When G (that’s what he told me to call him) first contacted me I thought someone was playing a cruel joke, but after a few more text messages and his promise to give the east coast a mild winter (G said Mother Nature owed him a favor) we were off and I believed in a higher power besides Oprah Winfrey.
Two months later G somehow found out I was in San Juan (shoot; maybe G is one of my Facebook friends and I didn’t even know it)
I admit I still had my reservations, especially when he wanted to meet me at a Taco Bell; actually I was floored, if God doesn’t know what good Mexican food is; the world was really in the shitter. I admit to thinking it was dumb now, but I sassed God about Taco Bell, and hoped he wouldn’t strike me with a thunder bolt or Donald Trumps complexion.
We decided on Starbucks instead. Getting ready I became a Nervous Nelly. What to wear for God? This dude is supposed to be my creator and I didn’t want to wear a “Sunned My Ass Off in San Juan” T-shirt. I settled on a maroon Polo and blue jeans.
I sat in Starbucks and waited for him; hopping the overpriced java wouldn’t give me cramps and send me running into the Restroom. Finally I heard my name called with such a masculine voice that I knew it had to be G or some retired drill sergeant. Nervously I looked around but saw nothing but a Puerto Rican lady with frizzy hair. I heard the masculine voice again;” It’s me, G.” When I didn’t see anyone I realized that I was losing it and imagining things; a grown up life of working with the public had finally fried my brain.
How could I think I would be interviewing God; wouldn’t he want Barbara Walters or some married Republican dude--you know the type who hangs in men’s restrooms, and supposedly chats with God often? I heard the voice again; embarrassed with myself I looked down to collect my thoughts and a quick getaway, but to my surprise there was G. I was shocked and spit my coffee on the frizzy haired lady; luckily she didn’t seem to notice or care.
God has red hair, tattoos and is a dwarf; who’d have thunk it.
Q. Why do people die?
A. Some people have certain destinies; others have none; some should floss regularly.
Q. Do you like it when Tim Tebow and celebrities thank you on sports games/awards shows?
A. Actually I laugh. I have no power in picking best actress or where a ball is going; get a life.
Q. Will there ever be world peace?
A. Not until greed, acceptance and world taste for Fluffernutter becomes an everyday pastime.
Q. Should gays be allowed to marry?
A. People should spend more time on their own lives; oh and clean bird cages more often; pew!
Q. Should people carry guns?
A. No, they should ONLY carry humility with them at all times.
Q. Why are we all here on earth?
A. Where else do people want to go; Uranus? (did this have a double meaning?)
Q. Are Aliens real?
A. If E.T was so smart he would have called home, collect.
Q. Does homosexuality really make you cry?
A. Only when watching “Will and Grace,” Debra Messing has great comic timing.
Q. Should we be scared of South Korea?
A. You should fear anyone with bad haircuts and nuclear weapons.
Q Last question. Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump?
A. Hilary Clinton is in bed with big banks. Trump is in bed with Putin, biting the pillow. I'll take Clinton.
With that he slurped down the last of his Frappucino and bid me adieu. I sat for awhile, thinking I was blessed for the experience, but eventually couldn’t stop staring at the mess of napkins G left on the table; what a pig I thought and went back to writing my next Ethel Cunningham mystery.