I merely work for the guy. It’s his world; the rest of us are just living in it,’ answered Roger. ‘How’s that “bring out your dead” bit? I call it my Spirit Guide sense of humour.’
I didn’t call it anything, I was frightened and confused.
‘Don’t worry about the mist; on first appearances it looks ghoulish.
The mist is to Heavenise you; clears away the Earth bacteria,’ mumbled Roger in between mouthfuls of his hamburger.
This can’t be good; no way was this happening.
‘I do so like my hamburgers,’ Roger said as he licked his lips. ‘Especially when the meat is juicy and tender so it melts right in your mouth. To be truthful, I have to level with you here; it’s not so much the meat that makes the burger. It’s the nutritious fresh salad on the top of the meat; this completes the burger. The aromas from a fresh salad smell are so delightful.’
Let’s take stock. I winced as I thought of the rebounding strap-on. I fell backwards. I’m dead, well deadish, perhaps. I still haven’t figured this one out yet. I have an alleged Spirit Guide talking to me about hamburgers. When I wake up, no one is going to believe me when I tell ’em about this dream.
Roger continued to consume his burger whilst informing me of more culinary delights that go towards a good burger.
‘A good burger makes your tastebuds dance with delight and do cartwheels in your mouth. Your mouth waters and dribbles like the mouth of a hungry dog just before it’s given a bowl of food. But, the salad is the one that allows the texture and the character of the ingredients to escape from between the two buns and right into your mouth. The sauce simply tops it all off. Not the meat as some people would have you …’
‘Roger!’ I screamed. ‘Enough of the hamburger lessons. I’m not caring for food right now. I need to know, what’s happening to me? Am I dreaming?’
‘Nope, from my point of view, you’re pretty much dead,’ replied Roger as he opened up his suitcase, placed the bell he was carrying inside it, and pulled out papers and a pen.
Roger, my Spirit Guide who eats hamburgers, told me that as I had died, I was now qualified for being dead. I was hanging around in the ‘Waiting Zone’, the hiatus between Earth and Heaven. Once Roger had completed the paper work and the mist had completed its job, I’d be engulfed in a white light, an aura he called it. Then, into the tunnel and off to Heaven we would go. The aura was to protect me until I reached Heaven. It sounded so simple. Dumbfounded, I looked on as Roger fumbled.
‘Who fills out paperwork when they’re dead?’ I yelled. ‘And, I don’t believe in Heaven and Hell, so how can I be going to either of them, let alone Heaven?’
‘I fill out the paperwork and you, as the applicant, sign to acknowledge I’ve answered the questions correctly on your behalf,’ answered Roger. ‘As far as Heaven and Hell go – best you start believing.’
Disbelieving, I looked on as Roger mumbled to himself as he commenced to fill out the paperwork.
‘I never even went to church,’ I blurted out.
‘I know. They were fun mornings for you,’ replied Roger with a wink and a chuckle.
‘Did you know your name means disaster?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Yes, yes, I know!’
Reading the questions from his papers, Roger mumbled to himself, ‘How did applicant die?’ In the same breath, he answered while he wrote, ‘The applicant stepped on his penis and fell backwards onto the pointy end of an iron.’
‘Strap-on!’ I hollered. ‘I’m not so stupid as to step on my own dick; I was wearing a strap-on!’
Ignoring me, Roger continued. ‘The applicant’s religion is? The applicant is not religious, but he was baptised in a Baptist Church. That’s all he needs.’
‘The applicant’s skill set is? The applicant’s skills are limited to gambling, drinking and the purchasing of prostitutes.’
‘What value can the applicant add to Heaven?’
It was here, at this very question, Roger paused, stopped writing, scratched his nose with one end of the pen, looked at me for a moment and continued mumbling as he wrote. ‘Hard question to answer as the applicant probably can’t add much value. But, we have to take him because of his Baptist baptism … I don’t make the rules!’
I interrupted. ‘Roger, old chap. A question or two, please, if you have a moment.’
‘Sure, fire away.’
‘Roger, Rog, do you mind if I call you Rog? Listen, old mate, I missed something in the hullabaloo that’s been occurring, which mostly involves me. Can you level with me, mate; who and what are you exactly? Why are you here? What is happening? What’s with the applying stuff? Am I really going to meet my maker, or is this a dream that will end soon?’
Rog, my Spirit Guide, answered, ‘Bloody Hell, man, you’re dead! Get over it, you need to move on. Death happens every day. How many times do I have to tell you? No wonder your mother thought you were stupid. But at least you’re not as stupid as Wind Between Ears. You ortta hear what her Spirit Guide says about her. Dumber than dog shit she is.’
I could only fully endorse his comment.
‘As you were baptised in a Baptist Church when a youngster, you qualify for Heaven. God’s law is: once a Baptist always a Baptist. It doesn’t matter to him if you’re a practising Baptist or a non-practising one. God only discriminates against the other religions.’
‘What garbage is this? God discriminates against the other religions!’ I retorted.
‘It’s true,’ replied Rog. ‘God only allows the Baptists into Heaven; he frigging hates the other ones.’
‘How’s that work?’ I asked.
‘Someone will explain in due course,’ answered Rog. ‘I only do Spirit Guide stuff, the pick-ups, and the checklist.’
‘Rog, let’s just say, for the sake of argument, I do believe you, and you are my Spirit Guide. Speaking of which, if you’re my Spirit Guide, why didn’t you warn me about my impending death?’
‘I could have warned you, I guess, but at the time I was in a long queue to buy a hamburger. I didn’t want to lose my spot. I did get to you as quickly as possible.’
‘But as a Spirit Guide, by definition, aren’t you meant to guide me away from danger and death, possibly spirit me away?’
‘Technically that’s a maybe at the moment. Our Trade Union is looking into the issues around the whole death and Spirit Guide relationship thing.’
Astonished, I responded, ‘What Spirit Guide is a member of a Trade Union?’
‘We all are! Spirit Guides are members of the Spiritual Guide and Associated Death Trade Union, SGAD for short.’
‘You serious?’
‘Yep.’
‘Unfreakingbelievable,’ I muttered.
‘The way it stands at present, we’re not supposed to interfere in the ‘dying come death’ process. If God and his executive team want us to issue an early warning to people so as we can prevent their death, then God and his executive team are going to have to hit us up with a few extras.’
‘Who would have thought?’ I replied.
‘Hence my maybe comment; sometimes we do; sometimes we don’t. There’s no official direction on it at the moment,’ said Roger. Then he added, ‘Righto, we ’bout done; we need to go.’
‘No, we’re not ’bout done!’ I said as I raised my voice. ‘I haven’t finished!’
‘Yes,