Rewriting Dante to Fit the 21st Century

Yep. I've been away...I have been researching material in order to revise one of the most famous literary works of all time. No, "Horton Hears A Who" needs no refinement. It will survuve thousands of years, dog-eared and spit-sogged, but survive it will. I am speaking of the changes in world society that force me to spend days sequestered in the Fortress of Solitude located in an obscure part of the world (Miami) solely for the purpose of making a timeless classic of the written word even more timely: "The Inferno" has become a bit dated, and the cirlces of Hell are in need of serious refurbishing. I mean, a circle which featured a heavy, steady rain? (#3) That's hardly enough to strike fear into anyone's heart today. The violent storms of Circle #2 would scarcely raise an eyebrow here in Green Bay where we get torrential rains in December followed by freezing sleet and snow. The Horned Demons of Circle #7? Hey, the Vikings win the NFC North this year! See what I mean?
Granted, open, fiery tombs and having boiling pitch poured on sinners still carry a bit of weight, but since we really don't see that much, I think we need another way to strike fear into the very souls of people everywhere. I suggest a newer version of the Circles of Hell, and I think everyone would agree that I've hit on a genius idea: the Circles of Hell should now come to be known as...Holiday Airline Travel!
Having spent literally days researching this idea, I am here to present to you the new-look "Inferno."

Circle #1: Everyone, sinners and not-so-guilty alike, is forced to endure malfunctioning escalators and moving walkways only to find long lines at the security counter while listening to a TSA person shouting over and over: "laptops out, shoes off, and jackets and sweaters in a separate bin." By over and over, I mean for the 60 minutes it takes one to get through the serpentine lines at the security checkpoint. Forget to remove a belt of take the cell phone out of your pocket? It's the "wand" and the pat down search for you, my friend. Purgatory can be a tough place, it would seem.

Circle #2: For the somewhat more tainted devil-may-not-care types:they are forced to stand in the aisle behind someone trying in vain to stuff a bag the size of a Volkswagen into an overhead bin over row # 7 of a 35-row plane with people shoving from behind. These people have been delayed three times already and are in danger of missing a connecting flight. Then, upon landing this malefactors are forced to stand behind the SAME person struggling to retrieve the bag from the miniscule overhead bin...all the while watching the time tick away until the connecting flight has skittered down the runway to be lost in the eternal horizon of Stygian darkness.

Circles #3 and #4: Somewhat more nefarious sinners would find themselves missing luggage on the outgoing flight and on the returning flight as well. This would result in having to wear a sweatshirt, long pants and a stocking hat in St. Thomas for a week while awaiting a bag then standing on the jetway in Saskatchewan in a pair of plaid shorts, flip flops, and a "Thomas is my Favorite Saint" T-shirt searching for the same bag(containing the car keys)that has been sent to the Twilight Zone. Spending two weeks in the same underwear in a sub-tropical climate can be a pennance to more than the wearer, I assure you.

Moving deeper into the levels of Updated Perdition, one would encounter the following situations:

Getting up at 4 in the morning, anxiously awaiting a trip to warmer climes, only to have fog shroud an otherwise snow-covered tarmac, making any flight out impossible and insuring that every potential connecting flight will have taken off long before one can make it past the first leg of the journey; waiting in line for the service agent to say, "Oh, we'll get out in plenty of time," then watching the clock begin to spin like it does in cartoons until you know it's just not going to be the Pearly Gates today. A subsequent 90-minute wait in a line for rebooking nets exactly...nothing...the plane boards two hours and three connections late. It's not going to be your eternity.

Sprinting O.J.-like through a crowded terminal in hopes of gaining ANY connecting flight only to be told that absolutely no airline, not even Korean Air, will be headed where the sinner wants to go...and all flights in that direction on EVERY airline are booked solid for the next two days! (all said with a saintly smile or devilish grin...take your pick)

Being surrounded by hollow-eyed stranded travelers who constantly want to tell their sad tale of being stuck at O'Hare for three days with crying children, no food and a dead cell phone. These people stare constantly at the package of snack crackers one has been hoarding for just such an emergency, and they begin to encircle the unwary sinner...

For the unrepentant, any of the following scenarios could be possible:

Standing for over an hour in a rebooking line only to see some swarthy, slightly dangerous-looking guy cut through the line, walk right up to the counter, and hear the desk agent say, "Yes, how may I help you?" This is compounded by the fact that the transaction takes exactly 35 minutes, whereupon the agent puts on her coat and leaves the rest of the line with mouths agape (not a very promising posture in our new version of Hell).

Being told on Saturday that if one wanted to wait until Monday morning at 7 a.m. a flight COULD be arranged to the desired 80-degree temperate clime by sending the sinner to Montreal first, and THEN getting a direct flight out...just in time to fly back two days later.

For the utterly hopeless: the knowledge that the fare is non-refundable; that the airline disavows any responsibility because the weather delays are "Acts of God" (as if they care in Hell); that the SPF 50 sunscreen purchase is being mocked throughout the Underworld; and that there will be snow to shovel at the end of the journey.

And the final circle of hell...the absolute bottom of the pit...well, that one can remain the same. Instead of Satan being frozen in ice from the waist down, alternating thawing himself out with a beating of wings and refreezing over and over for all eternity, the 21st century sinner would find himself returning forlorn and hopeless to shovel the driveway because the snowblower was not going to work this day or any day; the worst of the sinners, frozen in the driveway, awaiting the spring thaw that will never come.

It's a real page-turner, isn't it?