PlainOleMike's Nine Rings of Hell-ular

The other day, I had a friend tell me to go to Hell. He didn't mean it, there was no urging me to book a trip on Expedia or anything, it was all just good natured ribbing, but even so, it got me thinking. What is Hell? There's hundreds of literary and Hollywood versions of it. Meet Joe Black, Family Guy, Bill and Ted, South Park, The Marquis de Sade, sitting through all fourteen hours that were Steven Speilburg's A.I. However, the grand-daddy of all that is the underworld comes from "The Divine Comedy." The classic version of Satan's rumpus room.

That grand old chap Dante made himself all famous simply for writing about Hell. Dante envisioned the land of H, E, double hockey sticks as a big funnel extending down into the center of the Earth, kind o flike a giant beer bong with burning flesh and tortured souls instead of the frosty brew and scantily clad co-eds. If Dante were MapQuest, he'd probably direct you to Jerusalem or there abouts to start your Netherworld treasure map, personally, I'm pretty certain he's off my a few thousand kilometers. My best guess is that the eternal lava pits are simmering just to the left of Washington.

Dante's beer bong is made up of nine circles, with that I can agree,but I don't think Dante had Mr. Orwell's eye for the future. I don'tt hink he fully thought out the multitude of future sins the human race would come up with. He had this part right, the first circle is the widest and they get smaller and smaller, less and less crowded until the ninth circle, which is a little tiny room, kind of like TheUnderworld's half bath. Dante and all the subsequent Dantephiles and Danteholics that supported his visions over the years needed a pair of fresh eyes, therefore, I've taken it upon myself to revamp Hell. This is a Hell for the modern world.

1st circle: Limbo. In Dante's brain, Limbo is for the folks who never found God, the ignorant; the unbaptized, savages, Carrot Top, and the like. Other than Mr. Top, who has punished all of us quite enough, I don't reallybelieve these folks deserve Hell. Instead, Limbo is for those that have committed lesser crimes, they won't necessarily burn in the eternal fires, but their seat is uncomfortably close. Limbo's population will be made up of people who wear pants you can easily fit three or four people into, parents who let their preteen daughters dress like extras from "Betty Jo is a Filthy Filthy Whore: The Musical," and celebrities that incite people to ask, "why is this person famous, and why won't they go away?" Also down there, in the forever limbo (which by the way does have an all Harry Belafonte all the time soundtrack) will be PeOpLe WhO TyPe LiKe ThIs, anyone who tears articles out of waiting room magazines, and every single beingthat has ever uttered the words, "would you like to take part in a short one to two minute telephone survey?"

Sure, you have rapists, murderers, little boy diddling clergymen, crack dealers, Michael Jackson, and all their ilk. I'm not going tof orget about them. Let's just go ahead and throw them into Hell's urinal right now, go ahead and assume these people are damned to an afterlife of eternal swirlie. These folks go without saying, my concern, though, is the remaining eight Hellevels. Like one of those freakishly limber Gong Show contestants with nineteen hula hoops, Hell has more rings we need to discuss.

2nd circle: This is the merely uncomfortable level. This is the level of eternal smacks across the face. Never ending sting of the cheek. Ring number two is reserved solely for souls that encounter cell phone static and ask their conversation partner (fully expecting a laugh)"can you hear me now?" Enough. Ring two may not be deep, but no one will hear you, except Satan's minions who will slap the crap out of you. Your comaptriots: people who over spout Saturday Night Live catch phrases. They will be seated in a slightly disagreeable chair next to you.

3rd circle: Every single time I go to the grocery store I see future residents of this very special ring. These are the people who, at insane volume levels, have one very loud side of a conversation on their cell phones for every one around them to hear. These people, since they lack the gene that controls discretion will be forced to parade naked in front of Howard Stern (oh come on, you know he'll be down there) for all eternity. Howie and his boys will teach you the lesson of keeping it to yourself by broadcasting your flaws and faults to all of the afterlife. In the 3 ring convoy will be the folks sneaking sixty eight items into the express lane and that moron who can't figure out the self check out, but insists on getting to it just before me.

