The Devil’s Barista
I was setting up for work, pulling on a hooded sweatshirt. You’d think it would be hotter down here, but no, his majesty likes it cold.
I still can’t believe we have to go to work here. I figured that after death, no matter if you went up or down, you’d at least not have to pull a 9 to 5 anymore. Though I guess this is supposed to be torture
I was putting out our custom cups. My boss thinks it’s hilarious to have a mock Starbucks down here. Instead of the mermaid, there’s a small devil caricature. It caused my boss no small mount of amusement. He claimed he was worried about copyright infringement.
I was pouring his morning coffee, when he walked up.
“Good morning,” he said. As he always did, he pulled one of the high top chairs over to the counter. He casually looked over the schedule for the day. For an all powerful being, he seemed to avoid technology. He preferred paper to computers.
He chuckled to himself, “I’m in the hipster room today.”
“The hipster room?” I asked.
Lucifer looked up from his paper. He didn’t look at all like what I thought. I was expecting horns and hooves, but his business casual dress and close cropped hair made him look like a Silicone Valley executive.
