Everybody gets fed-up from time to time.
It might surprise you to know, and something not widely appreciated, that he too suffers from the occasional bout of depression. This is hardly surprising, if you take the time to stop and think about it. Dealing with death on such a regular basis is bound to get you down sooner or later. He often reflects on how he first got the job. Although he’d always been a bit hazy on the subject. It was supposed to have taken place during the fourteenth century when people were dropping like flies during that really bad pandemic. However, this was not what he really thought of, when remembering when he was new to the work. No, it was the first swing of the scythe, the first seeing off, the first putting out of misery. Of course, there was plenty of that going on back then. But, over time, the business of dispatching people left right and centre… well, it gets to you.
Anyway, what is certainly not common knowledge, is the way he revives himself when such morose feelings overwhelm him, thus depriving him of any pleasure he got from carrying out his regular duties.
It came about, in a manner most unusual, that the method of recovery and rejuvenation he employed was made known to me; possibly while I slept, but I’m not at all sure about that. Apparently, it would occur in a particular part of the world, in a particular town and in a particular bakery, during the hour between the end of the night shift, when several bakers knocked off, and the time the bakery opened its shop doors on the following morning.
It would be then that our unhappy extinguisher would unobtrusively pay a visit. Discreetly, because he had no wish to frighten the locals. He would carefully locate the specific items he sought from the many trays of freshly baked pastries. Knowing that one or two would hardly be missed, he would relax and enjoy a beef, cheese and bacon pie.
Voilà!
Next thing you know he’s back at his digs, sharpening his scythe.