Those stories about the light being warm and inviting were all true. I felt like I had just had a really really good massage, completely relaxed and at ease. Then came the part you never hear about.
The light recedes, and you are stuck in a waiting room. Don’t get me wrong it was really nice. The chairs were super comfortable, with great support and they reclined. There were magazines on the table, current magazines, soft and complimenting lighting, a great view from the windows, and the vending machine didn’t require any money. Apparently M&M’s are still a hit in the afterlife.
I walked up to what I thought was the Reception desk.
“Excuse me-” I started.
“Just a moment sir.” The woman replied a little shortly. Her red hair done in a 60’s beehive. She would’ve been prettier if she smiled, though looking at the frown lines around her lips I doubted she did it often.
After a couple minutes she called out, “Peters, Anderson. Head to room 32!” Her head followed something that I couldn’t see. “Alright sir. How can I help you?”
“Well, I mean, I guess I’m dead, and I went into the light and everything… so what do I do now?”
“You take a number.” She pointed to a pull tape just like the ones from banks and deli’s.
“Seriously? There’s a wait in Heaven?”
“Honey,” the redhead, her nametag read Hope, clearly given by some ironic or idealistic parents. “This ain’t Heaven.”
“What, the white walls, and the etherial glow, and the whole white light thing are for people who go to Hell?”
“Sir, this isn’t Hell either.” She was clearly getting a little annoyed, the way her “sir” had been sort of sighed.
“Well where am I then? I think I deserve to know!” Getting a little worked up wasn’t helping the situation, and thinking back on it I probably should have been nicer. I had worked in a call center and I remember how much I hated helping people who were complete douches.
“You are in a waiting room, sir. So you need to wait. You don’t look deaf, so take a number and have a seat. You don’t want me to call security, sir.” Judging by the glint in her eye, I bet she wanted nothing more than to call security, but I took the hint, and grabbed a number.
I was so confused. Here I am, four days dead, and I am told I had to wait to be seen for whatever needed to happen for my afterlife. So, I sat down in one of the chairs, after grabbing some candy from the vending machine. I shuddered to think I might be sitting in the same seat as another person no matter who invisible and intangible they might be, but since there was no real way of telling I might as well rest and relax. The seats really were a quite nice, probably a fake suede but very comfy. I looked down at my ticket: 42. Douglas Adams would be proud of himself.
I couldn’t see any number board so I wasn’t sure if my wait would be long.
I appeared to be the only person there. Well except for Hope, but really calling that shrew a person would be generous.
Eventually, probably after an hour or so, I heard a ding from above, and a sweet voice called out: “42.” The ceiling looked like clouds so I’m not sure if the speaker was hidden or something.
I went up to Hope, took a breath and tapped on her desk.
“Excuse me, Hope. They just called my number, where should I go?”
“You don’t go anywhere yet. You Americans are all go, go, go even in death. Just give me the number ticket and I take your name.”
I handed the woman my ticket, and told her, Jake Gilbert Koss. She took a moment to enter some details into what looked like a relic of a computer system. This day was getting just so weird.
“Alright, please have a seat till I call your name, then proceed to the room I tell you down that hall.” She pointed to a bunch of clouds that split to reveal a long hallway.
I let out a sigh and returned to the chair. This was getting old, very fast. I waited for probably another hour, though ever since I had died my sense of time had been slipping a little, that and the fact that I may or may not have had a short nap, at one point. I turned my gaze to the windows, and saw a bright blue sky, a lone cloud drifted by.
“I wonder if that is the equivalent of a car here,” I wondered out loud. I would have pondered that one a little more, but apparently my time waiting was up.
“Koss, Jake!” Barked Hope. ”Head to Room 26.”
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