Gods’ Holiday


“Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough of this; I’m going on holiday! Michael keeps saying I should get away from it all and just ‘chill,’ so I will.”

With that statement, God began walking out, followed by a concerned angelic secretary. 

“But where will you go?”

“I’m telling no-one, but I am taking this mobile thingy with me, so you may contact me should there be an emergency. And I stress, only an emergency. I’m sure Michael & Gabriel can look after any impending issues. I shall be cognito ergo sum.”

The secretary’s face dropped and for a moment she was lost for words. Following God hurriedly, she began to stutter, “W, well, you know what happened last time don’t you? All that Lucifer business? Sh, surely you, d-don’t want that to happen again?”

“Look, Jemima; that is your name isn’t it?”

“Yes…”

“Jemima, do you know how long it has been since I had a rest?”

“Er, 8 days ago?”

“Now don’t start that whole ‘8 days’ thingy! Do you know how difficult it is to change the cosmological constant?”

“No, I, I meant it was 8 days ago; Raphael looked after the heavens whilst you had a wander around the garden.”

“Was it that recent? Seems like an eternity. Well, anyway, I’m going on holiday. Nos vamos!”
Somewhere on planet Earth is a particular beach that God likes, where unique circumstances caused the pools to be rust red and glass pebbles to be scattered over black sand. A tall, solitary fragment of a cliff stands like a sentinel in the middle of it, looking out over the sea. God walked down the large, rugged steps set in the bordering cliff face, deckchair under arm, found a pleasing spot then sat down. Seagulls barked overhead, wild birds twittered, the long wild grasses from up on top of the cliff path could be heard rustling in the breeze, which also soothed the warm brow. 

  Unless you knew this was God, you would not know, for God looks just the same as anyone else and here God sat, on the favoured beach, peacefully. Taking out a book and pen, God began annotating, A Brief History of Time, by Prof. Stephen Hawking. Now, not many people know this, but when God does happen to go on vacation, the occasional cigar is enjoyed, as is a drop on a certain Chardonnay. So there God was, sipping wine and relishing a cigar, annotating A Brief History of Time, the sun was warm and friendly, the beach was quiet and the sounds around and about were at one in the moment. Then the mobile phone rang.

“Hello? Hello! Hello? Hellooh? Sorry, sorry wrong button… Marjorie, so good to speak to you… Er, well…. Not at the moment…  Can we reschedule? I’m sure it can wait… It can’t. So you are telling me that time and tide wait for no one? Do you know who you are talking to? No, I’m not being ficitious! All I am saying is that I’m sure deciding on what colour the icing should be on Ghandi’s Heavenday cake can wait until I’m back in the office. Where am I? Out, dear, out, that is where I am. Thanks, thankyou, thankyou… Yes. Absolutely…. Love to. Bye, bye, bye!”
Taking a gentle, long draw on the cigar, God sat back in the deckchair and sipped some wine. The annotating began once more.

“Einstein-Rosen bridges my eye!” 

The pen crossed out a swathe of writing. In its place the words, ‘toast rack’ were written. This was then crossed out and ‘cosmic springs,’ took its place. 

“Should confuse the String theorists!”

Smoke gently lifted into the air as a Herring Gull swooped overhead. The wine was nearly supped and once more, God relaxed. Then the phone rang again.

“Hello… Hello…. Helloooooh? Hello, sorry wrong button. Hi, Marie. What? What… What… What do you mean? But that’s impossible! Have you… Have you… Yes. Have you… I don’t wish to appear rude, but please shut up, just for an eon. Have you used anything recently? Er, washing machine, tumble dryer, kettle, er, toaster… Ah, right, well, go to the downstairs cloakroom, look at the fuseboard… (Fuseboard?) I mean the consumer unit. Yes, yes, now flip the switch… No, flip it. Flip it. I said flip it, dear! Never mind, I’ll send Nikola over. Y’know, the nice young man, went a bit paranoid and bonkers… No, not er, not…. That’s right, not Philip K Dick; Nikola, Mr Tesla, dear. I’ll tell him to pop over. Alright, all…okay. Okay, love to, but can’t. Okay, bye… Yes, bye… Bye, bye! 

