Isn't He The Funniest Guy?

This is a bad idea, I thought to myself for the umpteenth time. Blind dates were never my thing. They were just awkward meetings with a fork and knife sharing pleasantries with a plate rather than the people holding said fork and knife. At least, that is how they go for introverts like me. But this was not a typical blind date. This was a favor to a friend (she owes me a big one in return!); her friend - the date - was new in town or something (I wasn’t paying attention when she was gushing about him). Suddenly, the noise in the restaurant seemed to go down a little. A distinguished looking man, who bore a striking resemblance to Robert Downey Jr., walked in. Resemblance aside, he seemed to be the kind of man whom people just turned to look at. Magnetic personality and charisma and all that. Well, blah.Oh dear! Why is the waiter escorting him to my table? No! No! NO!“Hi!” he said, politely extending his hand, “you must be Natasha’s friend.”Oh. So, I’ve gotta spend a night here looking like something the cat dragged in while you sit there, all eyes on you. This was definitely a bad idea.“Yes, I am assuming you are too.” Don’t let that plastic smile falter.He chuckled and took his seat.“I’m sorry; Natasha did not tell me much about you. I don’t even know your name.”“I know yours. And people call me way too many names. You can call me what you feel like.”Huh? “Okay, but you must have a name?”“God.” He said simply. Oh my God! Is he some kinda psychopath? Natasha!“Did you call me?” he asked with a smile.“I – what?”“I thought I heard you call me. But I can’t be too sure. WAY too many people call my name WAY too many times, and half of them don’t even know why.”This was turning out to be a strange evening.“I don’t believe you. Are you saying you’re God? Like, The God?”“You don’t believe me? Yeah, I remember that phase of yours.”Was he referring to my atheistic phase? How much had Natasha told this guy? Why had I not heard anything about him before? “Are you gonna sit there gaping all night?”“This is a strange year. First, I met a girl claiming to be Mother India. And now you.”“Hah! Mother India, lovely girl. How’s she?”“Wouldn’t you like to know, you chauvinist!” Oops, harsh was I?“Excuse me?”“Don’t wanna anger God, do we? What will you do, cause an earthquake and lemme die, to be found under the debris a week later, half rotted?”“I am not here to perform magic tricks. Come on!” he laughed.“Who are you? Why are you here?”“I’ve often heard you tell your friends I am the funniest guy around. I wanted to thank you. That’s a nice compliment.”“Well, I meant it in a pretty snarky way.”“I still wanna thank you.”“Why?”“For believing in me again.” He was still smiling. The sarcasm was not there this time, though.“I am a pretty small person to be seeking validation from.” “Small? How many people sit across a table from me?”“Where did that airplane go?” “Let that be a mystery.” His eyes were serious for the first time in our brief encounter.“Fine, I’ll ask something smaller. Does Michael Faudet really exist?”He roared with laughter. “I am glad I am not the only one whose existence you question. But for the record, yes, he does. He writes wonderful poetry. But as for his name and the internet images, that’s for him to guard. You don’t want me telling another lady about your secrets, do you?” he raised an eyebrow.I considered this. Nope, I did not want him to. Oh God, no!“I won’t,” he said with a grin.“Oh, God! You have to stop doing that!”“Stop calling my name in vain, child.” “Alright, funny guy. Tell me, why are you here? Spit it out.”He clasped his hands on the table. He looked at his fingers for some time. I took a sip of water while I waited for him to answer. He looked up at me and looked into my eyes.“I don’t delete prayers from my inbox,” he said finally.“Hey! That was fiction! Wait – you read my blog?! Wow!”“No, I am God. I just know everything,” he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “I mean, it was a nice story. But I am not like that. I don’t want you thinking about me like that.”“It was just fiction –"“-Inspired by what you felt about me. And I’m not a chauvinist.”“Do you want me to take it down?”“Nope. It’s a nice piece of fiction. Just wanted to clarify certain things. Now, shall we order some dinner? I am starving. Long journey, and quite jet-lagged.”
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
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