4th circle: Living it up in Fourthringville will be all the people who use the Nextel BOOOODOOOP walkie talkie phones in public places. Again the grocers, the mall, the gas station, the bus, the train... Could Nextel have come up with a more obnoxious sound? I can't watch that scene in Dumb and Dumber anymore without expecting Jim Carey to pull out his mobile phone. It's okay, you'll have people to talk to on that level - the guy who decided that you can't control the volumeof the BOOOOOOODOOOOP noise and all of corporate Nextel will be walkie-ing and talkie-ing with you. For all eternity you will be whipped with ham radio antennas while being forced to listen to 1970's big rig CB chatter and watch "Smokey and the Bandit 2" over and over and over and over and over. 10-4?

5th circle: This fifth circle of hell is earmarked for the people who, in very inappropriate places; like church, class, meetings..., forget to turn the ringer off. No, that in itself is not a sin, that's a mistake, a forgetfulness issues, a reason to eat more zinc or carrots or whatever it is that improves memory. The criminals here are those that hear their phones go off in these inappropriate places and let them ring and ring and ring and ring. Sure, sometimes they give a sheepish, apologetic smile, but do they get off their butts and make it so we don't have to hear a synthesized cell phone version of "Holla Back Girl?" No, they do not. So, they will be drafted into Hell's marching band, where they will perform cell phone beeping button versions of Journey's greatest hits until their thumbs are numb, then they get to start in on the REO Speedwagon catalog. Roommates: people who are still doing impressions of or quoting Napolean Dynamite or Austin Powers and the actual Napolean Dynamite.

6th circle: This is a personal vendetta ring. Anyone who has answered a cell phone during a face to face conversation with me. This has happened countless times: at the book store register while I was cashiering, while I was talking to a table I was waiting on, the bank teller even did it to me once, my own friends have done it during dinner at restaurants... I've seen it happen in church, and it even happened during a parent/teacher conference the other day. It is a vicious, indescribably rude act. Due to the high instance of this sin being committed at dining establishments, these folks will spend the after life eating waiter-spit-soup in the company of people who don't hold elevator doors and those that leave their pets in the car during summer.

7th circle: It's quite passe to be vindictive against people who talk on the phone while they drive, and I myself am guilty of it, so I don't reserve this circle for just any driving phone talkers; this is for the people who are actually distracted enough by the telephone to have it cause safety issues. If you're alone, chat away, but if there are any of the following things taking place, welcome to level 7: kids in the car with you, you're a teenager talking to other teenagers who are also driving, you have a hamburger in the other hand, you are talking to someone that is actually in the car with you, you are within ten miles of home, you have caused an accident in the past, or you are applying make-up and/or shaving. Your hell will be equipped with crash test dummy driven vehicles repeatedly smashing into your cellphone talking ass while they endlessly sing, in their metallic robot voices, the chorus of the Crash Test Dummies song, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." Extra volume on the song for thosewho A. Palm Pilot with that stupid little pen or B. Text with that incessant thumb typing while piloting a motor vehicle.

8th circle: A special table for a select few. Everyone here will inexplicably have their cell phone clipped to their belt. Why they don't move it mere millimeters into pocketland, no one can comprehend. Who could possibly be calling that needs your attention milliseconds quicker than a hand into pocket maneuver takes? Since these folks think they're some sort of modern day communication device gunslingers, their forever will be spent with PDA styluses under their fingernails, ridden by spur wearing cowpokes, and being constantly antagonized by rodeo clowns. Along for the rodeo will be any one that wears a beret (non-military) and most of the four AM Denny's customers.