  “Can invent the x-ray machine  but can’t flip a simple switch.”
Placing the phone back in its pocket, God stretched out then reclined under the noon sun. Heaving a sigh of relief, God reached for the glass, grasped it lightly and lifted it, spilling what little was left over the book, for the phone had rung, again.

“What is it!? What is… Hello, helloooh? Hello! HELLO! Sorry, sorry, wrong button. Yes, G here, who’s this? How did you get this number? It’s ex-directory. No, no I’m really not interested. I don’t need life insurance, thank you. Goodbye.”
The phone was once more placed back where it belonged. God took a deep breath, then another, and another, leant back and relaxed. The spoiled book lay on the dark sand, wine bleaching the pages and the cigar was nearing its end. Gently, God nodded off to sleep. Then a buzzing could be heard. Stirring, God looked around but could see nothing flying nearby, then deduced it was indeed the mobile, yet again.

“Hello, hello? Ah, hang on, got it. Sorry wrong button. Jemima, how can I help? Is it urgent?”

“Well, yes and no really. It’s the atheists, they’re causing a scene in the Cafe Costa Fortuna.”

“Jemima, the atheists are always causing a fuss. If this is what happens when pardons are given, I shall have to have a rethink.”

“Apparently there’s coffee everywhere and Buddha’s tried to ease their suffering, but they’re just not listening. They just keep going on about how they want an espresso machine in the lounge! They state that they need a wider range of coffee, rather than the ones offered in the cafe.”

“Is Siddhartha with you?”

“Yes, one moment…”

“Hello?” asked Buddha.

“Now, Sid, my dear chap. Do me a favour, tell them all that this is it, I won’t put up with it any longer. If they want an espresso machine, they need to clean their act up and stop creating such a fuss.”

“It all seems to be about having some, er, some sort of afterlife crisis.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They say that they didn’t know you existed until they died and this has negated their existential angst. They feel that more evidence should have been given them in order to make a decision of faith. They weren’t expecting eternity, they feel it was thrust upon them without choice.”

“Well you tell them they’re being ungrateful. Negating existential angst, my eye! What more evidence did they need? Were recycled atoms and stardust not enough evidence for them? Tish and tosh! Get them told! If they want an espresso machine in the lounge, they need to stop this silliness. And if that cafe is not all cleaned up by the time I come back, there will be no espresso machine, no cafe, and no 7th heaven privileges!”

“Well, I’ll tell them, but they are very upset you know.”

“Get them told! And if they don’t do it, tell Moses to turn all their straws into ducks, so they can’t drink milkshakes either!”

“Okay, okay, will do. Namaste.”

“Yes, you too, er… have a nice day. Sorry, Namaste.’
A groan of frustration was emitted as God went to rest again on the deckchair. 

“Negating existential angst… Tut.”

Another book was plucked, as if out from mid air, and   God was reading through, The Book of the Book, by Idries Shah. 

“Is that it? That was short! Ah… Ah, very clever, very clever. Nice. Yes, nice twist at the end.”

At a flick of the wrist, the book transformed into a novel by Will Self. At yet another flick of the wrist, it morphed into, The Trial, by Franz Kafka.

“Will Self! Not reading that nonsense! A bit of Kafka, I think… Therefore, I am. Will Self… It can’t be his real name!”

As God read the story, it began to form an idea of how the atheists could be handled, but at once God decided against it. Thumbing through the pages, peace descended upon the beach. 

A seagull pooped on God from above. 

“Now, really, there’s no need… Really… There is plenty of shoreline y’know!”

Wiping the poo away with one hand, the other placed the book down. As the poo disappeared, the blessed phone rang yet again.

“Hello? Hello? (Green button, green button). Hi, sorry, wrong button. Hello?”

It was Jemima. “I’m ever so sorry to disturb you again, but it’s just that there’s a little bit of a problem.”

“What sort of problem?”

“Well, y’know how that nice young lass, Leanne, is asking for good weather so the cyclone won’t hit the coast of Tonga? Well, it means we’ll have to adjourn the tsunami that wipes out the coast of California. The two things are going to be an issue. We can’t do one and allow the other to go ahead…”

“Uhmm… Well, we can postpone California I suppose.”

“The other thing is, Mr Fujimoto is asking for good weather for the wedding of his daughter when rain is due for the same day, for the farmers of Okinawa, so they can have a better crop yield…”

“Tell you what, drop the cyclone, make it a hurricane. Regarding the Japanese…. Light, occasional showers for Mr Fujimoto and a good downpour at night for the farmers. Just downgrade it all basically.”

