic relationship – something not stressed in the Christian faiths.

For clarification of the manuscript, Buddhas are the Gods and Botisattvas are the reincarnated Buddhas such as the Dalai Lama - people who are believed to be Gods but in a human form only for a lifetime. The painting is by Robert Spellman.