the real Highway from Hell

The stereotypical perception of Hell is that it is a fiery pit of torture. You know, it's dark and craggy and there are flames shooting up from the ground at random intervals, and caves where barbed-tailed, horned demons roast you slowly as a punishment for your sins (or give you head noogies, if you're Homer Simpson). The rumors about the temperature are correct, at least in August, but otherwise they're alllll wrong. Let me tell you about Hell.

Hell has beautifully manicured landscapes that take a lot of sprinklers to water, even during the summer when water is at a premium, and sparkling new buildings. In fact, any time a building starts to look old and interesting, it is promptly torn down and rebuilt, bigger and better. "Interesting" is forbidden in Hell, except for that one store with the pink flamingos, as an exception that proves the rule.

There are loads of shops and places to eat lunch in Hell, but you can never find them because Hell has banned any kind of large and distinguishing signs. You drive down one of the main roads to Hell and even though you're stuck in traffic, you have to squint and scan a long list of shops in one of Hell's typical strip malls to figure out where the damned Jason's Deli is. And if you do find the Jason's Deli, you must pass through the demonic gatekeepers to gain entrance. The demonic gatekeepers are skinny, blonde, and discussing tips for catching a rich husband. If you manage to get past them, you will have to deal with lesser demons, pushing huge strollers or polluting the air with noise from hellaciously loud cellphones. You can tell they are being lectured by higher demonic beings because when they are on these phones they are rooted to the spot, even in the middle of a high-traffic area; furthermore, the higher beings obviously exist in noisier climates, because the lesser demons have to shout to make themselves heard.

Hell has no free wireless, although you can find a Starbucks. Maybe more than one. Hell allegedly has an Amy's Ice Cream now, but part of the reason why it's Hell is that you know about it and can never find it. There is no public transportation. There are no visible gas stations. Hell is overdeveloped, so its roads are never big enough for the cars that must travel them, back and forth, day after day, as part of their penance. There are few left-turn lanes, because that would just make traffic go faster. The idea is to maximize frustration.

And if you are truly damned, you must travel the Highway to Hell every day. Actually, the Highway to Hell isn't so bad, because Hell is happy to lure you to its demonic lair. It's the Highway from Hell that subjects you to endless pain and suffering. You want fast-moving traffic and an easy commute? Well, you should have thought twice before you touched yourself like that, missy. Hell is stop-and-go, stop-and-go, and to make the afterlife even more punishing, the radio reception is erratic and poor, so if you want to make Hell more bearable by listening to a radio, or an MP3 player plugged into a radio frequency ... hah.

To taunt you on your hellish route, you may spot the occasional bar or restaurant, a seeming oasis, and decide to stop there in the hopes that your commute will be less onerous after awhile. But you're still in Hell, remember? There is no fast food in Hell. The food all looks delicious but you will suffer; you will wait long, long periods of time in strangely lit rooms with special ceilings designed to amplify even the slightest noises. And those demons from the deli with the cell phones? They're multiplied during happy hour. It is not a happy hour at all, believe me, especially once you receive the bill.

Hell looks like it was a beautiful place once, and that's one of the other features designed to make you feel terrible -- you can see the remnants of what must have been gorgeous land, with cliffs and hills and even a lake. But in Hell, the land was torn up to accommodate dozens of shiny buildings for high-tech companies, and big mansions visible in the distance. You can watch new buildings and houses being constructed on the Highway from Hell as you stop and go, stop and go, with your right foot aching from hovering over the brake pedal for an hour at a time.

As it grows dark during your eternity on the Highway from Hell, you look around you for the other poor souls who are suffering. You can see car after car after car piled with them, mixed in with the demons, all stuck on Hell's beautifully maintained, amazingly clogged highway. Peer around that SUV with the "Keep Austin Wealthy" sign, or that Hummer with the "Condi for President" campaign sticker, and you may spot the sedans of the damned, with their "Stop Voting Fraud" and "Fair Use Has a Posse" stickers. Strangely, there appear to be few pickup trucks in Hell, although you may see the occasional truck towing lawn and landscaping machinery.

Friends of mine who live in Houston and Dallas tell me that I do not really know Hell, that I am a lucky soul, and that I have experienced only one of the minor circles of Hell. In fact, they say, it's practically Purgatory. Other local commuters have informed me that it isn't Hell until you make the daily drive north to an area known for its giant high-tech employer that rhymes with Hell. I can only reply that the Highway of Hell to which I am currently sentenced is as harrowing as I can stand. Those big-city rush-hour commuters must have nerves of iron.

Every day, I travel to Satan's lair, and am forced to try to return to my quiet little abode on the local Highway from Hell. Sure, you can call it Westlake if you like, and you can refer to the highway as Loop 360, or Capitol of Texas Highway. But I know what it really is. And believe me, whatever I did to deserve this, I am extremely sorry.

[I have been wanting to write this entry for six months. I really needed to get that out of my system. Thank you for patiently sitting through my little whine session.]

Posted at December 5, 2006 03:07 PM