When You Die

When you die, here’s what might happen:

St. Peter

or

the uniformed border-crossing guard

or

the tour guide with the bright umbrella

or

the head librarian

or

the maître d’

or

the stewardess behind the airline check-in counter

or

the parking valet

or

the elevator operator

or

the person manning the Information desk

or

the hotel reservations clerk

or

the person with the bullhorn

or

the radiologist

or

Charon

or

the street-corner panhandler

or

your first-grade teacher

compares your face with the photo ID on the clipboard, or the palmtop, and says, “Congratulations. You’ve been saved. Welcome to eternity. This way, please.”

 

If this totally infuriates you, don’t worry—you have a choice. You can always say no.

 

And after that, you still have a choice.