“Right. Oh and just one more thing; Mr Lewis has been fighting with Mr Tolkien. Apparently, Mr Tolkien says that Middle Earth is far better than Narnia. They’ve been going at it hammer and tongs!”

“Tell them that both are equally as nice. I can’t decide between the two. Explain that its like deciding between Star Wars and Star Trek.”
Taking a stroll, whilst humming the Star Wars theme music, God decided to head for the nearby seaside town, for hunger was creeping up quickly. Venturing along the coastal footpath, God could see people walking their dogs. Some were gracious enough to wish, ‘good day,’ whereas others were  more interested in their own company. A harbour breached its way into the sea, welcoming various ships and bidding, ‘Bon voyage’ to others. The sea lapped up at the shore and all seemed well. In the distance, God saw the ice cream parlour, which decided what food to eat. Walking a little further, God ventured in to the parlour and spied the menu. Several people were in line for the counter, so God waited, patiently. Six customers later, God decided on which flavour to have, Fudge-Choc’Chip. 

“Good afternoon, could I have two scoops of Fudge-Choc’Chip, please?”

“I’m sorry, we’re fresh out of that. We’ve got…”

“Ah, right. Well, I’ll have, er, Choc’n’Roll please.”

“Er, sorry. Out of that one too, I’m afraid.,” said the young woman, in a thick Mackem accent. “Sorry.”

“Okay then, I’ll have the… How about… Ah! Cherry Blush.”

“One moment… Sorry have none left I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid, for I Am with you. Errrr…… Chunky Funky Donkey?”

“No, sorry.”

“Caramel Marshmallow?”

“No…”

“Strawb’n’Dairy?”

“Er…. No, sorry.”

“Do you in fact have any ice cream here?”

“Yes, we’ve got….”

“No, don’t tell me, I want to guess. How about Rockin’ Raspberry?”

“No.”

“Minty Munch?”

“… No.”

“Choo-choo Chewing Gum?”

“Er, no.”

“Fudge’n’Fruit?”

“No…”

“Blueberry Blanc?”

“No, sorry.”

“Er, Banana-nana Meltdown?”

“Ah… Sorry, no.”

“How about vanilla?”

“We don’t do vanilla.”

“Don’t do vanilla?’ It’s the great British favorite! How can you not do vanilla?”

“Not much call for it around here! That’ll surprise you. But we do have…”

“No, I’m keen to guess; Toffee Coffee Hemorrhage?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Er, Gannin’ Yem Jam? What on earth is Gannin’ Yem Jam?”

“It’s clotted cream with strawberry jam, covered in toasted breadcrumbs, with a hint of hyssop.”

“Hyssop? Don’t see that in recipes much these days. Have you any?”

“Let’s see…. Er, no.”

God sighed. “Katie Custard?”

“No.”

“A Mere Trifle?”

“No.”

“Zesty Link Bucket?”

“No. Fresh out of it.”

“Couscous Truffle Mousse?”

“No.”

“Gannin’ Mad For It?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Mint Mad Hatter?”

“I’ll have a look…. Sorry, no.”

“Monkey Blood’n’Guts? (Sounds revolting)?”

“Er, no.”

“Do you actually have any ice cream? You state that you have over 99 flavours. Do I have to go through all of them?”

“No, I’m sorry. We do have a little of the Almond Apple Avalanche, but actually we’re closed now. I was deliberately wasting your time until we closed.”

“Heavens above! You mean that after all that you’re now closed?”

“Aye. Sorry.”
Exiting the parlour, God gave a frustrated sigh and mumbled something about forgiveness, whilst walking away to the nearest takeaway. Having ordered a large mixed kebab, God began walking along the seafront, back towards the beach. Evening was setting in, the sun was moving steadily towards the horizon, leaving ripples of red, orange and yellow dappled across the sky. A purple hue came through as the birds began to find their way home. Suddenly, an electronic version of Vivaldi’s Autumn burst into life. Throwing the kebab accurately towards some pigeons and seagulls, God answered the phone.

“Here we go again! Hello, hello? Heh… One moment! Sorry, wrong button. Yes?”

“Hi, God?”

