Monday, 8 December 2025

Heavenly Customer Service by ChatGPT

Scene: The Divine Customer Service Hotline

The scene opens in an ethereal office space somewhere in the celestial bureaucracy. The floors shimmer like gold, but the cubicles are depressingly beige—a reminder that even in the heavens, bureaucracy reigns supreme. A glowing neon sign reads: "Heavenly Customer Service - Your Complaints Matter (Probably)."

God sits at a slightly too-small desk, a headset perched awkwardly over His majestic white hair. His iconic robes are slightly crumpled, and He’s sipping from a celestial latte cup that reads: “World’s Best Boss (Also Creator).” The latte foam has formed a little halo.

The phone system beeps incessantly as calls from mortals flood the lines. There’s a massive queue displayed on a divine monitor above His desk: Current Call Queue: 46,752,890.

God sighs, adjusts His headset, and presses the blinking button for the next call.


God: (in His warm, omnipotent voice)
“Thank you for calling Heavenly Customer Service. This is God speaking. How may I help you today?”

Caller #1: (angry, loud voice)
“Hi, yeah, is this the Creator? Why do bad things keep happening to good people?!”

God: (pausing, taking a long sip of His latte)
“Ah, the classic. Okay, let me explain—it's part of the whole free will thing. You see, when I designed humans, I wanted you to have autonomy—”

Caller #1: (interrupting)
“Autonomy?! I didn’t choose to get hit by a bus last week!”

God: (awkward cough)
“Well, no... but you chose to live in a city with buses, didn’t you? Anyway, have you tried... um... counting your blessings?”

Caller #1: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

God: “No, really, it’s a lovely mindfulness exercise. Next caller!”

(He presses the button with a sigh. A cherub floats by, handing Him another cosmic latte.)


Caller #2: (distraught voice)
“Why did you make mosquitoes?!”

God: (leaning back, rubbing His temples)
“Look, I didn’t just make mosquitoes. I made birds that eat mosquitoes! You’re supposed to find the balance, okay? Ecosystems are complicated. Next caller!”


Caller #3: (soft, philosophical tone)
“Hi, God. Big fan. Quick question—why am I here? Like, what’s the purpose of life?”

God: (pausing dramatically, as though delivering wisdom)
“Ah, yes, the meaning of life. Okay, here it is. Write this down.”

Caller #3: (excitedly)
“Ready!”

God:
“The purpose of life is... to find purpose in life.”

Caller #3: “...That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

God: “I thought it was pretty good! Next!”


As the calls continue, God grows visibly more frustrated. The latte supply starts to dwindle, and the cherubs are struggling to keep up. Suddenly, a notification pops up on His computer screen: "Incoming Escalated Complaint: Satan is on Line 666."

God stares at the screen for a moment, groaning.

God: “Not again.”

He picks up the call, already bracing Himself.

Satan: (smooth, smug tone)
“Well, well, well. Long time, no chat, Big Guy. How’s the hotline holding up? Still drowning in complaints about your perfect creation?”

God: (pinching the bridge of His nose)
“What do you want, Lucifer? I’m busy.”

Satan:
“Oh, just checking in. You know, I don’t get these kinds of calls in my office. People know what they’re getting when they sign up with me—eternal torment, fire, all that jazz. But you? You’re out here handing out free will like candy and wondering why no one’s happy. Classic!”

God: “Look, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got 46 million people waiting to complain about... everything.”

Satan: (snickering)
“Maybe you should delegate, huh? Hire some angels to take the calls. Oh, wait—didn’t you fire half of them a few millennia ago? My bad!”

God: “Goodbye, Satan.”

(He slams the phone down, muttering under His breath.)


As the scene fades out, God sits back in His chair, staring at the never-ending queue of mortal complaints. He takes a deep breath, picks up the next call, and repeats the greeting with weary resignation:

God: “Thank you for calling Heavenly Customer Service. This is God speaking. How may I help you today?”

And somewhere in the universe, a mortal sighs with relief, not realising they’ve just called the source of their complaints.