9th circle: This is it, this is the big boy. This is reserved for the utmost of utmost sins. The pickings will be slim, but the tortured souls wandering this level for the hereafter will be people who, when they are not actually talking on the phone, wear the hands free headset or the "Blue Tooth" into completely unnecessary situations. If you keep the ear piece in during youth sporting events, church, walking around stores, or the biggest sin I've yet witnessed, into the movie theater, you will take the elevator down and hit the big round number nine. Hell will not be a picnic for you, so leave your basket behind. You'll be greeted each morning with an army of failed dental assistants who will spend the day shoving inappropriate things into your ear; like cats, your elbow, and Austrian pop star Falco. Your dance partner will be Simon from American Idol and those pseudo-Christian nut jobs from The AmazingRace.

Dante was a fine writer, a creative man, and a wee bit on this side of wacky. He had the right idea, but he needed himself a flux capacitor and a glimpse of the future to see the real crimes against humanity. If you, yourself, are guilty of any of these sins, do yourself a favor, repent. Say a couple of Hail Marys, knock off a few Lord'sPrayers, maybe even recite that Crash Test Dummies song for good measure, there is still hope for you. Can you hear me now?

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Modern Inconveniences - OR - Can I Strangle That Computerized Voice? Please?

Now that we're deep into the new millennium we're dealing with problems our ancestors never would have imagined. I'm not talking about big problems like educating our children, global warming, nuclear weapons, or the the public relations challenge presented by Sarah Palin's grand kid's baby daddy. I'm talking about those little problems, those itsy bitsy annoyances that just get under our skin. I'm talking about pet peeves.

Each generation has their own set of problems. With a wave of Greenness washing over the nation like a social consciousness tsunami, the environment is a big one we deal with. My dad lived in constant fear of a war with the Reds, serving in the Navy during the embargo on Cuba and that whole missile crisis thing. His dad lived through the Great Depression, never certain where his next meal might come from. His father, years before, fought against slavery. Before that, his dad moved his family West, suffering through famine and drought to make a better life for his family. His dad, way back in the day, dealt with... I don't know... broken butterchurns and faulty buggy wheels. Not only though did they deal with entirely different issues than we do today, but each generation had their own modern annoyances. Their own pet peeves.

My dad hates telemarketers. They just drive him batty. I don't know why he doesn't have caller ID to prevent this intrusion; I think perhaps he just needs something to complain about. Dad once told me that his father was a light switch Nazi, always complaining about people leaving lights on. Grandpa's father, probably before electricity was commonplace, got upset when toys weren't put away (with six kids, I'd imagine the wooden trains and those creepy old fashioned doll piles would get pretty huge). His father, my great-great-grandfather, hated it when visitors didn't latch the front gate and it would swing back and forth, squeaking in the wind. This is a man who's stress load would have been greatly reduced by the invention of WD-40. And his father before that, my great-great-great grandpappy, he was constantly irritated by... I have no idea. Buggies? Butter churns? Debates between the Whigs and the Torries?

Me, I live in a civilized society. I have conveniences in my life that make it so I don't have to deal with embargoes or slavery or creepy dolls or butter churns. Instead, as a citizen of our modern world, I get to deal with a whole new set of issues. I get to deal with the ultimate pet peeve for the new millennium. I get to call places on the telephone and fight through inane computerized prompts, hoping against hope, that maybe someday I will actually get to talk to a human being.

This morning, my wife and I realized we were going over our minutes on our cell phones. All I wanted to do was change my plan. I saw a good one, a special promotion, advertised on the website, but for some reason it wouldn't let me change plans online.No problem, I thought, I have a half hour drive to work. I'll just call customer service on my way.

As I pulled out of my driveway, I dialed the number. (Don't freak out you anti-cellphonites out there, I drive all back country roads to work. I'd need to see another car on the road to actually have an accident.)

A computer answered. Being familiar with the routine, I quickly pressed 1, telling the microchips at the home office that I'd prefer to conduct my business in English.

