Hell is the DMV

(And no, I don’t mean DC, Maryland and Virginia.)

I attended a college that required we take a mandatory theology class and I was apprehensive because the way modern religion is structured repulses me. Going into the course with an open mind, to my surprising I found I loved the class and even excelled in it. My professor recommended that I change my major over to theology. Thinking of money only and not passion or interest I stuck with business but sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I had switched over though I know I made the right choice (and there’s no way to go back and change the past so I don’t dwell too long on those thoughts).

I say all that to say I enjoy discussing theology and spirituality and probably have a different view than most. The inferno, fire and brimstone image of Hell that most people have isn’t one I share. Truly, I believe Hell is personalized for everyone. I always saw my own personal Hell as waiting in line but never moving, never accomplishing anything. Switching endlessly between lines with no way to escape. Who knew when I stepped into the NYC DMV I would be seeing my own personal Hell on Earth. Okay, maybe that is a tad dramatic because everyone was so nice and helpful, considering the amount of people they serve it was pretty efficient. I’m just a woman with little patience.

When they finally called my number an hour a half after my appointment, I ran down the aisles like a contestant on the Price is Right. (This might be an aged reference at this point...) Letting go of my expired NJ ID that I used to travel to Hawai’i with (very sentimental) I left with temporary NY ID in hand — feeling very Carrie Bradshaw! (Though an overall better person than Carrie, I think I would rather be Samantha.)