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Order this writing in the collection book Unlocking the Mysteries available for only $1795 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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Just a Stranger on a Bus
Bill DeArmond
So I board the Metro on Pico, pay my fare, stumble my way over feet and shopping bags to the back of the bus, sit down next to God and ask, “What the hell are You doing here?”
God gazes out the window at a hooker in spandex and six-inch heels and says, “What are you doing out of hell, Scratch?”
I know, that’s not the greatest comeback in the world and you’d think God would have a better command of putdowns since He’s had so much practice. But it’s all in the timing.
[Okay, I gotta interrupt here for two comments. Everything God says has to be in bold, that’s His Eleventh Commandment. And I have to tell you about His pet name for me: Scratch. I’ve been called many things by humans: Lucifer, Satan, the Devil, Baal and Beelzabub—which I kind of like because it sounds so friendly. “How ya doin’ Beelzabub?” Old Nick got hijacked by some group of toy merchants who dropped in “Saint” and made me a Christmas icon. And since I’m also the Prince of Darkness, I got my own cable channel—Nick at Night. Even some guy named Anton said I had 77 names. But I like the one the Big Guy gave me best—Scratch. Just don’t ask me to tell you why I got it. Suffice it to say, it’s the result of some personal discomfort I acquired during the transformation. Back to my story.]
Really, despite how the Old Testament depicts Him, God does have a sense of humor. He created the platypus. And mirrors.
“Ha! Ha! That’s a good one Boss. But we’re in L.A. in the summer. This is hell. Anyway, I know you’re just pullin’ my leg.”
“Better than your finger.”
“Hey! The sulfur thing was your idea.”
We ride on in silence for several more blocks. An attractive black woman, maybe tired from a long day’s work as a seamstress, gets on, looks at the full bus, starts towards the back, sees us, then turns around and parks herself behind the driver.
“You understand what I’m talking about now don’t you? All you just do now every day is just ride this damned bus.”
“I have not condemned this bus. You, on the other hand...”
“Yeah! Yeah! Fire and brimstone and all that. Yada! Yada! Yada! We all know that’s just a metaphor.”
“I do not speak metaphorically. I mean what I say.”
“What? You getting all Old School on me?”
Then God is quiet for a long time. Not one-celled-amoeba-crawling-up-on-land-an-becoming-an-ape long. But long enough to recycle the passengers. I guess something I said must have hit a nerve.
“So? Why are you on this bus every day?”
“I’m observing my handiwork.”
“And?”
“And I’m depressed...in a funk.”
“Over what? Some design flaw?”
“Yes...free will.”
“Don’t blame me, Boss. That’s on Your head. I warned You what giving humans a choice would do. Catholic or Jew? Liberal or Conservative? Peanut or Plain? Paper or Plastic?”
“I don’t care anymore. I expected them by now to have...evolved...into something better. More kind, intelligent, tolerant and forgiving.”
“Look, you’re making it too easy for me. I don’t even have to try. I got souls backed up waiting in Jersey. Where’s that old Miracle Worker we used to know and love?”
“I’m retired now. I’m tired of people taking up my time praying to get a hit or win the lottery or make Susie not pregnant. It got too much, dealing with all those voices in my head. So I’ve shut it down.”
“Quaaludes does that for me.”
I believe this makes him laugh, but he could just be clearing his throat.
“Okay, let’s play FSL.”
I created the Fantasy Salvation League to kill time during the World Cup since neither of us likes soccer. We’d make up teams of the Saved and the Damned. I’d give Him the name of someone still living and He’d Ebert them up to heaven or down to me.
First, I offered Bill Clinton. His thumb wavered.
“By rights he should be yours, but I’ll take him. He’ll keep the budget balanced.”
“Pat Robertson?”
“You can have him...and the horse he rode in on.”
“Falwell?”
“Him too.”
“Rush Limbaugh?”
“Ditto.”
“Britney Spears?”
“Who?”
“Madonna.”
“That’s still a coin toss.”
