There's one thing you can count on: when you ask someone what they did to get here, they'll never give you an answer worth listening to.

It's something besides embarrassment. Embarrassment is obvious maybe, but there's something else that's more important. It has to do with this: if someone really understands -- and I mean really understands -- what they did to get here, odds are they wouldn't have ended up here. That kind of awareness of how things work is usually sufficient to allow people to avoid this place.

So now you're going to ask me what I did to end up here, and in answer I'm going to spew some Olympic-level bullshit.

I mean, I tried to be evil. I worked hard at it. I dissed God. That's usually a good start. He abandoned Creation in the Garden of Eden by all accounts and left us to finish up. Diseases and natural disasters and accidents and misfortunes and ... well, it's obvious the Big Guy's hands are no longer on the wheel. Pointing out that, however, still ain't enough for a felony conviction.

I don't know what's wrong with that. Too rational maybe? Or maybe it's just that God knows I'm right.

Let's see. I smoke when I remember I have cigarettes, and I drink when I remember I have booze. As far as vices go, those are pretty half-assed.... I'm not much of a bigot, my pets have nothing to fear from me either cruelty-wise or sexually, and I don't worship Ayn Rand. That's pretty weak on the virtues side, too. Certainly that not-worshipping-Ayn-Rand thing can counteract a lot of evilness, but I still thought I was bound for Hell for sure.

But here I am in Heck instead.

I live in the best country on earth during its worst days. I'll never go hungry -- as long as I don't mind eating fast food. I have a place to live -- except I never get a chance to be there. I have a job that pays enough to keep me from going deeper into debt too fast -- but gives me little hope of ever digging myself out of my financial hole. I drive a luxury car -- that was a luxury fifteen years ago. (Now it is merely most of a car.) I have good friends that I never see, a lovely wife that's mostly a picture on my desk, and ... just enough hope to make me miserable.

It's not Hell, but it sure ain't Heaven.

Whatever it is, I didn't do it. Straight up.

Every night, after all the The Simpsons reruns I can stomach, I hear the cardboard key turn in the cardboard lock, and I stare at the cardboard walls. Every night I think about where I went wrong. Or right. Or whatever.

Okay, that's a lie. I mean, I told you I was lying at the outset, but that one's too big to swallow. I don't think about where I went wrong or right or whatever. I mostly just don't think, and that's more than likely why I'm here. Same as you maybe. I'm sure you can't tell me why you're here either. It's all some kind of mistake, you'll say. You got screwed by The Man.

And I'll believe you as much as you believe me.

Welcome to Heck, then. Pull up a plastic airport chair that isn't shaped like any human ass I've ever seen, and I'll tell you what you're in for.

As afterlife-type-punishment-places go, Heck is second rate. There's no fire or brimstone. It's just a little smoggy and humid. Demons are in short supply, though there are managers and supervisors. The wailing of any damned nearby is completely drowned out by the whining of the multitudinous darned. And leverage is a verb here.

Everything you want is available here -- just not always available to you. As soon as you get your hands on something, a quick look around reveals that someone else nearby has something better.

And the absolute worst thing about Heck? You learn to sit there and take it.

At first you fight for what you want, and you fight hard. And much of the time it pays off. But as time goes on, working hard and struggling returns less and less incremental improvements for your effort. Then you burn out and stop fighting. Eventually someone will offer you your life's dream and you'll just sit there with your hands in your lap.

Like me, you'll be imprisoned in a cage a five-year-old could kick his way out of, too stupid to realize that you might as well work for what you want even if it doesn't seem you're making any progress -- because what else do you really need to do with your time? I guess "reality" shows and video games just seem more worthwhile. At least here in Heck, anyway.

In many ways Hell would be a significant improvement. Misery at the end of a red-hot pitchfork is much, much cleaner. Hell has real gates guarded by real guards. You can't get out because they won't let you. They care. Here in Heck they literally don't give a damn about you. You keep the keys to your own cell, and it's your hand that turns the key in the lock, and though you're crying while you turn the key, you still lock yourself in.

It's the darndest thing.

So.

What are you in here for?