After a moment, the computer connected me to another menu. At that point, I had five choices to select from. None of them had anything to do with changing my plan. Since I wasn't listening all that closely, hoping there would have just been a "change your service plan" prompt that would have caught my ear, I had no idea what my other options were.

I did nothing. Nothing seemed like a good thing to do, because after a minute of silence, I heard a ringing. "Great," I thought, "I found a way to bypass the computerized menus and get right to a real live customer service representative." No. I didn't. Another computerized voice answered. She/it told me that she/it didn't understand my previous command and that I would be sent back to the main menu.

"Fair enough," I thought. It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention. I'd have to do it over.
I was connected back to a very pleasant computer lady. I told her again that I spoke English, by punching the "one" key on my phone.

I'd quickly gotten back to where I screwed it all up before. This time I listened closely to the options. I could chose to talk about my account, my bill, my remaining minutes, starting new service, or trouble shooting.

Oh, there it was. My account. That's got to be the way you change your plan. Enthusiastic, I pressed one. "How stupid was I to miss that the first time?" I asked myself as the computer switched me over to the next menu.

The computer, in that lovely, friendly voice then went on to tell me when I made my last payment, how much that payment was, how much my current balance was, and how many minutes I had used up already this billing cycle. Great, I already new all that, but that was convenient. Easier that looking it up online I guess. I waited,believing that there would then be another menu. Maybe it would ask me if I'd like to schedule a payment or if I'd like to change any part of my service or what not. It did not. It told me simply to press one to return to the main menu or two to end the call.

OK. I didn't get the information I wanted, so as much as I already wanted to end the call, I didn't want to end the call. I pressed one.

Back to the main menu. Again, I told it that I speak English. Again, I told it that I would like to talk about my account. I pressed one again, hoping that some glitch in the system had mistakenly not taken me to the next series of prompts last time. It did not. I found out my last payment, my balance, and my remaining minutes again. Great, I thought, now I know what not to do. I got it now.

Main menu. Yes, I speak English. Let's try billing. Maybe billing will lead me to where I want to go. Nope. Billing told me in that oh so pleasant voice, when I'd made my last payment, how much, my balance, and my remaining minutes (which had gone down since the last time I'd heard them).

Main menu. English, please. How about troubleshooting? Troubleshooting sounds very appropriate. This menu asked me if I was having trouble with my voice mail, text messaging, my handset, my bill, or online billing. None of the options were "Are you having trouble with the stupid computerized prompts?" I didn't know which one to press, so I went with 0. 0 stands for operator, right? Maybe that would just take me to a human. Maybe. I hoped.

There was a moment a silence, then one of those clicks that makes you think you've been connected to a person, then another computer lady told me that my choice was not a recognized response. She was very polite. She told me thank you. She told me to have a nice day. Then, she hung up on me.

I called back.

ENGLISH dammit. I haven't tried start new service. Certainly they let the new customers talk to a living breathing person, and certainly that living breathing person will be able to help me.
The new service menu asked me if I was a new customer or an existing customer with a new handset. I was neither, but I figured the computer wouldn't know I was lying. I tried to bluff my way through having a new phone to activate. It must have sensed something untruthful, because it too hung up on me.

I called back again.

Eng. Lish. Shouldn't English be a default? Shouldn't non English people have to go through all this rigmarole? Shouldn't speaking English somehow advance you thorough automatically?

New Service. New customer?

Now it wanted some kind of special numerical code from the side of the box my phone came in, the box I threw away years ago when I was finished being a new customer. I guessed. I just kept punching random numbers in one at a time, listening to see if there was a click or a buzz that meant I'd advanced to the next menu. Eventually, I'd typed enough numbers and that irritating computer woman told me that she didn't recognize the series I'd typed in. I believe I also heard her telling me that I was a lying sack of crap and that I needed to hang up and start over so that they could keep me in the living hell of computerized voice prompts. I couldn't hear her for sure, I was too busy screaming.