“Speaking.”

“Hi there, it’s Janice from marketing. Do you have a moment?”

“Go on…”

A strong American accent was emitted from the ear piece, badly muffled by having the phone too close to her mouth. “It’s about the new campaign? We were wondering if you would be able to change something in the Pater Noster? Well, it’s where people say ‘daily bread,’ we were wondering if you would mind changing it to a nonspecific brand, as the company, Daily Bread, are considering legal action due to it being an infringement on their copyright and trademark.”

“Oh, good grief! You are joking?”

“No, I’m being very serious. We have a letter here from Dewey, Cheatem & Howe, their lawyers, asking if we will change it.”

“Eurgh! Oh alright, change it to… To regular serving of bread. Is that okay?”

“That should resolve the issue. Oh, and whilst I have you, do you remember our discussion about the perception management campaign? Well, we have some ideas around how we could put across a new image. We’re considering a photoshoot where you’re using a selfie stick to take a picture of you and a group of marginalised individuals, of various ethnicities, representing inclusion. Ange!ina Jolie and Richard Gere are very keen on that idea…?”

“Good grief, no! I’m not appearing in any photoshoot, for anyone, until the end of the world happens. Even then it’ll only be a brief visit. Speak to Mary, maybe she will be interested; she likes making special appearances. Word has it that she’s popping through to make an appearance at Lourdes again soon. Is that okay?”

“I suppose so. Anyway, sorry to have troubled you. Bye.”

Janice parted company and left God to ponder what would happen if this was a permanent vacation? How would everyone cope? Who would they turn to? The thought of so many unanswered prayers made God feel sad. There was faith, but mankind had still not fully embraced this miraculous gift, so they could resolve their own issues. As this thought lingered, the phone rang once more. This time it was an automated message.

“Have you been mis-sold PPI? If so press…”

“The hang up button? That reminds me, must speak to Edison about how we can stop automated dialling…”
No sooner had the phone been put away, it rang again.

“What is it!? What, who? Oh! Wait, wait.. Sorry, wrong button! Hello? Who’s this? Can’t I have moment of peace? 

“Ah, Mr Chopra! I’ve been meaning to have a word with you! About this mumbo jumbo you come out with… What did I say? Keep it simple!! Occam’s Razor, my lad, Occam’s Razor. No, I’m not asking you to change your brand of razor! Deepak, have you never heard of Occam’s Razor? Keep it simple. The message is too contrived; you use way too much ineffectual language. Just explain how to live, simply, effectively and peacefully. It’s not brain surgery! 

  “Right. How is Oprah? Good, good. Well, it was bound to happen… No, no. Not at all, bye, yeah, bye… Haha, very good. Yeah, bye, bye… Bye.

  “How do you work the answer thingy on here?”

Whilst God fiddled around with the phone to activate the voicemail, the walk to the beach continued. 
Upon noticing the email application, God noticed 10,563

unread messages and this had only been in the space off a few earth hours. 

“Oh, who did a group message? Steve Jobs… Oh botheration! Someone’s done a ‘reply to all!’ Really gets on my nerves…”

Someone was organizing a surprise party for Ghandi, to celebrate the anniversary of his entry into heaven, so consequently everyone was emailing details to each other to make arrangements. One email was addressed to God directly asking if the celebration could be held in the refectory. Agreeing that is was a great idea, a reply was sent with haste. There was also the usual junk mail; meet local-single women in your area, you have won money in our prize draw, and how to reduce body fat and become body-beautiful in just 7 days. One email bought God’s eye, from Mr Vinicius Gotanga, who lived in Nigeria. By some fortunate happenstance, he had come in to a considerable amount of money and wanted God to put it into a bank account, until such a time when his late uncle’s estate is resolved. This raised a cheerful chuckle as God read the mail. Did people really think this sort of thing was real? Spending a moment in thought, a willing of protection over less witting individuals was sent.  

The email box was now clear, reports were ‘mark all as read’ and the deckchair was finally in sight. 
As the night sky was coming out to play, God looked at the stars and remembered each one. An occasional shooting star passed in the sky, as the sea became calm and drank the lush, full moon.

