The Gasman Calling

Nobody likes a withheld number. Accident helplines, PPI claims and scammers are a daily nuisance and a waste of my time. Today, I’m waiting on a call from the gas man. I don’t doubt his number will be withheld so it looks like answering the phone today is going to be hit or miss.

I detected the funny smell in the house this morning, the undeniable smell of leaking gas and my call out slot is today: 1st February 9am - 8pm.

My phone buzzes on the side. ‘Anonymous caller.’

And so begins the game of roulette.

“Hello? I’m calling about your accident.”

“I haven’t had an accident,” I reply. If I’d been on the landline I’d have slammed it down. However, I just angrily pressed the screen to end the call instead. Seconds later the same person calls back about my accident. I’m obliged to answer incase it’s about the gas. I politely ask them to stop calling as I need to keep my phone free, then I hang up again.

I put on the kettle and start working through a pile of paperwork. The cat is in a funny mood today, she’s jumpy and hissing at everything. It’s going to be impossible to get any work done.

I call my friend, she should be back from the morning school run by now. My phone cuts off as I try to call, so it seems I’ll be having coffee on my own instead.

Then it rings again, another withheld number.

“Hello? I’m calling about your accident.”

“I haven’t had a fucking accident, okay? Stop calling me.”

I hang up.

The house is silent and I can hear my heart pounding. It’s going to be a long day.

At 5pm, my phone lights up again with another anonymous call. Maybe I’ll waste their time for a change.

“Hello, I’m calling about your accident.”

“What about it?” I reply, ready to play along.

“You’ve only got a limited amount of time to make a claim.”

“A claim on what?”

“A claim for your space in heaven. You’ve only got a limited amount of time.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, we don’t use the ‘H’ word up here, sir. Your accident occurred at 8am this morning and it’s now 5pm which means you have four hours left to claim your place. We have a strict 12 hour allocations policy.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Is this some kind of joke?”

“Oh no, sir. We don’t joke about these things. You passed away this morning, a terrible accident it was, too. You’re currently laying by the front door.”

“I’m going to hang up, this is stupid.”

“I wouldn’t do that sir, if you’ve not made your claim by 8pm then you’ll be going to that other place you mentioned earlier.”

I hung up the phone. The conversation was a waste of my time.

My phone rang again.

“Look can you please just fuck off and leave me alone!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. It’s my job to help you make a claim.”

“Well I’m not dead so you don’t need to worry, do you?”

“Yes you are, go and take a look out in the hallway. Are you going to make your claim? I’ve got quite a list to get through today.”

Not wanting to humour her, I hung up the phone. However, I did peek into the hallway and low and behold, I could see a pair of twisted legs at the bottom of the stairs. As I moved closer into view, I could see the whole of myself, laying the most peaceful I’ve looked in years.

I really had died.

My phone rang again and I answered it fast.

“So what happens now?”

“Well sir, you need to make a claim for your place in heaven.”

“And how do I do that?” I asked, as I inched closer to my body. I was practically leaning over myself. So this is what an out of body experience felt like.

“I just want to go back to normal,” I sobbed.

“Everybody does, but you slipped and fell this morning. The house is full of carbon monoxide which caused you to go light headed.”

“Can you just send me back to my body?” I pleaded.

“I could try sir, but nobody is going to find you until they realise you’re missing. Probably the postman in the morning if he sees your body through the glass window. It is obscure glass though, sir.”

“Can we do that then?”

“Okay, but you need to be aware of certain risks first.”

“Like what?”

“If you’re not brought back to life by 8pm this evening then you’ll lose your claim and will end up in that place beginning with ‘H’, it’s risky, and if it goes wrong then you won’t be able to get into heaven.”

“I have the gas man coming to my house sometime before eight o’clock, he’ll find me for sure.” I reply through sobs.

“It’s your choice, sir. If it’s definitely what you want then so be it.”

I soon found myself in an enormous amount of pain as though I’d been hit by a bus. I must still be laying at the bottom of the stairs yet do not have the strength to open my eyes.

In the distance I can hear my phone ringing but I can’t move. I have no idea what time it is, but it feels like an eternity laying in agony.

Then I hear a loud crash. I can hear movement and a male voice from far in the distance.

I listen hard but everything hurts.

“I need an ambulance now. I’m the gas man and I called round to look at his boiler. I don’t think he’s breathing, I just found him like this.”

If I’m able to sigh with relief in my current condition then I did it. I’d be saved and soon I’d wake up from this terrible pain.

I think I may have passed out as I woke up being able to move freely, I suspect I’ve been unconscious for days and am now on the mend. A doctor enters the room, only he’s wearing red satin scrubs which seems a little out the ordinary.

“Oh good, you’ve woken up,” he smiles, though it doesn’t seem genuine.

I mumble and sit up on the bed.

“Now take your time standing up because I need you to come with me.”

I keep quiet and follow him out the room and into the corridor. Outside is a whiteboard with my name on it.

Time of admission: 8:15pm.

I glance over a desk at a calendar and see it’s still 1st February. That must mean I didn’t make it.

“Where are we going?” I mutter, nervously.

“Oh, not far,” he replies, with that cold, forced smile.

I feel uneasy.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“All your questions will be answered in a moment if you’re patient.”

He threw open a huge set of double doors and motioned for me to step through. Then the doors slammed shut behind me. The noise was deafening.

“Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life,” he smiled. “Follow me.”

It was a huge call centre that stretched as far as they eye could see. Hundreds upon thousands of people sat at desks with a simple telephone and a stack of paperwork.

“This is your desk,” he beamed. “Today you will be cold calling about payment protection insurance. You must be persistent, otherwise you won’t meet your daily target. Trust me, you do not want to miss your target. The boss gets very upset.”

Then he left. I looked at the stack of paperwork, all the numbers belonged to people I knew.

The days here are literally endless and merge into one slow hell. I have listened to my loved ones cursing me and growing to hate me more as the time passes by. I’m not allowed to mention my name, somebody tried once and they were never seen again. I don’t know how I’m going to get out. I’m stuck here in Hell.