Waiting in Hell

Someone recently decided that Hell should be run like a human technology company. This meant that any decisions we made should be “supported by data.” The boss decided that the best way to assess whether humans were being properly tortured was to send out field researchers to interview victims. 

I was nervous to receive my research assignment. But it turned out that all I had to do was pop into a victim’s torture chamber and ask a few questions like, “What is your name?” and “How do you feel on a scale from 1-10, with 1 being completely fine, and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?” I was given a long list of victims with boxes next to their names where I would fill out their numbers.

My interactions with the first couple of victims went smoothly. I walked into their chambers, where they were being prodded or skinned by my coworkers, and asked them the survey questions. In between torture sessions, they would gasp, “Tennnnnn! Get me out of heeeeere!” I nodded, scribbled their answers on a clipboard, and left the rooms without much fuss.

Before my next victim, I checked in with my supervisor.

“All right there?” she asked me.

“Great,” I said. 

“Then pick up the pace,” she barked. “We have an infinite number of victims to interview. You don’t want to get fired on your first day, do you?”

I gulped and opened the door to the next room. All I saw was a man sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room. He opened his eyes when I came in, as if he had just awoken from a dream. He smiled up at me, even though my harrowing appearance was shocking to many other humans. 

“Name?” I asked.

“Nick.”

I peered around the room, but didn’t see any instruments of torture. I went ahead with my question anyway: “How do you feel on a scale from 1-10, with 1 being completely fine, and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

Nick tilted his head sideways. “You’re just asking me for a number? Don’t you want me to describe to you what it’s like being in here?”

I had to admit I was curious, as it didn’t seem like this man was receiving the standard torture like my first few victims. But my supervisor was waiting just outside the door. In my most authoritative voice, I yelled, “Keep it short.”

He tapped his chin with his finger, then said, “Well, I didn’t know what to think when I first got here. I was curious to see how hell would treat me. I thought it would be all physical torture. I thought they would cut off my body parts, or turn me inside out. But what they’re doing here is more like mental torture.”

I nodded and wrote down mental torture. “So how do you feel on a scale from 1-10, with 1 being completely fine, and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

Nick tilted his head up to the ceiling. “The question is hard to summarize in just one number. You see, the torture I receive comes in many shapes and forms. I think it all boils down to waiting. Right now, I’m waiting for the water to boil.” He nodded at a pot sitting on a stove in the corner of the room, which I hadn’t noticed before. “The water temperature rises by a degree every year.” 

I glance towards the door. “Just answer my question!”

He got to his feet and started to pace around the room. “I’m sorry, demon, but I’ve been here a long, long time without any company. Can I tell you about the torture I’ve been through in the past?” He barreled on without waiting for my response. “When I first got here, the room consisted of nothing but a telephone. When I tried making a call, whoever was on the other end put me on hold. For an eternity. They kept saying things like 'I’ll be right with you,' and 'We care about our customers’ and playing the infernal hold music. Then when that scenario was finally over, the room transformed into a doctor's waiting room, and I was waiting to hear the results of a test to see if I had a life-threatening disease, for an eternity.

“When that was over, you started putting me through a relationship. That was a creative use of torture, because dating is literally hell. A girl joined me in here at some point, which in hindsight was a demon in disguise. I should have picked up on that sooner, but being here really makes you lose your mind. Anyway, we started out texting, so I asked her out over text. She took literally forever to respond, during which I was clenching my fists and bashing my head against the wall. When she finally responded, we went on our first date. And she was late…by an eternity. Then we ordered our food, and the waiter was late…you see the pattern here. I was going nuts. I was stupid enough to propose to her at some point, and she responded a few thousand years later. At least you guys spared me the pain of waiting for the result of a pregnancy test.”

Irritated by all his chatter, I thought about applying physical torture to get a number out of him. Or I could just make one up. Both ideas would corrupt the integrity of the data, which was a fireable offense. “Just give me a number,” I said in my demonic voice, baring my sharp teeth.

Unfazed, Nick went on. “There was a time when I felt like Hell was running out of ideas. I went through a few torture scenarios that were as mundane as ‘sitting in my car at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green.’ Or 'standing at a crosswalk, waiting for my turn to cross the street.’ But then, whoa, you turned me into my dog Nugget. Now I know what it feels like to wait all day for my master to come home. That was the worst.”

He stopped pacing and stood in front of me. I bared my teeth again to demand an answer, but he turned his back on me to face the opposite wall. His voice grew quiet. “I know why I’m in hell. I thought I was a good person when I was alive, but the truth is, I got so angry whenever the world didn’t meet my expectations. I raged at drivers on the road. I threw so many phones against the wall when people didn’t text me back. I was a shitty owner to poor Nugget because he was unruly, like many dogs are. Worst of all, I badgered women when they rejected me. I was too impatient to wait for love, so I pursued it with no regard for someone else’s feelings. I treated people badly, and I wish I could go back and fix that.

“But if you think about it, Hell is a chance to reflect on how you messed up your first chance to have a happy life.” He raised his hands in the air as if enjoying the nonexistent sunlight on his face. “When I was alive, waiting made me feel like I was ignored and undesirable, like I wasn’t important enough. I felt like the whole universe was against me, so I lashed out at everyone and everything. But after the first hundred years of watching this pot of water boil, I had the sudden realization that I have intrinsic value, no matter how long others keep me waiting! I thought meditation was a waste of time on Earth, but now I can spend an infinite amount of time reflecting on who I am. Hell has actually given me the opportunity to discover myself and achieve inner peace! Nothing fazes me now! Isn’t that great?” He turned around and beamed at me.

I had had enough of his mindless chatter. Smoke was coming off my body now, a manifestation of my fury. Nick had to took a step back to avoid choking on the fumes. I grew so tall that I was now towering over his puny form. My voice exploded like a bomb: “GIIIIIVE ME A NUUUUUUUMBER!” 

When the smoke cleared, Nick was staring up at me with windswept hair and a smile. “Whoa, dude, have patience!” he yelled from below. "Maybe I should teach you how to meditate!” It was when he gave me two thumbs up that I realized he had played a trick on me.

My supervisor looked up when I opened the door. 

“Took you long enough,” she snarled. "What’s the number?” 

“5,” I said, walking quickly to my next victim’s room. I couldn’t let her see that Nick had gotten to me. I scribbled in my notes next to his name: Recommendation: switch to physical torture.