“That’s quite a large glass,” I remarked, eyeing the peculiar vessel on Old Wang’s desk. Nearly two feet tall, with mysterious engravings that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them.

Old Wang grinned, revealing teeth stained by decades of cheap cigarettes. “Large? You should’ve seen it yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“It keeps growing. Started out as a regular tumbler last week.” He tapped the glass with a yellowed fingernail. The sound it made was… wrong somehow. Too hollow, too resonant.

“That’s impossible,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure anymore. The glass did look bigger than when I first walked in.

“Impossible?” Old Wang cackled. “Like how it’s impossible that I’ve died three times already?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“First time was in ‘89, heart attack. Second time, ‘03, fell down some stairs. Third time was last Tuesday - choked on a fishbone.” He said this all matter-of-factly, like reciting a grocery list.

“If you’ve died three times, how are you sitting here talking to me?”

The glass grew another inch.

“That’s the funny thing about death,” Old Wang lit another cigarette. “It’s more like a suggestion these days. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on this glass.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“Remember the earthquake last month? That was my bathroom break.”

I stared at him. “You’re saying this glass caused an earthquake?”

“No, no,” he waved his hand dismissively. “The glass prevents earthquakes. Among other things. It’s like a cosmic drain plug.”

The glass grew another two inches.

“Why you?” I asked.

“Wrong question,” Old Wang grinned. “You should be asking: why you?”

“Me?”

“I’m getting tired of dying. Need someone to take over. That’s why you’re here.”

“I never applied for this job.”

“Neither did I. But here we are.” He gestured at the now three-foot-tall glass. “Besides, you’ve already accepted.”

“I most certainly have not!”

“Check your pocket.”

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a miniature glass, identical to the one on the desk but only an inch tall.

“Welcome to the job,” Old Wang said, standing up. “I’m off to die for the fourth and final time. The bathroom’s down the hall if you need it, but remember what I said about earthquakes.”

Before I could protest, he walked straight through the wall and vanished.

I sat down heavily in his chair, staring at the giant glass and its tiny twin.

“This is ridiculous,” I said to no one in particular.

The small glass grew an inch in my hand.

Somewhere in the distance, the earth began to rumble.

I quickly sat back down.

The rumbling stopped.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was running backward.

“Well,” I sighed, “at least it’s steady work.”

Twenty years later, when I met my successor, I made sure to start with the bathroom break warning. It seemed only fair.