Underworld Blues

It was a moment of weakness; nothing more, nothing less. Pomegranate seeds had always been irresistible to her, and no doubt that sly Hades had come to understand as much. Sure, it might not have even come to this had those two nymphs intervened in the first place, but Persephone had no one to blame but herself for caving in and so dooming her world to four months of cold and barren days each year.

So this October faded away just as it did the year previous, “P” packed her bags and said her goodbyes to Mom and Dad. Mom was still bitter about the whole thing and both of them couldn’t understand why Dad didn’t pull one of his innumerable strings to override the whole arrangement. In fairness though, old Zeus was a little pre-occupied with his job these days. He was in damage control mode with his PR staff after one of his minister’s irresponsible sons had died in a foolish flying stunt, and was facing increasing lobby pressure to better compensate Atlas for carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

All in all, the time at Hades’ place wasn’t so bad as they both had come to accept certain inevitabilities regarding the deal. She was resigned to the cosmic pre-ordainment of it all, while he had for the most part grudgingly accepted the fact there was no nookie to be had and that sleeping arrangements were not up for discussion. Besides, she thought, I never see the guy as he’s always rehearsing with his band or playing drunken pranks on some of the more dim-witted fallen ones that loiter outside the fence.

P stopped by the corner store to pick up a long-distance card, plunked her bags down on the corner and slumped up against a telephone pole waiting for Hades to roll up in his jet-black ’68 Firebird fast-back. As usual, some of the citizenry approached to complain heartily about having potatoes make up the entirety of their crop until late March.

A thought came to her while they were rolling along a desolate highway into the underworld – she had recently come across www.greenhouseselect.com and became aware of the large and competitively-priced selection of greenhouses offered to consumers with the convenient appeal of online shopping. Pops had given P her own Platinum Visa and she was sure he signed off on it each year as “federal expenditure” or something like that. You know how political big-wigs can be.

As soon as they arrived, she rolled her eyes tiredly when Hades yet again suggested they “play” Twister. “When is this guy not formulating ulterior motives,” she thought to herself. She made her way to the computer and eagerly flew into GreenhouseSelect. After adding a large quantity of differing varieties of greenhouses to her “cart,” she phoned Cymax’s toll-free customer service line at 1-866-740-9830 to request special arrangements for delivery to the suffering people of her world. She clicked the last icon box and proceeded to revel in her wisdom and good Samaritan-ness.

Needless to say, the greenhouses were a huge hit. The people were thrilled to grow more of the fruits and vegetables that before would never have been possible with the morning frost and sunken temperatures that accompanied P’s absence every year. Her inbox overflowed with expressions of gratitude and more invites to social gatherings upon her return than she could possibly attend.

She sighed almost disparagingly and shook her head slowly as the smooth Motown baritone of Barry White emanated from the romantically candle-lit living room down the hallway.

A for effort, though, Hades.