Dead Short

Death After Life (Part Two)

Since a vast portion of Tony's inheritance was currently disappearing down the well-stuffed front of a Chippendale's posing pouch, and the bank had quashed his savings the moment he'd departed the financially secure realm of the living, the only option left to him was to ask Mr Stricklen for a pay rise.

His response was not unexpected.

'Get stuffed, deadbeat!' Mr Stricklen tucked his yellowing clipboard underarm and bustled off down the aisle, looking for someone else to victimise.

'But it's not fair,' Tony said, stumbling after him. 'I work just as hard as everyone else.'

'Well that's not saying much at all now, is it? You're all a bunch of lazy, good for nothing-' Mr Stricklen came to a sudden halt as he encountered a fifteen-foot tall architectural eyesore blocking his path. 'What the bloody hell's that?'

'Pyramid of beans, sir,' Norman's voice called down from the top of a ladder, as he put the final can in place. 'Much like the ancient Egyptians used to have.'

Mr Stricklen took several steps back to fully appraise the monstrosity. 'It's a bit big, don't you think?'

'Not really, sir. It's not like it's built to scale or anything.'

'Yes, but it is quite successfully blocking off the fruit and veg aisle. How are the customers supposed to get their five a day?'

'Ah,' Norman said, tapping the side of his nose. 'That's the clever part.'

'I somehow doubt that, Norman,' Mr Stricklen sighed, 'but please enlighten me.'

'They'll have to buy beans first. I confidently predict baked bean sales will go through the roof.'

'The alternative, of course, is that fruit and veg sales will plummet,' Mr Stricklen growled, his face reddening, 'since no bugger'll be able to get to them!'

'If they have an aversion to beans they can always go round the other way.'

'Yes, that might've been an option,' Mr Stricklen said, peering round the side of the unsightly construction, 'had someone not already blocked off the route by building a giant replica of the lord our saviour out of...oh good god, is that Tampax?'

'With respect sir, I don't think you're seeing the bigger picture here-'

'You've got three minutes until the doors open,' Mr Stricklen snapped. 'I want those travesties gone by then.'

'Ahead of my time, that's my problem,' Norman grumbled. 'Give me a hand with these beans, Tone.'

'Not now, mate. I'm busy.' Tony lurched off after Mr Stricklen. 'Mr Stricklen!' he hollered. 'Mr Stricklen!'

'Go back to work, Tony,' Mr Stricklen called over his shoulder. 'Be thankful a man of your condition still has a job.'

'Not a very high paying one.'

'It's all part of a standardised wage system thought up by the government. It doesn't matter whether you're a lawyer, doctor or toilet cleaner, if you're dead, £4 an hour's all you're getting.'

'How about if I work extra hours?' Tony said in desperation.

Mr Stricklen stopped in his tracks. He turned, looking vaguely intrigued by the proposition. 'You're already full time, Tony.'

'I just want my wages back to how they were.'

'Which would involve working an eighty hour week. Are you sure you're up to that?'

'It's not like I sleep anymore anyway,' Tony sighed. 'I mostly just lie there.'

Mr Stricklen shook his head. 'No, I'm sorry Tony. More hours would constitute a serious health and safety violation.'