“There you are! I remember when you were just a twinkling in my mind’s eye, yes you. And you. Oh, those were the days… Where’s that little nebula? Aha, there you are! Beautiful. Oh, you’re all beautiful. Such splendour, such diversity. This makes it all worthwhile, a moment like this, looking up at my garden. You are all very special you know! And you…”

A little spider crawled on God’s hand and moved quickly over the palm, then forefinger. Placing the spider down gently, God reclined under the diamond filled sky. After a short while, rest turned to sleep, as the waves soothed the busy mind of God. 
A vibration was felt. It repeatedly resonated, making God aware of an incoming call. Stirring from sleep, God answered.

“Hello? Hello? Ah, wait a moment, (why do I always press the wrong button? Every time…) Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Jess, from Advertising.”

“How can I help?”

“We’ve had an enquiry from a car company, wondering if we’d be interested in making a deal to promote their new model.”

“Uhm. Go on…”

“Firstly, they’re asking what car do you drive?”

“I don’t need a car, dear; I move in mysterious ways.”

“Yes, but if you were to drive one, what would it be?”

“Oh, good grief, that’s a tricky one. Er, probably a Fiat.”

“Oookaaay? Why’s that?”

“The prayer, my dear, in fact it’s my prayer, ‘Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra.”

“Ah, right! Got you. So could we change it? From Fiat to maybe… Mercedes?”

“Er, not sure.”

God ran through it under his breath, “Mercedes voluntas tua… sicut in caelo… Mercy will be done in heaven, let it be done… Uhm, it’s possible…”

“Well?”

“I prefer Fiat really… It says it better. Plus, I think the legal team would be none too happy with the changes.” 

“So that’s a no to Mercedes then?”

“Yes.”

“What? Yes, that’s a yes, or yes that’s a no?”

“Yes, that’s a no.”

“Okay. It was worth asking. Bye for now.”
Dawn roused the birds and the sun opened the flowers, whilst reflecting off of the sea. Checking through the email inbox on the phone, God scanned over the subjects quickly to discern if there was anything of importance. There was one from a Buddhist, that had no attachments, even though it displayed a paperclip icon; there was also was a curious email from the auditors regarding the regular audit of accounts, for apparently, it wasn’t enough just to credit righteousness to each account and ‘forgive us our debts,’ wasn’t necessarily a good enough reason for them. With the amount of write-offs God sanctioned, this had to comply with the statement, ‘each of us shall give an account of himself.’ . Making note of the date the auditors were due in the calendar, God flicked through the remaining messages. 
The only trouble with becoming temporarily corporeal, to have a holiday, was that even though God remained omniscient, omnipotent & omnipresent, God liked to experience the realm as other humans do, hence the mobile telephone. Also hence the interruptions. God did begin to ponder over how mankind had ever managed to live without the mobile devices for so long and remembered the simplicity of life before electricity and radio. There was enjoyment through waiting for a postcard to arrive and time to read a book without being interrupted. As God mused over this, the phone sprang to life and the ringtone for the ‘crisis of faith hotline’ (Help! by the Beatles) was emitted. 

‘Hello, hello? Ah, green button..  Hello? Ah, Rene, you again. What’s up this time?”

“Well, I’m concerned about the statement, ‘I think, therefore I am.’ Does this mean when I’m not thinking, I am not?”

“Look, we’ve been through this before. You are still being, even if you think you’re not thinking. By simply thinking that you’re not thinking, you are in deed still thinking.”

“But how? If I really am not thinking then I can’t be being! Can I? Subsequently, I am worried that I don’t exist!”

“The very thought of thinking you’re not thinking means you are thinking! You can’t negate your existence by not thinking!”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Therefore, you are! See?”

“I think so…”

“Have you been talking to Schrödinger again? Him and that annoying cat?”

“Maybe…”

“You have, haven’t you! How many times have I told you, stay away from him. He likes teasing you and thinks you are gullible.”

“I’m not that gullible! Anyway, merci beaucoup, best go; Pavlov’s ringing the bell for breakfast.”

God ended the call and dialled a number straight away.

“Hi, G here. I’m looking for Thomas, Thomas Merton. Okay, I’ll hold. 

