John must've had quite a reputation.
Somewhere in the queue to get out of Hell, a few weeks before the gate is due to open...
"Joe! Joe! Hey, there you are."
"Brad, my trusty companion, what took you so long?"
"Dude, do you know how long this line is?"
"That was a rhetor-- you know what? Never mind, it's fuckin' long."
"Did you bring any sustenance back with you?"
"What? Oh, yeah, got some, uh, roast leg of insurance salesman and popped cockroaches."
"The roast sounds lovely, thanks."
"Welcome... Uh, Joe? I saw a few things on the way up here and I've been thinking."
"What's on your mind?"
"Well, I know you been queuing a while and all, but I really think we should get out of here."
"I think we should, you know, leave?"
"What possible reason could you have for us to leave?"
"Like I said there were some rumours on the way up here and, uh, I think John's coming this way."
"...You think that... John is coming this way?"
"Who in Satan's name is 'John'? And why would I get out of his way? Do you know how many people have pushed in front of me since I first started queuing? I have watched demon after demon push their way through to the front, no thought for common courtesy, lording over everyone else just because they're more evil and powerful. I have been waiting here for that gate to open for three centuries. Three centuries, Brad! I am not going to move for this 'John' person!"
"It's John Winchester."
"Oh, well... how far away is he?"
"He's lookin' to get out the moment the gate opens. They're saying he's pretty pissed."
"Right. Very well, not to worry! Next gate to open after this one should be number thirty-nine, feel like joining that queue? There's always gate eighty-seven, but that's not due to open for another few millenia."
"Thirty-nine sounds good to me."
"Righty-ho, after you then."
Ahh Brad and Joe, the poor sods. Hell is just one big queue, you know.