Contract

No Escape Clause

My contract to cling to this body is binding? And no escape clause?

Bad news from my celestial lawyer. I should have read the contract more carefully, he says. I should have let him take a look before signing, he says. Now that I’ve finally showed it to him, he confirms: there is no way out. He says this twice, and with emphasis.

There was a more expensive version of the contract, he informs me, one with an escape clause, but, penny-pinchingly, I opted for the less expensive one; stupidly, he implied. It’s not like I was hurting financially.

“It was quite a bit more expensive,” I offer.

“It’s not like you were hurting financially,” he says again.

I let my silence masquerade as agreement / confession.

Then I say, “So there is nothing we can do?”

“No,” he says. “Ironclad. One of the best contracts I’ve ever come across.”

“You’ve never seen these before?”

“Only the more expensive version.”

“With the escape clause.”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “And very aptly named.”

“Escape,” I say.

“Yes,” he says. “Escape. The final, somewhat lengthy clause lets you escape under certain circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, that’s a very moot point. There is no such clause in your contract.”

“Just out of curiosity,” I say. “Humor me.”

“Boredom,” he says.

“They’ll let you out if you’re bored?”

“Precisely.”

“Damn.”

“Precisely.”

“What else?”

“Childless at forty.”

“And they’ll let you out?”

“If you ask nicely,” he says. Then adds, “In writing.”

“And how much extra was this option?”

“You could have afforded it, no problem. Your penny-pinching got the best of you.”

“So, what on earth do I do?”

“You live out your life till you die, and then you can renegotiate.”

“What if I kill myself?”

“Then there’s no renegotiation. It’s straight back here, under the same terms.”

“Damn.”

“Precisely.”

“What if I live to be a hundred?”

“Then you live to be a hundred.”

“But I’ve changed my mind.”

“The contract doesn’t care.”

“Anybody you can talk to? Perhaps bribe a little.”

“Sorry.”

“Damn.”

“Precisely.”

“So, it’s back to the boring, pointless grind, then?”

“Precisely.”

I know that I’m a penny pincher. But the estate agent was so damn convincing. Oh, you’ll never want to leave Earth, you’ll love it there. Just sign here. You’ll have the best time. Ever.

So, I signed without even bothering to turn to the fine print pages, the ones where I would have seen and could have ticked off (to include) the escape clause. Yes, a fifty percent surcharge, but I could now have been on my way out of here. Would have been worth every pinched penny.

“Precisely,” I added to myself, playing celestial lawyer.

© Wolfstuff