The Cook's Tale, Part V

The Dark One led the way down a torch-lit hallway past several doors which bore signs warning that only employees were allowed beyond. Eventually, we passed into a cavernous space, the center of which held a cast iron range. Various other tools of cooking radiated from the center and at the opposite end something screamed while being cooked on a spit in an enormous fireplace as a group of cooks cheered.
"Well, this is it," my new employer said.
"Ok, thanks, I'd better get to work."
"Uh, don't forget about my party Friday night, please."
"No worries," I replied. I waited until Satan had left before crossing toward the fire. The beast on the spit continued to scream and the cooks were now jumping with excitement.
"What's going on here?" I asked one toward the back of the crowd.
"Oh, hello," he replied. "Just having a bit of fun, sir."
"Is that Gordon Ramsey?" The English accented profanities emitting from the spit were unmistakable.
"Yes, sir."
"What's he doing up there?"
"Well, it's part of the Hell thing, sir."
"Couldn't you find anyone worse to burn?" Several candidates from history came to mind.
"Well, the karaoke bar up-cavern already had Simon Cowell."
"Ok," I conceded. "But get him down, show him to the dish room and put Dick Cheney up there."
Having sorted out the rotation of villains to be cooked I retired to the office and began sorting through the books, such as they were. I was beginning to appreciate how bad hell was going to be when there was knock at the door.
"Yeah?"
"Guy's here for the order," one of the cooks called from the other side of the door.
Must be a supplier, I thought as I walked out.
"Holy shit, Keith, what are you doing here?" I asked, recognizing him immediately.
"Same thing I was doing up there," he answered with a glance topside.
"Sysco?"
"Yeah, we're everywhere."