“Good Evening! Is this Regina Wilson?” Jesus says, repeating the script his superior, Jerry, has given him.
“This is her.”
“I’d like to talk to you about your toner needs today. We at X Corp are the leading innovators for the printing world, providing you with all of your paper and ink needs and desires.” He loosens his piano key necktie and undoes the top button of his white collared dress shirt.
“Okay,” she says. “Tell me about your company and products.”
This is the furthest Jesus has gotten on his first day with the prompts. He skims through to the next list of possible phrases to recite. Papers shuffle and he straightens up. His cubicle contains pictures of himself and the Virgin Mary tacked to a cork board. Next to his desk is a box of crucifixes yet to be hung.
“Okay okay okay, Regina. I’m here for you. Um—so, we here at X Corp do every color imaginable—even unimaginable! Colors that haven’t been invented yet. It’s the best. We’ve got loads of it for the cheapest price in the industry. Whatever prices our competitors do, we’ll go lower. Lowest in the world. In the Galaxy. You could print out a hundred Bibles with one cartridge before running out.” He reads the entire catalogue and price list before realizing Regina has hung up.
Jesus’ supervisor, Jerry, walks by and pats him on the back. “You’ll get ‘em next time, Jesus,” Jerry says, getting down on his knees, closing his eyes, and sticking out his tongue. Jesus rummages through his G.I. Joe lunchbox and places a wafer on Jerry’s tongue. “Thanks, Jesus!” Jerry exclaims, aircrossing his chest and mumbling about spirits.
In the break room, Jesus eats his fish, reaches for his water and spits it out when it enters his mouth acidic, always forgetting his water turns to wine. “Fatherdammit!” he shouts. A sign above the microwaves reads: No Drinking On The Job. The other employees huddled around the water cooler and stare until Jesus says, Peace be unto you, then they return to gossiping about Tina in the neighboring cubicle. The scars on his palms are extra sore today. He thinks of all the people he died for. Thinks of Father and possibly failing him. Thinks of all the people without proper toner.
He covers his cubicle with crucifixes, raps a Hail Mary song, then returns to the phone calls. Reading from his prompts as scripture.
His cold calls are met with more rejections than sinners at Peter’s Pearly Gates: “How did you get my number?” “I’d wish to be placed on your do not call list.” “Wrong number.” They aren’t here right now.” “Fuck off.”
Jesus decides to mix things up. To not read from the book he was given as if that was the only way.
“Hello, Susan, would you like to hear about our lord and savior—me?”
“What? This can’t really be Jesus.”
“It is I. Do as I say. You are now in the Christian cult. Now in the Christian cult. Now in the Christian cult.”
Susan repeats this hypnotizing monotone. Believing and becoming. Believing and becoming.
“You also love toner and want to buy a bunch for you and your neighbors as well as the tax exempt church you now attend.”
Susan spends all of her 401k on toner. Her new church writes and prints The New New Testament to use the toner. They bind the nonsense stories, then burn leftover scrap paper in the parking lot and say it’s a church picnic for recruiting.
Jesus makes more calls each day and brainwashes people into buying toner and joining churches and hating gays.
“Great job, Jesus!” Jerry says. “You’ve sold so much toner upper management is making you the employee of the month!” His supervisor gets down on his knees and awaits his wafer. Jesus can’t find any in his fannypack so he lays a leftover Red Lobster cheddar bay biscuit on Jerry’s tongue. Jerry likes this better, as long as Jesus says unhealthy can be permissible. Jerry takes down the No Drinking On The Job sign. The water cooler becomes the wine cooler and the gossip amplifies. They discuss reality television with red stained teeth and who made it on to the next round of America’s Next Singing Baby Idol. The office becomes a church and they volunteer on Sundays. The employees become missionaries spreading the gospel like a virus.
Jesus has provided predetermined fate in humanity. It’s gone this route at every job Jesus has on his resume: Attorney at law, always pleading guilty; Firefighter, helping spread the fire; Pizza Delivery Driver, Pizza and gospel in 30 minutes or less! Now he is bored and ready to retire.
Ring ring ring “Yo, this is Jesus from X corp. Is your refrigerator running?”
“Let me go check. Yes it is.”
“Well you better go catch it!” Jesus smashes slams the phone down, laughs bursting out of his lung saks.
Ring ring ring “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well set him free!” Jesus whacks the phone onto the receiver so hard it breaks the receiver and his desk in half.
The employees in neighboring cubicles peek their heads over the divider to bear witness upon Jesus. They murmur to each other at the wine cooler. What’s with Jesus? What should we do?
Jesus enters the break room for fish lunch.
“Jesus, we need to talk.” There’s a sign that falls down saying INTERVENTION. “Jesus, you need back on the path. You need to be saved.”
“I do the saving,” Jesus said.
Jerry handed him a picture of a pyramid. His name tag had changed to read Pastor Jerry. “We’re saving ourselves, Jesus. Now we can be our own boss! All the money profited from the Toner Church will pay dividends. We appreciate the use of your image. Now that we understand the business of religion, we’ve got it from here.”