Sunday, 15 February 2015

Davos' Inferno

[Davos Davidson, whose family amassed a fortune from buying up privatised hospitals all over the world, died in one of them last night. An hour later, he found himself transported to the gates of hell. Behind a burning desk sat an angel with pristine white wings jutting out from behind her black leather jacket.]

A: Mr. Davos Davidson, I presume. We’ve been expecting you.

D: Listen, there’s been some mistake. I should be at the other place, not here. Now if you could rectify that immediately, I wouldn’t have to waste my time filing an official complaint.

A: I’m sorry you feel like that, sir, but you’re definitely at the right place. We have a clear record of what you’ve done your whole life.

D: I don’t like your tone, young lady. Get me your supervisor.

A: We self-supervise.

D: Why am I not surprised! This place reeks of shabby management. You won’t have receptionists working for me wearing a leather jacket on duty. Bet this is all part of some inefficient public monopoly.

A: There is no place for privatised operations around here. Old Nick tried to externalise part of our services once, but it didn’t quite go according to plan. You can speak to him about it yourself, he’s in charge of interrogating our inmates these days.

D: Move me to heaven now, and I’ll make a suitable transfer to your account.

A: Your money is no good here. And I should remind you that the sooner you accept what is in store for you and begin to show some remorse, the more chance you have of getting a probation hearing, say, a few hundred years from now.

D: Remorse? I’m a multi-billionaire, a wealth creator, an entrepreneur, not to mention a generous donor to my local parish church. I should have a prime site set aside for me. Put me through to God at once, or you’re going to get the sack.

A: Mr. Davos Davidson, all you have done in your life is to take advantage of the fact that you and your kind have dominated the market place between you, so people have to work for you for a pittance, while you take an ever-larger share of the proceeds generated by their labour. Your inherited land, houses, shares, and companies help to inflate your wealth, but you treat others left behind with utter contempt. Out of their insecurity and misery you keep making more profits.

D: I don’t want a commie rant from you. I want a word with God.

A: What I read out was a message from God to you.

D: That’s ridiculous! What about all my hospitals, they’re there day in, day out, easing pain and saving lives? That must count for something.

A: God knows all about your hospital work: how you donated large amounts to politicians who then sold public hospitals to you for a token sum. You then cut health workers pay, and charged patients exorbitant fees. Those who were penniless were turned away; and those who couldn’t pay the full fees for the consultation or operation given would be hit with high interest debt pursuits, with many losing their life savings and homes to your company.

D: Without people like me, the world would be full of dull, lazy people with no innovation or grandeur.

A: Actually, heaven is without people like you, and it’s simply divine – not that you’ll ever find out.

[The angel waved her hand, and Davos Davidson disappeared through the trap door opened beneath him. He was never seen again, except by that one-time entrepreneur, Old Nick.]

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