huberis

Setting in queue is the same no matter where you are. The rows of chairs are too close to everyone, the lighting is bland and terrible with a ghastly hum and no matter when you get there, you are guaranteed that your number will be the one they call just as their closing their doors.

The room is filled with desperate people who have any number of things they could be doing and the stench of desperation and Funyuns permeates everything. There is always one person in the room that can’t stop coughing and there is always one person with three kids that will not behave who set in their seat and whisper scream at their kids.

The one television that is on is running some liberal talk show that always has one dried up old woman laughing and trying hard to make bad jokes while her much younger male companion does his best to ignore them and does his best to be a real news man even though he knows this is probably the best he can do in his career. And the best part of that is the volume is turned so low that you have to be setting on the screen to even hear half of what they are blathering on about.

But then a disembodied voice cracks over an outdated paging system that they will be serving the next number at window three. This set your mind to a complicated series of math problems as you try to figure out how much longer you will be setting in a cramped little chair, in a cramped little room. Futile…

This is my existence now. I am setting here waiting to be served by someone who is so desensitized by their daily grind that they may as well be zombies, the working dead. No effort, no passion, just the daily droning of their affairs until the day they drop dead in their little window and are replaced by yet another public servant devoid of pleasure or sentient thought.

Another number called, another sense of false hope, another hour down and god knows how many left to go.

I can’t explain the overwhelming joy and feeling of accomplishment when your number is finally called and you strut by all those who still wait. The look of resentment and confused math as you nearly spring to the window to get your needs filled. It is a minor blessing.

“Name…”

Justyn Tyme.”

“I.D.”

“Here you go.” I said as I passed my I.D. card into the little slot at the bottom of the window.

The uncomfortable silence grates on my nerves as the person types on their computer. They never look you in the eye and yet they can still make you feel as if you are next to nothing to them.

My light hearted nature begins to fail me, like an ice cream cone on a hot day as this person continue to type and then suddenly they walk away from the window. I strain my neck to see what’s going on but to no avail. This is when I have to decide if I need to go set down or just stand at the window until they lock up for the day.

This is when this person returns with another person. This other person looks as if they were interrupted while writing their suicide note. Slightly better dressed and angry looking the second person is looking into a file folder, looks up at me for a second and then back to the folder.

“Mr. Tyme.” He says.

“There is a slight problem in your file. I will need you to come with me please.”

A buzzer sounds and the loud clicking noise of an industrial lock opening. The second person is standing in the door like a jailer looking at me with a fierce gaze. It is intimidating enough to make me walk over to this person as if I were a scolded puppy.

“Follow me please.” The stoic tones of his voice made my spine shiver a bit as we walked down endless twisting hallways constructed out of cubicle walls, each filled with people who looked either confused or on the verge of tears. On we trod until the person stopped, extended a hand and bade me take a seat in yet another cramped little chair in an even smaller room.

“Can I get you something to drink? Water, soda, coffee.”

“Maybe a soda…” I halfheartedly asked.

And away he went.

I was left to try and get as comfortable as I could in the space I was in. my eyes traveled around the cubicle. It was filled with the usual ornamentations. Posters with affirmations, daily schedules, some desk bling and family photos, I did however notice there was a fine gold cross on one wall. It was centered inside a ring of awards for jobs well done.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the cross though. It almost seemed to beckon me for some reason.

“Here you go.” He said as he came in and set down.

I jumped a little out of my seat as my gaze was taken from the cross to an ice cold can of Fresca. I had to laugh a bit, I hadn’t seen Fresca in many years. It was nostalgic.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” I asked nervously.

“It seems there are some things we need to clear up before we can move on.” He said as he lit a cigarette.

“Things?” I enquired.

“Well yes, your resume has some problematic things n it we need to clear up.”

“Okay… do you mind if I smoke as well?”

“Yes. There’s no smoking in this facility.” He said knocking some ash into an ash tray.

My jaw dropped a little as I watched him take a deep draw off his cigarette. He smiled a little and put the thing in the ashtray.
“I don’t make the rules.” He said as he blew the smoke in my face.

