Hell

A thousand things I’ve been meaning to blog about.  Like that I’ve discovered something everyone else already knew:  that the reason for the existence of dishwashers has nothing to do with convenience (it isn’t easier to stack than to wash) and everything to do with hiding one’s dirt (shove them in and they disappear!  it’s like making a list!).  Or that as I get to be a better driver, I also get to be a worse driver.  I think the last time I worried about getting the gas pedal mixed up with the brake was also the last time I did a full halt at a stop sign.  Or else I could just agonize about marking.  The horror of the piles!

But instead I’ll just suggest a meme (a DIY one, no tags).  What is your hell? It has to be a boundaried space.  You have to spend time there on a regular basis.  Your entry has to be a matter, in part, of free choice — that is to say, it’s the choices you made that brought you to hell.  But it’s also a matter of the pull of circumstance — hell isn’t, couldn’t be somewhere you’ve chosen to be.

Mine is the Vegas airport.  What a hideous, soul-sucking spot.  Banks of slot machines crying out their shoddy, tinny little tunes, a few sad sacks playing and playing and playing, the occasional angry drunk shouting at the immigrant woman who gives out change, no electrical outlets, no fresh air, kiosks where a lighter or a can opener can be had for nine dollars, and everyone is lost and trapped and miserable.  Last time we were there, Eila was shooed away from the slots by a functionary who warned us that if the police saw a minor sitting at the machines we would be subject to a fine.  The only comfortable chairs in the place are reserved for this pornographic enterprise — and it’s your job, parents, to keep your children away.  I hate airports anyway, but the sadness of this place makes me so angry I could punch someone.  I’m sure it happens all the time, though the worst I saw was someone throw a pile of change in someone else’s face because she couldn’t give him quarters.  Hell.

But, hey, that’s where Southwest connects!

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Hell

  1. “What is your hell? It has to be a boundaried space. You have to spend time there on a regular basis. Your entry has to be a matter, in part, of free choice — that is to say, it’s the choices you made that brought you to hell. But it’s also a matter of the pull of circumstance — hell isn’t, couldn’t be somewhere you’ve chosen to be.”

    Reminds of that wonderful moment at the end of Season One of The Wire when Rawls tells McNulty, “Listen, I want to see you land on your feet, here. Tell me: Where don’t you want to end up?” And McNulty—bless him—just gives his characteristically boyish smirk.

  2. Seriously: if you hadn’t said it, I would have said it. I HATE Las Vegas airport. It is the armpit of America. It’s noisy and foul and there’s nothing to eat and the very newest section has these massive screens that advertise foul brainless entertainment and there are pictures of the Thunder Down Under everywhere you turn and unhealthy people acting badly and carrying bags of horrible swag. I loathe it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s