  “Ah, Thomas! Just the fellow. Do me a favour please, as I Am is on holiday. Would you and Suzuki send some Zen monks to nip round and see Descartes please? Yeah, it’s the whole thinking without thinking thing again. Schrödinger set him off. Brilliant, that’s brilliant. Thanks ever so much. Bye!”
God walked up from the beach and went searching for some fruit. Soon enough, a raspberry bush revealed itself and God picked some, then ate them whilst moving along the path. Venus could still be seen in the early morning sky and whisps of clouds hesitated over the land, waiting for the wind to decide which way to go. It was nice, just to enjoy nature and creation. God wandered along, talking to the plants, greeting beetles and wishing a good morning to the starlings. Above the nearby field, a hawk hovered, looking for food. Gracefully, it dived then swooped up to fly away. Taking the stroll meant going through the neighbouring fields of a local farm and God did so, being enraptured by the colours and crops.

“And who might you be?” 

A voice shouted at God, but discerning where it came from was difficult. “Oi! What d’ya think you’re doing?” 

“I’m just taking in the morning air.”

A farmer waltzed over to where God was. “Get off my land! All the same, you tourists, trampling my crops! Get away!”

God was concerned about the use of the term, ‘my,’ that the farmer used.

“Whose land is it?”

“Mine!”

“I’m not causing any harm! Surely the land is free for anyone to walk on?”

“Nope! This is my land!”

“And how did you come by it?”

“Was my great grandfather’s and he handed it down to my father, who handed it to me.”

“My dear boy, you merely lease it. The land is a gift to everyone. You don’t own it per se.”

“Oh, I see. You’re one of those clever ones, aren’t you? Go to university to earn a degree then think you’re all high and mighty!”

“(You’re sort of right on the high and mighty, nevertheless…) So you are prejudiced as well as particular!”

“Get off my land, gan on! Away with you!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. Wouldn’t want to upset you now would I?”

God  moved off of the field, muttering things to one’s self. The farmer watched, making sure that God was off of his land.

“Maybe I should smite him; haven’t done any smiting in a long time. Nothing like a good smite. No, no, I mustn’t! That’s naughty. I smite thee… No, no, no… Curious word isn’t it? I smite, he was smote, she was smitten – hang on, that can’t be right?”
Moving along the roadside, God journeyed to the small retail park, where an assortment of shops, cafes and businesses were. A wild cat followed behind, miaowing gently. God petted the creature then set it on its way. Descending down the hill to the shops, traffic began to make noise and civilization made its mark known. 

  Going into a clothes shop, God viewed the rails of garments. People jostled about as if they might miss out on an opportunity for a bargain. This was too busy, so God went to another shop, which sold gadgets. It was amazing to see the ingenuity of humankind, just as much as it was interesting to see the clutter they wished to own. The amount of unnecessary devices in the shop reached a level of ridiculousness. Who would want a door handle handler? Why not use the handle itself? The product bore the inscription, ‘Ideal for those with phobias!’ There was a device which enabled you to find your keys, with another device to help you find the device, which helps you find the keys. Pointless. There was a backscratcher with inclusive shoehorn; brilliant for midgets who want to scratch their back, whilst putting shoes on; a soup-spife, a soup spoon that’s also a knife; emergency soap dispenser – ace for cleaning your hands in an emergency; a pen that doubles as a nose-picker; a whitehead squeezer, with complimentary blackhead squeezer; a portable toe cushion; a rechargeable recharger that recharges rechargers; an emergency coat hanger, that can also be used as a set of tongs; a bracelet made from fool’s gold that keeps idiots away; an infinity timer, with a battery life of 2 years; a cable that allows you to connect your phone to a toilet paper holder, so it will not fall down the loo; an open mesh cage to keep flies in; grow your own laundromat; a miniature hedge trimmer for bonsai trees; dissolvable water tablets – just add water; insect cleaner; do-it-yourself autobiography kit, pen not included; miniature microwave for peanuts; dust deterrent, not to be used in confined spaces; emergency inflatable hygienic hair trimmer; build your own conservatory, bricks not included; dissolvable door knocker, not for external use; design your own tattoos, imagination required; occasional carpet cleaner, for any occasion; Quantum-tom Sat-Nag, gives directions to destinations whilst travelling at light speed, batteries not included; replacement light bulb for cat’s eyes; colour blind spectacles for traffic lights, ‘go when it’s not red!’; Higgs-Boson detector for vacuum cleaners; How to read a book, a handbook for first time readers; a ladder for frogs; self-filling bird feeder, seeds not supplied; self-fulfilling deluxe prophecy kit, will power required; a 3 part course on how to overcome procrastination, parts 2 & 3 not included; and many, many more useless items were on the shelves. 