Hung up. Tried again. English. There was only one more main menu prompt I hadn't tried, check remaining minutes. I didn't want to press that button. I didn't want to have to do the quick math in my head and realize how many minutes I'd already wasted this morning. I did it anyway. Once again I found out when I'd made my last payment and all that other junk I didn't care to know.

At this point I thought about throwing the phone out the window and leading a more simplified life. I thought about being Amish and working the churn and building barns. No, that wasn't for me, too extreme. How about just back to when I was a kid? Computers were the future. Gas was eighty cents. McDonald's was a good wholesome meal. Rotary phones with the ffft ffft ffft ffft sound when you dialed them. A phone number with multiple nines in it took fifteen minutes to dial.

Ding. Light bulb. Some people still have those. They seem backwards and out of touch, but they must be able to escape the hell of computerized voice prompt menus.

I called back. English or Spanish? Nope. I refused to answer. I waited. And waited. And waited. I guess there's a certain amount of patience inherent in rotary phone dialers (those eights and nines just take forever), so they test you. Do you possess this level of patience or are you a big fat cheater? Just to make sure you're not lying to them.

Victory. A click. A voice. Dammit, it's another computer.

"Hello. I sense that you're having difficulty navigating our system.Speak clearly into your handset and tell me how I may be of service to you."

Oh, now this is cool.

"I'd like to change my service plan," I clearly stated, overenunciateing each syllable.

"You'd like to start a new service plan? Press one if that is correct. Press two to start again."

2.

"Change plan." I said real loud and slow, like when you're talking to babies or foreign people.

"You'd like to start a new service plan?" the idiotic computer lady said again.

2.

I thought real hard about what I was going to say, finally I came up with the brilliant plan to ask the dumb bitch to connect me with a person. "I'd like to speak with a person."

"Please enter your handset number with area code and I will check your account information."

Fearing that this would lead to me, once again, hearing about my last payment and all that, I hung up.

I called back and waited impatiently for the rotary phone police to get me to that stupid lady.

"I want to talk to someone with a pulse."

"You need help setting up your voice mail options?"

"A human being."

"You have a question about billing?"

"Can I please just talk to a human being?"

"You have a question about billing?"

"Is there anyone there that can help a very disgruntled customer?"

"Would you like to speak with a customer service representative?"

YES!!!

The compu-bitch connected me. There's the click. The ring. Another click. Oh please God, let a human answer the phone.

Muzak. I think it was Tiny Bubbles. It was kind of soothing. I think that's the plan. I little bit of relaxation and decompression time before they subject their living, breathing employees to customers that have just escaped the seventh circle. I listened for awhile, being sent back to warm memories of the very special Brady Bunch when they found to cursed voodoo idol in Hawaii. Then the phone hung up.

I silently cursed the entire universe.

I thought it was my battery or my signal, but nope, it just hung up on me. Again.

I called back one more time, vowing to, no matter how angry I was at the world, try the whole patience thing again. It worked. I got the lady. This time I decided to be patient with her too. Not say a word, thinking that maybe mute people got similar special treatment to the rotary phone folks. That worked too. Click. Ring. Ring. Muzak. This time it was Prince. Diamonds and Pearls. I had different warm memories, this time of the Prince video.

My warm memories were interrupted by the click of the damn thing hanging up on me again.

I was almost at work, in fact, I was waiting for a crossing guard to usher some of my students out of the road right in front of my school. I cursed the universe again. This time it was not silent. There was a new vocabulary lesson for a few kids this morning.

I gave up. I couldn't do it again. There wasn't an ounce of patient left in me to give it another go. Who ever said that if at first you don't succeed thing never had a cell phone. That's my lesson for today, isn't technology grand? We even talked about the pluses and minuses of technology for our journal in class today. I told the kids that I think great-great-great-grandpa had easy. Sure, he had to walk to school up hill both ways in the snow, but he never once had to hear, "if your butter churn is jammed press one, for churning assistance press two..."


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