“On Assignment” in Hell

Finding work as a travel writer isn't easy. Sometimes you have to take on jobs you'd really rather pass on.

Earlier this week writer Linda Watanabe McFerrin told me that she would soon be traveling to Costa Rica "on assignment." In response, I told her that in this year's edition of the annual Christmas letter that my wife sends to friends and family, she wrote: "...Dick is pursuing a new career as a travel writer.  We were thrilled that he had three articles published this year in newspapers ...We are awaiting a call from National Geographic any day now…"  Of course, my wife knows that the only place I'm likely to be sent "on assignment" is to what my late Grandmother euphemistically referred to as "The Old Folks Home", a place she bypassed by taking a non-stop flight straight to Heaven.

But based on what I found in my mailbox the other day, it looks like I won't be going "on assignment" to the Old Folk's Home after all. Instead, it seems that I'm being sent straight to Hell by some outfit called the Trident Society (headquartered, appropriately enough, in Plantation, Florida, where presumably they plant people, not plants, in the ground.

I'm not sure if I'm getting a round-trip ticket, or if all of my travel expenses (such as the ferry ride across the River Styx, a hotel room with air-conditioning, and meals at the local "Kansas-City style" barbeque joint) will be covered. And they haven't specified the length of article they want, or more importantly, the deadline for submission.  If they don't like my story, do I go up in flames while they pay a "kill fee" to my estate?  The front left lower corner of the envelope merely says "Free Pre-Paid Cremation!  Details inside."  Has someone else --- perhaps a travel editor weary of reading my all too boring story submissions --- already paid for my cremation?  Do I have die and set the world on fire with a posthumously published piece?

Oh, excuse me for a moment, someone is ringing the doorbell. Maybe it is National Geographic coming to whisk me off to a far-flung, exotic, and uncharted part of the planet, all expenses paid, and with as many memory cards for my digital camera as I could possibly fill up in a month of Sundays. Uh-oh, looking out the living room window I can see a guy with a big, three-pronged spear standing on the porch. Maybe if I just sit here quietly blogging away he'll go to Hell and leave me in peace here on earth.

(Peace on Earth to You this Holiday Season from the Tales Told From The Road travel blog).