  Memories of the great flood came to mind and God wondered if it was time for another one. Casting aside the idea, God went to have a drink. The cafe was large and quite full. Taking place in the queue, God looked at the beverages on offer. 

“Hi there, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have a regular, Chocochino Mocha please!”

“What size?”

“Er, regular, like I just said. Sorry if it was confusing.”

“Can I have a name for the coffee?”

“Er, Chocochino Mocha? Or is that too obvious?”

“No, like a name, so we can write it on the cup, so we know it’s yours.”

“I therefore name this cup, Donald.”

Once the coffee was ready, God sat at a table for two beside the window, so to watch the people passing by. The world seemed so full of busy people doing pointless tasks, like statistics for statisticians, with only the few doing meaningful work. God watched the public meander along the precinct; mothers with children, dragged them along to shops under protest and couples, early in courtship, held hands that induced vomiting from friends. Men in smart suits also walked hurriedly with a phone surgically attached to their ear. All passed by, unaware that God was watching out of the cafe window, sipping at a hot, chocolatey coffee. God thought about the modern world and how it had changed, then sighed. 

“Well, that’s what happens when you dish out freewill,” came out, not realising it had been vocalised. Then the sound of Vivaldi broke train of thought, for the phone rang.

“Hello? Hello? Heh.. Ah, hang on… Green button… Hi? Who’s this?”

“My name’s Jeremy. I heard that you had a road-traffic accident in the last five years.”

“Did I?”

“Er, yes. Did you pursue a personal injury claim at that time?”

“Goodbye.”
A little blue light began to flash on the mobile phone. After some detective work, God worked out that there were notifications on the Facebook profile. God had been opposed to the idea of having a Facebook account, but had been talked in to it by Janice, Gabriel, et al. Loading up the application, there were 32 friend requests, including one from Richard Dawkins and another from Simon Cowell. Suggested friends still had the grinning face of a undertaker playing an accordion, of which God had no idea how they knew each other. God has also been tagged in a post, along with 16 others, by David Icke, so consequently all comments that were subsequently posted, God received notifications of. Flicking through the posts on the wall, God saw various gifs of fluffy kittens falling off of things, adverts for dating sights, videos that ‘you really must see – this had me lol-ing for hours!’ Or ‘I actually cried with laughter at this…’ 

“No you didn’t, you lying little…,” was God’s audible criticism. Why did people think it was so important to share their lives on social media? It frequently made God wonder about it. Why should anyone want to know about Richard Branson having his first poo in a commercial spacecraft, or how Kim Kardashian achieved a perfect pout by injecting botulism into her lips? The only thing worse than this was the hash-tag syndrome that was the latest fad: #whyareyouallidiots? #isleptwithsomeoneshocker #epic_fail_shocker_pigscantfly  #imnotacelebritybutimightbepossiblybypostingthis. And what was with the need to promote seeming nobodies to celebrity status? God was bemused by this. What about the everyday heroes no one knew anything about? ‘Woman saves child from drowning,’ was surely a better headline than, ‘Snorkeling idiot discovers he can breathe underwater!’ 
After the silent rant, the phone rang. This time the green button was pressed without hesitation.

“Hi, God?”

“Speaking.”

“Jemima here. We were wondering when you’d be coming back. It’s just that there’s a meet and greet scheduled for this afternoon and St Peter says he’s sick to the teeth of doing them.”

“Can’t you ask someone else to do it? How about Zoroaster?”

“I asked him already, but he said he was busy contemplating eternity.”

“Oh well, I suppose I better get back then.”

“Thanks and sorry.”

“Don’t worry. See you in a bit.”

God switched the phone off then manifested into the heavenly dimension. 
Entering the office, God saw a mountain of paperwork on the desk and several people waiting to gain attention. Michael, the archangel, smiled and approached.

“Have a nice break did we?”

“Not too bad. If I go away again though, I am not taking the mobile phone!”

And with that, God got back to work.

~Sougen
NB: Please try to not take offense, this is merely a lighthearted story. I was thinking about how God might perceive our life on this planet, if on holiday here. It is not my intention to offend anyone. 

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