This is how I imagine a real-life recruitment storefront would be-- if it were to exist—-- for the G-d Squad.
I park at the Strip Mall. There’s a pristine Urgent Care, a freshly painted Pet-Co and in a dark corner a dilapidated sign, “Army Recruit Office.” I wonder why it doesn’t say, “The Lord’s Trainee Center,” or something like that. The exterior upkeep is indicative of people’s feelings lately about the almighty. As I approach the sign I notice “Recruit” is misspelled. “Recircuit.” I guess that could apply too.
I enter through the double doors. A dude in need of kettle bells wearing stained military gear sits behind a desk and a pile of paperwork. His legit but droopy angel wings need a lint roller. I assume Droopy has a cat at home. I tilt my head trying to get a better look at Droopy’s wings. They’re not fake. They’re an appendage. There’s even a scar on his right wing where the feathers never grew back.
I’m on a short line.
As I wait my turn, I notice outside protesters gather. Their signs have brutal slogans I don’t want to repeat. They have pictures on their signs as well— I don’t wish to describe either. I know that they support violence against all people who don’t think like them. I know they have support. Thousands on social media praising these actions in real life. They also have funding. Their signs and t-shirts are freshly printed and artistic. Their videos on Instagram are high quality and look like they are produced in Hollywood.
Meanwhile, G-d’s recruitment office needs a renovation. The chairs are from the 1950s, the slatted blinds on the windows are broken or misaligned and the walls need a fresh coat of unleaded paint. I wonder why G-d has only 1 employee working today. I heard it’s tough to find staff, but this is embarrassing.
I get a closer gander at the recruitment officer, Droopy (Droopy Wings). His flying apparatus’ (or is it apperati) lack muscle. I don’t think he’s flown off a cloud in years. I’m guessing the last time they were in use was when George Bailey was down on his luck. Between customers, he grabs a swig from his flask. I’ve heard of fallen angels, but this dude needs an AA meeting (Angels Anonymous).
“Next.”
It’s my turn. “Oh hello. Yes, I’d like to serve G-d.”
“Please use the name, Lamp. The ‘G‘ word offends people.”
“Sure. Lamp. I’d like to serve Lamp. I know I’m not young and strong and I have contributed with money and prayers, but I want to do more.”
“Fill out this form.”
“Can I just ask--?”
Droopy follows my finger pointing to his busted feathered appendage and stops me. “It happened in 1846. I was trying to save a family. They were trapped near Truckee, California. I came in too hard. There was a lot of snow, crashed into a tree. But, hey, they got the road named after them.”
“Are you talking about Donner Pass?”
“Yup,” Droopy says.
I step back. “Yeah, you screwed that one up.”
He shrugs and waves me away.
I sit down with the clipboard. I don’t care that the orange chair is wobbly, and the cushion feels sticky. I’m ready to sign my name to anything Lamp desires. Maybe I can do intelligence work. I’m intelligent. At least my husband thinks so.
I read the instructions on the one piece of paper. “Draw a picture of a human.”
Is this a trick question? Humans come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Lamp created us all equal. I know this is a fact because of our machinery. We are like wrist watches. Same workings on the inside. We just have different styles on the outside. Some are fancier, others are stocky. I’m a sweatpants watch. I like to be comfortable.
As I read the question over and over the crowd outside grows larger and louder. They shout their slogans. It’s deafening. I should have brought ear plugs.
A few more volunteers squeeze by them and make it through the doors. They hide their faces. I guess they don’t want to be recognized or seen. We nod to each other. After all, we’re here for the same reasons. We want to volunteer, to serve Lamp.
Another recruiter appears from the back room. She has donut crumbs on her face and oversized wings that hit Droopy’s desk knocking over his coffee.
“Dang it, Raziel. Watch your wing.”
“Sorry. Bro, I warned Lamp, ‘You better clip me,’ but noooo, He said I got places to go, people to comfort. Look at me now.”
“We’re low on staff. Thanks for helping out today.”
“Cassiel brought us leftover donuts. There’s a cruller in back with your name on it.”
Now the question on the paper shouts at me, “Draw a picture of a human.”
I see other recruits pondering the same command. One gal covers her page as though I’m going to copy her answer.
I get inspired and draw a human heart and return to the line.
Droopy calls to me, “You don’t have to wait again.”
I hand him back the clipboard.
“And the pen? I need my pen back. People like to steal pens, why is that?” He says this as he scratches his wing. I didn’t know wings could be itchy.
“It’s tucked under the wing, I mean clip,” I say nervously. Droopy must get a lot of us humans gawking at his pinions.
Droopy futzes with the clip, pulls out the pen and returns it to his pen mug that says, May the Lamp Be With You.
He looks at my picture and smiles. “You’re serving already. You can go home.”
“What d’you mean?”
“What do you want me to say? You answered correctly. Ding ding ding. Tell her what she’s won, Jonny.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long 432 years. The last 53 have been a real bummer. Believer numbers are down… Your drawing tells me that you’re already doing the work. You’re serving Lamp. Next.”
“But I want to do more. Is there an army or something I can join? I know how to protect myself. I took a class. It was a Groupon for Krav Maga.” I show him the one pose I remember. I lose my balance but catch myself.
Droopy watches my pathetic dance, hides a chuckle. He leans over and raises an eyebrow at my shoes.
I respond defensively, “What can I say? I like combat boots. They have great ankle support. Plus, they’re bad ass.”
“All right, all right. I have one important question,” says Droopy, “You ready to die for Lamp?”
Oh. He said the word, Die. I never thought this could be a possibility. I remember stories of Lamp testing His followers, just to be sure they had faith. In the old days they had to sacrifice a goat. Today, a devotee might go without chocolate for a few days. Now that’s a believer.
“Will I get to meet Lamp?”
“Of course.”
I think about my family, my kids, their future. I think about when my kids were little. I would have jumped in front of a bus for them. I wonder if my husband would sign up with me. He told me to report back to him, get all the details. He has to research everything before making a commitment. Even marrying me. I had to wait four years before he proposed. He wanted to be sure. I’ve always been a delver. I get an idea and I delve. No thinking through. But Lamp has been a huge part of my life. In fact, Lamp gave me life.
Droopy taps the desk with his pen. “Well?”
“I believe in this cause. I want my kids to have a future. I’m in.”
“Sign here,” he says and hands me a plane ticket to Israel as I don’t have wings.
Lovely readers— I had a hard time coming up with a humorous essay this week given the atrocities in Israel. I appreciate you reading and commenting as always.
I have no questions but am open to discussion. G-d bless.
It has indeed been a tough week and I'm tired, but I was drawn into your story as usual. Thank you!
This has left me speechless.
You absolutely are serving Lamp when you can write something with this much meaning despite the pain you are witnessing in a more personal way than many of us.
When you were asked if you are willing to die for Lamp I was stopped in my tracks, I took a big breath in. I have never really thought about it until right now reading this essay, but I will be thinking about it moving forward.
You have written many amazing things Carissa, and I am an utter fangirl for your novel but I think this is the best thing I've seen you write. ❤❤❤