My fellow damned and I are in a room with many lab tables, scattered with equipment. From the front of the room Satan announces, “At each table, you will find the lab description and all the experimental aparatus you will need . . .”
Performing the experiment, I know, will not take long.
But the data analysis and writeup will take (dum DUM DUM!!!) ALL ETERNITY.
(I still have flashbacks to Intermediate Lab. sigh)
This may sound silly, but here goes. My little pocket of hell would be: Me in a room filled with mosquitoes, thousands of them. The bites would never stop. But the main torture for me would be the incessant buzz/whine of there horrible little wings. They drive me absolutely insane. That’s all.
Not sure what the room would be like, but the sound would be the high-pitched whine of gas-powered weedeaters. I am convinced that is the noise people hear in their heads before they take a rifle up into a tower and start shooting.
“Attention, faculty. The State has changed the curricular guidelines again, so we will have to rewrite everything. Again. Please meet by department. The Adminsitrators will help provide guidance in this project.”
A family feast of some sort, where every relative is in his most obnoxious behavior and of course I get seated at a table where the 2nd youngest person is at least 27 years older than myself.
Yeah, that describes the last 3 weddings I went to, why do you ask?
[ul]
[li]grading final exams one after another, one after another, one after another, … AAAAAAAEEEEEIIIIIIIII!!![/li][li]listening to a boring monotone interminable lecture in a hot stuffy room[/li][li]sitting in the middle seat on a flight between two calorically challenged passengers and in front of a kid who has a leg spasm that causes him to kick every 20 seconds[/li][/ul]
Waiting in line. Hell is a long line that moves slightly every 20 minutes or so, making you feel like there is progress but you never actually get anywhere.