Happy Birthday To Me

So, today is my birthday. How do I know? All the freaks come out. It’s exactly one week after Halloween and inevitably someone weird steps out of the periphery.

Observe.

Earlier today, a woman calls the main line of our firm and declares,
“I want to talk to God.”

I don’t work for a church or an organization with any religious affiliation. It couldn’t be any more random.

“I beg your pardon?”
“I want to talk to God.”

Remarkably she isn’t rude about it, or whiny. Often folks on a mission get pushy. Not she. Simply, “I want to talk to God.” If I were to testify under oath, I’d swear she’s lucid.

The first smart-ass response that flies through my head is, “Sam is away from his desk right now, would you like his voice mail?” Given His lofty attitude regarding Himself, the call might actually be for Sam Shenanigan, Captain of Industry.

Instead, I choose the high road.

“Uh, Ma’am, I think you must have the wrong number. We’re a business. You’ve…you’ve reached a business.”
“Oh.” she says, crestfallen. “All right.”
Click.

Two minutes later: “I want to talk to God.”
“Ma’am, this is a business. There’s no God here.”

Really. This is corporate America, people.

“Oh, okay.”
Click.

Third time’s a charm. “I want to talk to God.”

Sigh. You and me both, lady.

“Okay, Ma’am. I’m…I’m not sure where God is right now, may I take a message?”
“Well, my leg hurts.”
“Oh, okay. And your name?”
“He knows.”
“Uh-huh, okay, uh…, well, I’m sure he’ll get the message then.”
“Thank you.”
Click.

No lightning so far.