The kids head off to DOA Recording Studios, which looks like a pretty normal places until you realize no one in the lobby is moving or even entirely opaque.  Charon is there, acting in the roll of security guard.  He blithely assumes that the kids are dead when they ask for passage to the Underworld. 

“I don’t suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children … alas, you never die prepared.

😀  Like I’ve said, this book is at its best when it blithely mixes myths with mundane.

Are you dyslexic, lad?”

 “No,” I said. “I’m dead.”

Heh.

Unfortunately, Charon figures out that they’re live demigods instead of dead kids.  He starts to get upset about it, but Percy manages to bribe him and sweet-talk him into letting them get on the boat anyway.  Man, that sure was easy.  It seems like, as we get further in the book, things are being introduced just for the sake of looking cool, not because they are obstacles that need to be overcome.  Sure, the studio lobby and Charon are neat, updated concepts.  But they don’t really serve a purpose besides just being neat concepts. 

They head down in an elevator, and it morphs into a boat on the River Styx in what is yet another pretty cool bit of writing.  They get to the entrance, which is more like a toll booth with three lines.  There’s even a ‘direct to the Asphodel Fields’ line for those that don’t want to risk getting judged.  Yay, efficiency!  (Though, that does beg a few questions.  Like, what person that actually deserves hell is going to risk judgment?  Only the crazies who really believe they were doing good would bother.  So Asphodel Fields is probably chock full of murderers and embezzlers and rapists, while Hell is full of just really confused bigots and mentally insane people.  That doesn’t seem right…)

“Yeah. Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare— people like that.

I’d be kind of scared to let someone from the 1700s judge my actions as a modern day woman.  Other than that, still a funny concept. 

Grover said, “Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever.”

 “Harsh,” I said.

 “Not as harsh as that,” Grover muttered.

…no, that seems pretty harsh.  Unless spirits are much, much different from their living selves, that’s the kind of boredom that would drive a person insane.  I guess you could keep entertained talking to people, unless you’re unlucky enough to be antisocial and have some sever crowd-anxiety…

As they get closer to the gates, they see Cerberus, who pops into visibility once he starts moving.  Annabeth distracts the dog…by firmly telling it to sit and then playing catch with  a big rubber ball she just so happens to have.  Um, kind of funny, I guess, but that’s not much payoff.  Like the last couple monsters they’ve faced, it’s pretty basic and easy.  Annabeth explains it as saying she’s been to obedience school with her own dogs, but that completely misses some big points about dog training.  Such as, no, you can’t just walk up to a strange dog and show a little dominance and be okay.  That’s a great way to get your very young readers bitten because they ran off to pet a stranger’s dog.

They get in through the easy access line, but the metal detectors there are actually magic detectors and go off as they pass through.  They run inside anyway and hide while alarms go off all over the place.