The scene opens in the grand, infernal bureaucracy of Hell. Flames flicker, tortured souls wail in the background, and a line of the damned stretches into eternity. A massive obsidian desk sits at the centre, manned by a bored, horned demon with reading glasses perched on the end of his snout. A sign above reads: HELL CUSTOMER SERVICE - TAKE A NUMBER
Frank Costanza storms in, gripping a numbered ticket. He slams it on the desk.*
FRANK: “What the hell is this?!”
DEMON RECEPTIONIST: “Sir, that is your number. When it is called, you may lodge your complaint.”
FRANK: “I’ve been standing here for an eternity! I’m already in Hell, and now I gotta wait? What kind of operation are you running?”
DEMON RECEPTIONIST: (sighs) “Sir, we are experiencing a high volume of complaints. Please remain patient.”
FRANK: “Patient?! I am FRANK COSTANZA! I have NEVER been patient! Now listen here, hornhead—”
A dark, regal presence looms over them. The ground shakes. Fire erupts from cracks in the floor. The temperature drops despite the infernal heat.
SATAN (a deep, thunderous voice): “Who disturbs the Dark Lord’s dominion?!”
FRANK: (spins around, unfazed) “It’s about time you showed up! Listen here, pal, I’ve got some serious grievances about my eternal damnation!”
SATAN: (bemused) “Oh? You object to my punishment, mortal?”
FRANK: “Damn right I do! First of all, where’s the free coffee? Every waiting room has free coffee! Second, the temperature is ridiculous—how do you expect people to enjoy eternal suffering if they’re sweating their cojones off? And third—”
SATAN: (amused, arms crossed) “You wish to file a formal complaint… against Hell?”
FRANK: “You’re damn right I do!” (pauses, realising the irony) “And another thing—who decided I belong in Hell?! My wife, sure, but me? I demand an appeal!”
Hell’s demons murmur among themselves. A smaller, impish demon steps forward.
DEMON: “Sir, according to our records, you lived a life of extreme rage, belligerence, and general hostility.”
FRANK: “That’s just passion!”
SATAN: (strokes chin, smirking) “Perhaps… you are not meant for Hell.”
DEMON: “Wait, what?!”
SATAN: “No, no… Frank Costanza is far too much trouble. He belongs in… Purgatory.”
A portal opens. The scene shifts—Frank finds himself in a waiting room identical to the one before. A sign reads: PURGATORY CUSTOMER SERVICE – NOW SERVING #0001. YOUR NUMBER: #17,859,222.
FRANK: “SERENITY NOW!!”
