They Teach You a Secret Handshake When You Leave Hell

Whenever someone is fortunate enough to be pardoned from Hell, the demon working the front lobby teaches that rare individual a secret handshake. Least that’s what the stranger in the diner said.

The stranger sat at my table uninvited and spilt coffee over my half-read newspaper and launched into his story before I could cuss him out.

He claimed to have been in a heavy equipment accident just yesterday. Brain injury would explain volumes.  But the dozer bucket just didn’t ring his bell, he claimed, it killed him dead.

My money’s on a sharp but non-lethal rap to the head.  But I had time to kill until the missus returned from shopping, so I let him ramble.

Shortly after dying, he was ushered into Hell and was processed for an Eternity of suffering. A short hour later, an embarrassed minion politely explained that there had been a clerical error and that Hell wasn’t authorized to admit him just yet. The demon explained to the shaken patron that he could collect his personal affects at the lobby on his way out.

By the time the man reached the lobby he collected himself and was more relieved than scared and struck up a friendly conversation with the demon wearing the shabby suit behind the desk.

“Whada day. My own personal hell”, the man said as he scratched his name next to several “X’s.”

“You think a hell, on any scale, is ever really personal?” the Demon asked.

“Come again?”

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud. There is one last thing”, the demon said and then proceeded to teach the man a secret handshake.

“What’s this for?” the man asked.

“You’ll meet all sorts of interesting people with it. People like you, who’ve been through personal hells not unlike yours. Use the handshake to find each other.”

The man thought about the possibilities and how he’d struggled to strike up friendship his entire life. The handshake would up open up a word of possibilities.

The demon noticed his smile and warned him not to get overly worked up over the handshake.

“Why’s that?” the man asked.

“’Cuz there’s only two types of people who ever leave here. Those who forgot the handshake and those who are too proud to admit they know it.”

The man was disappointed but wore a brave face. “Not much of a handshake is it?”

“Depends on your druthers”, the demon countered. “I think it’s heavenly, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

You meet the darnest people in diners.