“I see that you have in here, that you are a comedian.” He sighed.

“We get a lot of comedians here, but from what I can see of your record, you’re not a very good one.”

“I get by.” I smiled a little.

He sat looking at me very flatly.

“SO, is there something I should be concerned with?”

He turned to his computer and began to type. He picked up the cigarette, held it in his mouth and typed for what seemed like an eternity.

“It’s not often we get someone like you here. I see you started at an early age, had a good following, but in the eighties your act took a turn and well, you blew up.”

“It was a good time.” I smiled.

“Looks like you managed to turn the bible into the main focus of your act.”

“People really liked it. It was a hot sell.” I replied a little smugly.

“That’s the problem.” He said as he sighed heavily smoke filling the cubical.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Well, we don’t mind that you were making people laugh. There’s not enough laughter in the world today, however it’s the way you were doing it that concerns us. Could you clarify what you meant when you said, and I quote, “Women dig Jesus because he was hung like this?” end quote” And he stretched his arms out wide.

“It was a play on words. You know like this?” I said as I mimicked him with my arms.

“I see. So you were not blaspheming in the true sense of the words, just pretending to blaspheme.” He scoffed.

“Well, no… it was just a joke.” I suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

“And when you mocked the entire book of Leviticus, Mark, Daniel and it seems like Psalms and Revelations, you were only joking then as well?”

“Yes.” I shrunk a little in my chair.

“I thought god had a sense of humor.” I defended myself.

“Oh he does, we all enjoy a good joke or two, but can you explain this?” he asked as he turned his monitor to face me.

My entire comic life was splayed out before me in a curious monotone green. Everything I had said, every word was there for me to see and quite frankly there was some stuff in there I had forgotten. As I read, I saw that there were some thing’s that pushed the envelope. And some I wished I could take back.

I got about halfway through when he turned the monitor back to face him. He looked at the monitor for a moment reached for his pack of cigarettes, took one out and then offered me the pack. We lit up the things and he stared at me for quite some time.

“You see upon weighing your words against the things that you did with your life, well your credit score is exactly even. We’ve never had anyone do this before. Usually the scales get tipped in the way a person dies, but even now you died trying to save a child from drowning on the cruise ship you were working which canceled out your “Jokes” about Noah’s floating heavy petting zoo…”

The room was quiet as I tried not to smile about that routine. He sat there staring at me sternly. And I shrunk even deeper into that tiny little chair.

“So you see we have a problem.” He sighed again.

“I…” I just couldn’t defend myself and I think he knew it.

“I kicked this up the chain and we may have a solution.” He leaned on his desk very close to me.

“We have decided to give you another chance. It’s a bit radical, unorthodox, but we think it might work out.” He whispered.

“Let’s do it.”

“You might want to think about this for a minute, you don’t even know what this is.”

“If it raises my credit score, I’m all in. whatever it takes.” I said trying to hide my desperation.

“The boss has a sense of humor. Not like yours, but it’s pretty good. He wants you to participate in three of his jokes. If you do not tap out, if you can be the punch line, you’re in. but if you say, I’m done in any way, well the cost of that action will be very provocative for you.”

I sat for a moment thinking to myself about my life and what it meant to me. I mean no one wants to go to hell, but this was God, the God we were talking about and he did have a tendency to go truly biblical on people he had a problem with.

“I’m in.” I said firmly.

“So… take this to the elevator up to the seventh floor and give it to the receptionist.” He said handing me my file.
“I hope you have a really good sense of humor.” He said putting his cigarette out.

I made my way as instructed and handed my file to the person behind the desk. She instructed me to take a seat and I did. She looked over the file and typed on her computer. She looked at the screen for a moment, chuckled a bit and called me to her.

“Mr. Tyme I’m going to ask you to empty your pockets into this container and then go through the door on your left.”

I dug through my pockets and put the contents into the container. I then began to walk to the door on the left. The sign said pull and I did but the door didn’t open. I pulled again and again and still it remained shut.

I turned back to the receptionist and she was smiling in glee.

