What would hell look and feel like by your Enneagram number/type?
Hell is a messy house where the dishwasher is always loaded wrong, the toilet paper is hung backward, and people proudly say “rules are meant to be broken.” There’s no complaint box, no editor, and worst of all—everyone calls them “uptight” for caring.
Hell is a place where every kind gesture is met with: “I didn’t ask you to do that.” No one needs help moving, no one wants their casserole recipe, and every “How are you?” text is left on read. Eternal rejection, with sprinkles of passive-aggressive thanks.
Hell is a group project where everyone gets an “A” no matter what. Their LinkedIn profile has zero views, the Wi-Fi won’t connect during presentations, and every time they achieve something, someone says, “Cute, but did you really try that hard?”
Hell is a suburb of identical beige houses with white picket fences, where everyone dresses in cargo shorts and says, “We’re all special in our own way!” There’s only small talk, no poetry, and the Spotify playlist is just Nickelback on loop.
Hell is a crowded open office with fluorescent lighting and endless “quick sync” meetings. They have to share their passwords, explain things five times to people who don’t listen, and there’s no private bathroom. Their Kindle is dead, forever.
Hell is being trapped in an escape room with no solution and a team full of flaky strangers. Every authority figure says, “Trust me, bro,” before betraying them. The emergency exit is clearly labeled, but it just leads to another waiting room with broken Wi-Fi.
Hell is one long PowerPoint presentation with 1,000 slides, read word-for-word by someone monotone. There’s no coffee, no snacks, no windows, and no chance to leave early. The only activity is filling out insurance forms—slowly.
Hell is a corporate training seminar where they must role-play “being a good listener” while someone in khakis keeps saying, “Use your inside voice.” Every time they push back, they get told, “That’s not very team-player of you.”
Hell is a family reunion where the politics come out immediately and they’re forced to mediate. Every chair is uncomfortable, there’s no nap corner, and Netflix keeps asking, “Are you still watching?”—but won’t let them press yes.