Olivia Sawatzki
The Devil was passing out gift cards at the corner of Figueroa and Slauson,
I.
Across from the Arco and right next to the medical clinic where I got my shingles vaccine. A small crowd gathered around him; I knew it was The Devil right away cause he was wearing his usual outfit; a long maroon coat worn down to threads at the elbows, black bloody kilt with studded belt, and a beret made of garbage to hide his Horns.
I drew closer just to see what all the fuss was about and was interpreted as being in line; this was not my intention at all but The Devil keeps a surprisingly organized queue. Before I knew it he was handing me a little piece of plastic and saying in his oily voice, I Hope You Like Pancakes, Kid. How Much Is It For? I asked him while he scratched out the grime under his claws with an IHOP® gift card. Infinity Dollars, said The Devil, and that's when I started to smell fish but I figured I had nothing to lose. So I went to the nearest IHOP® which was on Slauson and Western.
The IHOP® was a big warm hug of brown linoleum. I felt instantly at peace there and could lose my mind in the mathematical swirling of the blue printed upholstery. I was a little nervous when it came time to pay for my Special Limited Time Offer which was a key-lime pie pancake so rich it made my teeth hurt. I explained the gift card away to Sheri, my waitress who looked uncannily like my Aunt Mary even wore the same perfume. I said I’m Not Sure if This Has Anything Left On It. I Can Check For You, she said and she whisked away my check and came back with a receipt and a pen. She said it would say on the bottom of my receipt and I looked and it said: $∞.
A thing like this can trip a man out if he’s not careful. I learned that when I got really into the Fibonacci sequence and started stapling leaves to my ceiling. When the leaves dried up and crumbled I thought God was telling me to hurt people. I thought the whole thing might be a fluke, it was the Devil after all, so I went to IHOP® again with Raymond that next weekend, this time the one on Crenshaw and Stocker. Would you believe it that Sheri sat us again but her name tag said Teri and she didn’t remember me?
Raymond didn’t believe that breakfast was on me. He made a big old show about ordering nearly everything on the menu, even things I knew he didn’t like such as Strawberry Banana Pancakes. I never saw Raymond eat a fruit in his life. I nodded, playing unfazed while he listed out his order to ShTeri, but inside I was feeling rough because if this whole thing was a hoax I would unfortunately I would not be able to tip ShTeri or pay my credit card interest payment. Oh I was sweating all right.
Raymond, all covered in strawberry maple syrup and whipped cream and butter, thought it was the funniest damn thing he’d ever seen. He ate like an asshole, took one bite of each plate clockwise around chewing real slow like some kinda demented aristocrat. ShTeri came back smiling with the check finally and I gulped down a big biley knot in my throat and gave her the gift card. Magic Gift Card My Ass, Ray said, looking at my face covered in cold sweat, my fingers tapping the table without rhythm so I didn’t have to think about breathing. The receipt came back and I grabbed it and looked at the bottom. Amount remaining: $∞. Ray howled so hard when he saw it I thought he was gonna have a heart attack.
II.
The first couple months were a ton of fun. Ray tried for a long time to make money off it. He thought I had hacked the card with a computer. When I told him it was a gift from the Devil of course he thought I was speaking in metaphors or having another episode. He would shoplift empty gift cards from Ralph’s and try to get me to hack their code. He thought I was withholding my secrets somehow and being greedy. IHOP® Isn’t Even A Good Choice, he would moan, Who Even Likes IHOP® That Much. I Don’t Know, I said, The Devil Gave It To Me. He thought I was crazy and he started getting mad. He sat me down probably 12 times and explained that if I had figured out a way to Manufacture Currency, we could get anything we wanted in the world. And to not include him was a crime. I Think Shoplifting From Ralph’s Is A Crime, I would say to that. An Amazon Gift Card! He would yell, A Visa Gift Card Is Basically Cash! Take It Up With The Devil, I would say to that. And then we would go to IHOP® which by the way also serves lunch and dinner.
III.
I couldn’t get IHOP® out of my head. Every time I went to the vending machine at work, I would think: This Would Be Free At IHOP®. Every lunch out, every first date, every birthday meal I would beg people to go with me to IHOP® and promise to treat them. Why Can’t You Treat Me Somewhere Else? Said a girl on Tinder when I insisted on IHOP® for dinner. I Have a Connection, I said. She called me cheap and she blocked me but I was right that the IHOP® T-Bone Steak Dinner is not nearly as nasty as it looks in the picture.
IV.
It took longer than you’d think for anyone to catch on. I started getting obsessed with the amenities. I had IHOP® toilet paper in my bathroom. I had commercial-grade IHOP® 100ppm cleaning solution in my cabinet. I shut off my air conditioning in August even though it was over 100 degrees and just hung out at IHOP for 18 hours a day which is as long as it is open. I had packets upon packets of Smucker’s Orange Marmalade stuffed down my pants at any given hour. I got away with it all for eighteen months and some change. When ShTeri finally cornered me at the IHOP® on South Sepulveda and asked me Where The Hell I Got That Gift Card. ShTeri, I said (whose name tag on South Sepulveda said “Keri”), How The Hell Do You Work at Every IHOP In Los Angeles With A Different Name At Each One? She scrunched her forehead up playing confused. I Know You’re An Agent Of The Devil, I said. She dissolved into the ether after that, probably headed back to Hell, and some poor patron, caught up in the crosshairs of all that dark magic, must’ve called the cops. Well there is nothing illegal about calling someone an Agent of The Devil.
V.
Nobody on the force could figure out the card. They called in a consultant from the Geek Squad who had a patchy black beard that made a dry noise when he scratched it. He had long greasy hair and glasses. He said he would have to do some research and the cops let him take the card with him. Meanwhile my face was plastered in every IHOP in Southern California on account of “harassing” ShTeri “Keri” “sexually” (which was not true, I only called her an Agent of the Devil) but no charges were brought forth. Would you believe last week I walked past the IHOP® on Wilshire and saw the man from the Geek Squad and his whole clan of greasy friends being escorted out in handcuffs?
VI.
Next time I saw the Devil on Fig I asked him what it was all about. I caught him alone for once, leaning against the fence outside an elementary school playground, dirtying up clean hypodermic needles and shoving ‘em through the holes in the fence. He smiled when he saw me and passed me his joint which burned bright purple neon blue.
What Was The Purpose? I asked him. He laughed his goaty laugh, and coughed up a little bit of green fire.
What’s The Purpose of Torment? He asked, silver pupils widening to take me in.
I thought about that for a while. I do still think about the T-Bone steak dinner. I taste the Cinn-A-Stack® Milkshake in my dreams. I embarrassed myself in front of a lot of women I might have had a shot with otherwise. The whole thing lays heavy on my mind.
To Win? I said.
A bell rang, and children filled the playground. The Devil snapped his fingers and a little boy tripped over a needle, scraping his knee bad, bleeding like crazy and wailing wailing wailing. The Devil smiled at that. He turned back to me.
Did I Win?
You Never Do, I said.
No, He winced. I Just Haven’t Yet.
He paused to watch a child fall out of a tree.
Did I Get The Geek Squad Guy, Though?
I Think So, I said.
He was clearly happy about that. I clapped him on the back. He was one of my oldest friends and just doing his job. We’ll both get another shot.
Olivia Sawatzki is an author and playwright originally from Columbus, Ohio. Her fiction and essays have been published in Does It Have Pockets, Bending Genres, Brushfire Literature & Arts Journal, and elsewhere. Her plays have been produced in Ohio and California. She published her debut chapbook, Misanthropocene, with Bottlecap Press in 2024. She lives in Echo Park, Los Angeles.
