Bob dies.
He camps outside the gates of heaven for days. "I wanted to make sure I was first," he says. "I've always been first."
Finally, an angel appears.
"Bob," it calls out.
Excited, Bob rushes over. "So what's it like?"
The angel ignores Bob's question, flipping through a binder with all of his information. "Oh, this isn't looking good."
Bob starts to look concerned.
"What's wrong?"
The angel sighs. "This has been happening a lot lately," it says, showing him a page with three columns of names.
"See all of these people?
"Yeah...?"
"You destroyed their lives." The angel flips through page after page, explaining how almost everyone's list has gotten a lot longer after the pandemic. Since Bob has given a lot of bad health advice over Twitter, his list runs among the longest.
"But...it's mild," says Bob.
"Oh, Bob."
The angel escorts Bob to a room that looks a lot like the waiting room at a doctor's office, except it's empty.
Bob asks what's going on.
The angel explains. "This is purgatory, Bob." After complaining a little, Bob sits down and pulls out his phone. It works, but it's so slow and buffery he gives up. There's a television, but it only plays crappy daytime programming like Dr. Phil and Seinfeld reruns.
Bob looks around. "Is there anything to do here?"
"Not much, Bob."
There's a brief silence. Bob finally asks the question. "How did I die? I don't seem to remember."
The angel pulls out its phone and shows Bob a photo of a trash can with two dents. "You did hit the other side, Bob."
"Oh."
Bob looks exasperated. "How long is it going to take? Is there at least a cafeteria or something?"
The angel shrugs. "Average wait time is about a hundred years." It floats toward the door, then turns. "By the way, there's a break room with a couple of vending machines down the hall. But fair warning..."
Bob rolls his eyes. "How much worse could it get it?"
The angel smirks. "It only dispenses one food."
"What's that?"
"Twizzlers."
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