“Come on, Boss. Get your head back in the game. What about that guy in the aisle? The one with the thousand dollar suit and the ten buck rug. I just got him a job as a Fox News anchor.”
“Some people are beyond redemption.”
He left me with no choice. It was time for some drastic action. So I get up and approach a pretty Asian girl, maybe 20, maybe 50, you can never tell with them. Damn their luck. Sorry, I get carried away with an Asian woman. I touch her shoulder and come back to my seat and triumphantly announce, “I just gave her a malignant tumor. She doesn’t know it and she’ll be dead in six months. What are you going to do about them apples?”
God’s face turns red and I realize my word choice has brought back a painful memory. He jumps up and I know it’s showtime. He snaps his fingers and a bright spark shoots out. I love it when He does fireworks. But nobody else on the bus gives it a second glance. After all, this is the route leading to the Magic Castle. But, instead of curing the woman instantly with some divine chemo, He simply produces a business card which he hands to her.
“My dear, this is the best oncologist in the city. His name is Dr. Lazarus and he owes me a favor. Trust me. Just give him this card and he’ll take care of you. And please see him soon.”
He makes his way back and it seems the weight of ages is sagging his shoulders. He seems disinterested, tired, defeated. Nobody likes to win a big game by default. It’s as bad as kissing your sister—unless she’s Angelina Jolie.
“Seriously, Pops. What’s gotten into you? My job has been absurdly easy since the Internet and all the chat rooms and cool porn.”
“You’re responsible for the Internet?”
“No, Al Gore is. But, speaking of him, did you see that movie? What’s with all this global warming? And earthquakes, hurricanes, wildfires, floods and stuff? Don’t you have some control over that?”
“Oh, it’s Gaia. She’s pissed about how humanity has disrespected her and gave her hot flashes. She’s trying to remove the human melanoma off her skin before it kills her.”
“Man, give that bitch some flowers or chocolate or Bud Light before we lose our playground.”
At this moment two gangster wannabes get on carrying a boom box that would put Radio Raheem to shame. And it’s blaring out Vanilla Ice! Several passengers start to complain, but the driver seems oblivious. Finally God leans over and says, “This is going too far.” He points his finger at the street furniture and the player explodes. Instantly the bus erupts in applause. He nods at me, “Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.”
“So You do still care. Admit it.”
“It’s just so discouraging. Even to one with infinite patience. I started this experiment to see if, through knowledge, experience and understanding, a primitive animal could adapt and evolve into something I could hang out with on Sundays. I give them one set of suggestions on how to conduct themselves in this process and they fundamentally misinterpret it into a fiat accompli—a done deal to strictly adhere to without change.
“So then they run with it and beat others over the head with it and kill thousands of people in my name so I get the bad reputation. I create life; I don’t condone taking it. And then they won’t even give me credit for how long this process took. Six days my ass.
“Next I send down a messenger with a new guide book and they kill him and proceed to screw it all up again. I guess that’s what comes from inbreeding. I should have thought about that in the beginning. And look at the mess we’re in now, hardly a civil place on the planet. Great job you did in Florida, Scratch.”
“Hey, that’s not my fault. Clarence did it all on his own.”
“And those scientists who think they have the answer to everything. That all this just happened by natural law? It was started by the Big Bang. I’ve half a mind to pull out my Hammer of God and show them who’s the Big Banger.”
“So you think the ID people are right?”
“They got the concept right—the execution completely wrong. Right author—wrong book.”
“At least it’s more accurate than The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”
“Hey, I inspired Bobby on that one. He got the pirate part right. What do you think revived Johnny Depp’s career? Maybe I do use allegory.”
Nearing the end of the run, the bus is now virtually empty.
“So, what’re you gonna do tonight?”
“I don’t know. Don’t want to go home yet and get chewed out. ‘Did you work any miracles today? Give anybody boils?’”
Listen, why don’t you come on a short trip with me. I’m going to a place I built that never sleeps.”
“Why not? At least whatever we do there will stay there.”
With that God laughed, and I knew there was still hope for humanity.
