The Christmas Inferno, as provided by Mouthrest Airlines at Love Field in Dallas, Texas, has several circles, one more treacherous than the next. The sign at the entrance does not read ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE, so you go inside.
The Christmas Inferno involves waiting in a seemingly immovable line (or queue to the Brits) while listening to Christmas carols through the public address system.
The Vestibule of Mouthrest's Christmas Inferno is for the revelers: those who dare to take the holiday season seriously enough to visit their out-of-state loved ones. The Vestibule is a plain of positive expectations: the promise of airborne transportation hangs tantalizingly in the air like the aroma of Gingerbread men. Thoughts of flying through the air, on the way to see our loved ones, are punctuated by announcements by Mayor Eric Johnson, who tells us breathlessly how much he loves his city. Mr. Mayor, we would love nothing better than to not hear your cloying, machine gun-repetitive announcements: Let's get back to the tuneful epic of Frosty the Snowman.
"Here comes Susie Snowflake." But wait, here is Susie's pal, Charlie Cockroach: did you see him scamper across the tile, toward the carpeting at your feet, as your Better Half holds your place in line and you stare wide-eyed in terror at Charlie's chitinous back? Charlie is just a prisoner here, of his own device, trapped in this land of the forever-young Michael Jackson as he reports on his mom's nocturnal sojourns with Santa Claus.
The illusion of positive expectations shatters at the last minute in Mouthrest's Inferno: after your spouse's errant cough gets you both tossed from your aircraft, and you both die a little inside, you are posthumously assured two tickets out of this paranoia-inducing dystopia.
"Not to worry," you are told, "We will rebook you on a later flight." Your hopes rise to the delicious delight of your demonic keepers.
As you suppress your coughs, on guard that some patriotic busybody (what the Millennials refer to as a “Karen”) will turn you in, your hopes of eventual family Christmas caroling reaches a crescendo.
But then, the floor is pulled asunder from under your feet: your second flight of the day is cancelled minutes before boarding time. So, you and your Better Half sit and wait.
It’s just another day at the Christmas Inferno.