“Sorry, you need to push.” She snorted in laughter.

I pushed the door feeling a little foolish and walked through…

It was a beautiful spring morning in a small Indiana town. The birds were singing the sky was blue and the air smelled of lilacs and fresh cut grass. I stood on the curb of a shaded street taking in all the things I could see smell and feel. It was perfect.

I looked down to see that I was… a squirrel! I had the twitching tail, the soft brown fur, my little hands wrung in confusion and frustration. What had I gotten myself into? This was… actually this was great! I climbed up a tree in a New York minute!

I was able to circumnavigate the great oak like Spiderman himself! Up and down and round the tree I went. It was awesome. I took in all the sensory things I could take in and when I was exhausted I lay on the grass and warmed myself in a small patch of sunlight.

I saw something across the road, it looked worthy of investigation, so off to the other side of the street I went. I remember the feeling of the hot pavement on my feet as I ran. I remember hearing something off to my left.

I turned my head just in time to see the car tire an inch from me. My heart sank as I knew what was coming. I remember my last thought… REALLY?

My eyes opened to searing pain. Every atom in my body burned with an uncanny fire. I could hear the sounds of women crying, men laughing and placing bets and the sound of wind in my ears.

As my eyes focused I could see several people below me. It was a scene of chaos as roman soldiers stood about playing games. The women I heard crying were setting at the foot of a large pole. I turned my head to a man hanging from a cross and they were at his feet weeping and praying.

I looked to see that I was hanging from a cross myself. Bloody, aching and exhausted I knew in a flash what was going on. This was for the joke I made about the crucifixion. This was what I had made light of for a laugh.

The pain was more than anyone could bear. My brain was cooking in my head. My body was roasting in the cruel desert sun. I shivered in pain. Convulsing, writhing, and battered with wave after wave of torment crashing upon me like waves on a beach. Frantic and lethargic I began to wonder if I was even worthy of heaven as the weight of my words pulled on my broken body.

All I had to do was tap out. All I had to do was say enough, I couldn’t take it. All I had to say was no.

But then he turned his head to me and I saw in his eyes the truth of all things. He looked worse than I. He looked ragged and weak, so very frail as his blood dripped to the ground. In the chaos of the scene, in the horror and torment and sorrow I could see in him a resolve that could not be shaken. I saw in his eyes a perfect love for all mankind.

“I’m sorry.” My voice croaked out dry and shallow.

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” I pleaded.

“Truly I tell you, you will be with me in paradise.”…

“Congratulations.” The person said with a half smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

I was back in the building I had just felt. My body too weak to stand I lay there on the floor, my eyes closed, my breath labored. The last clinging relics of the pain I had visited drained from me like water circling down a drain.

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered as I began to cry.
“I’m so sorry.”

The person bent down and helped me to my feet. Wiping the tears from my eyes he sat me down in a chair until I could regain my composer. We sat for a good long minute not saying anything as I wept.

Slowly I lifted my head to look at him. He looked at me with a stare I had never known before. That’s not true, I had seen that look before, as I dangled from a cross and Jesus looked at me.

“Lord?” I asked sheepishly.

“OH GOD NO!” he laughed and pushed my shoulder a little.

“He doesn’t make personal appearances. Well not yet anyway.” He laughed.

“The look you see in my eye, that’s common here. You have that same look now too. It’s the look of a man who knows the truth. A man worthy of the kingdom of paradise. You’re in, you made it.”

“I’m not worthy. “I said in shame and humility.

“You are wrong my friend. It’s never too late to ask for forgiveness. You had your chance to tap out. You were teetering on the edge for a minute, but you took his pain not as a joke, not as a child, you saw what your words meant and you saw what god’s word meant and you took our lords pain on to yourself. That’s what it’s all about. When you’re ready, take the door on your right.” He smiled and stood up and began to walk away.

“I never got your name.” I called out after him.

“I never gave it. But if it helps…”

He held out his hands to show me the scars of his own crucifixion. The hands of a thief who begged forgiveness on a dry desert hilltop a long time ago.