I found God in a barbershop one day, only to discover that he didn't speak my language. Most people would not expect to find God in a barbershop, especially those who'd devoted their entire lives to finding him. Still, it really didn't surprise me - what surprised me was the haircut he had chosen, and the clothes that he wore, and the language that he spoke.
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God did not speak English, or Latin, or Hebrew, or Arabic. God spoke a language that I'd never heard before, but he was freely conversing with his barber, so I assume that it is a known language.
He was getting a crew cut and wore Abercrombie and Fitch clothing.
I walked out of the barbershop, passing up an opportunity that any theologion would kill for. After all, what was I going to say to God? I would have stood there, making an idiot of myself, as we each awkwardly tried to figure out the rudiments of each other's languages. I was not in the mood - it was hard enough in Spanish class.
But this meeting was destined. Subsequently, I happened upon God at the grocery store, cruising down the aisles with a shopping cart full of multitudes of cereal and snack foods. Again, I could not bring myself to approach him, so I continued on my way, and picked out cereals of my own.
God likes Captain Crunch with Booberries and Double Stuff Oreos.
Finally, coincidentally, he sat down next to me at the movies, his lap laden with a myriad of exotic delicacies: gummie-bears, buttered popcorn, Diet Pepsi.
"Okay God, what's the deal? You tailing me, man?" I snarled angrily from my seat.
God merely looked back at me with a confused expression on his face.
"I mean, first the barbershop, okay, that's fine. The supermarket...kind of a coincidence, but maybe. And then here!? Three in a row!? What gives God, what do you want from me?"
"Popcorn?" he offered me a crunchy, buttered nugget of popped corn with a thick accent. It sounded like "Pupchron?"
"Okay," I said taking the piece and putting it into my mouth. "But this doesn't answer my question."
The movie started and I had to wait until the end to continue my interrogation, after all, who was I to disturb my fellow viewers. No, I was content to sit there as God munched his candy and popcorn and slurped his soda through a straw. He laughed audibly at every joke and reacted with visible emotion whenever any character did anything. God was kind of...annoying. Meanwhile, I thought the movie was pretty stupid.
The credits rolled.
"Okay God, so what gives?" I continued as if the movie hadn't even shown.
"Crach shalalalamamin," he replied and walked away, leaving his empty wrappers and popcorn tub and soda cup on the floor by his seat.
Stumped was I, utterly stumped. Beatings and reprimands would follow if I were to ask a rabbi or priest for advice..."You said WHAT to God!?" so I immediately ruled out such options. Talking to him directly clearly wouldn't work and attacking him would be blasphemous and sinful...worse than blowing up a hospital filled with war veterans and nuns and emaciated children. All possibilities were ruled out. I could devise no plan when I so sorely needed one...if I didn't get God to stop trailing me and bothering me, if the mystery was never elucidated, if I was out of ideas and forced to deal with this lurking figure, this persistent stalker....oh God, save me!
Wait! That's it! God, save me! I'd pray for help.
Sure enough, I encountered God at the mall the next day at the entrance of Brookstone. He had just purchased a clock/refridgerator and was arduously lugging it out in a bulky Brookstone bag.
"God, please, please stop following me around and ravelling out fates together," I begged, implored, prayed.
"Okay," he responded brusquely.
"What the hell!? You speak English...this whole time!? Why did you put me through all of that then?"
"So you'd know I mean business."
"Oh yeah? What kind of business?"
"You need to go to synagogue more often," he stated with all-due seriousness.
"Ar-are you serious?" I answered, taken aback.
"Aren't there easier ways of telling me to do that?"
"....God dammit! Now I'm not going to synagogue, just to spite you."
And then I never went to synagogue again, except on High Holidays, because no matter how little you care, you always go on High Holidays. Every once in awhile I would see God shopping or driving or walking his French poodle along the sidewalk - I would wave, he'd reciprocate, and we'd continue walking on our ways.