When I was a kid the concept of Hell was explained to me this way:
You’re swimming, you’re deep under water and holding your breath. You’re close to out of air so you head for the surface. You swim and swim and swim trying for the surface so you can take a big breath of air but you never quite get there. You’re out of breath and stressing and trying really hard to get there but you’re never quite there…for eternity.
But now I’m older, old enough to have kids your age. And this is how I explain the concept of Hell:
You rush across town on your bike with a very important document and a check to present to a clerk in a large government office, and upon presentation you’ll receive another very important document to rush back to where you started. The rush and bike ride are great, they’re fun, they’re exciting but the large government part is where Hell comes in. The line is long, the line is slow, the line never moves, the line is full of attorneys attempting to present papers to Ex Parte, the line is full of ABC messengers each with 478 monetary filings, the line is full of screaming kids and their asshole parents. The government workers work or don’t work, it’s all the same to them. The line never seems to move. Your dispatcher calls twice, sweating you, hassling you, stressing you. Finally you reach the front of the line and the clerk, the government worker smiles and says “you’re in the wrong line”
I’ve been to Hell. I’ve go there everyday and I’ve figured it out as much as it can be figured out. And now when I’m there and I see lost civilians and I try to point them into the correct line. Or down ‘n out Pro Se defendants, I’ll help them out. Or the lost Fleetfoot messengers like fish out of water, I'll talk to them. But the pompous obviously stinking rich attorneys…I’ll watch them squirm in the wrong line, twice. They should've called a messenger.
PS: set your phone to vibrate
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