Champagne

         I’m supposed to be in my Religion and Philosophy class right now, but instead I’m on a plane to Milwaukee.  Let me explain:
* * * *
         I was on the phone talking to my mom outside of Espresso Royale when a strange man approached me.  He reminded me of Jesus, but shorter.  His beard appeared to be infected with some sort of alien-insect, and when he scratched it, the tiny alien-insects would fall out.  I could hear them scream as they dropped to their death on the pavement outside of the coffee shop.  I concluded he must be the carrier of the next big plague; he had arrived from another planet, and his sole mission was to destroy this beautiful Earth because of its wretched inhabitants. 
About time, I thought.
         He handed me a piece of paper with one word written on it:  “Milwaukee.”
         I’d never been to Milwaukee, so I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the airport.  I marched up to the ticket counter and purchased a ticket to Milwaukee.
         Now, I, along with fifty other passengers, am defying gravity by flying to Milwaukee on a plane.  We all have that in common, but that’s probably it.  They all have a destination.  I don’t.  I’ve no place to stay, no friends who live there, and nothing to do upon arrival.
* * * *
         Maybe I’ll meet a beautiful cow in the middle of the road.  She’ll tell me how the whole world is coming to an end because the humans are murdering and consuming all the cows, and the only reason she has managed to stay alive this long is because she’s God.  Her owners don’t know that, though.  They only know that she can produce whisky, vodka, wine, and beer—along with whole, skim, and fat free milk—whenever they ask.  They interpret this as a sign of evolution, or proof that animals were created to serve and provide for mankind.
         The lady-cow God(ess) will explain to me how she is actually here to give back to women their worth in society, but no one will pay her any attention because she is a cow.
         “Why don’t you change yourself into a women?” I’ll ask her.
         “I did at first,” she’ll respond, “but people paid me even less attention then.’
         I’ll nod my head and believe her completely.  “What about a man?” I’ll suggest.
         “Tried that, too,” she’ll sigh.  “Problem is, what man in his right mind would claim a woman’s position to be higher and more exalted than man’s?  That’s like blasphemy to them.”
         “So why’d you choose a cow?” I’ll wonder.
         “Well, some men got angry at me as a blasphemous man and chased me into a farm.  I hid behind a cow who proceeded to tell me about the plight of the cows.  She pleaded with me not to kill her.  She was scared because all of her friends had been killed.  I promised I wouldn’t kill her and decided to become a cow to try to make cows more valuable so humans would stop killing and eating them.”
         “Did it work?”
         “No.  Now they’ve killed all the cows except for me, and I’m stuck producing alcohol and milk.  Not even God can escape the irony of your world.”
         “I’m sorry,” I’ll say, and mean it for the first time in my life.
         Then I’ll get down on my hands and knees and worship her in the middle of the deserted road.  She’ll ask me what I like to drink, and I’ll tell her “champagne,” because that’s my favorite.
         It’ll be the most amazing champagne I’ve ever tasted (and I’ve tasted a lot of champagne).  Then she’ll take me up to Heaven with her because the world is ending, and it hurts too much.
* * * *
         Or maybe nothing will happen, and I’ll be stuck with a lot of schoolwork to make up when I get back to Boston.