On the sixth day, God created the beasts of the earth, including man and woman.
At least, that was His brief. It was a Saturday. God was hungover. (This was before He had a Son, during His bachelor days.)
Plus, He was out of vape juice.
Plus, as He was leaving His apartment, God noticed that His car had been clamped, so He would have to walk the 17 blocks to His office.
When one literally exists everywhere at all times, walking can feel like an unnecessary chore.
So, God was running late.
Was He able to punch in on time? No, He was not.
When, despite it being only five minutes past the hour, He tried, God’s time card was rejected by the machine, which had ticked over, and which showed Him no Grace nor Mercy, it being a machine, upon which He, in His finite wisdom, had not bestowed those qualities.
“Guess I’m working for free this morning,” God said, meaning: Hang around and watch me half-ass some beasts of the earth.
God opened His e-mail. Was it brimming with praise for His previous day’s efforts? Kudos re the vibrant beauty of the flamingo? The terrifying efficiency of the barracuda?
Please!
The subject of the first e-mail was: Blobfish?
And the second: Dodo?!
And the third: Penguin—is this a beast of sea or air?!?!
Just like Management to focus on the bunts, God thought to Himself. You make blue whales and sea eagles and giant squid, and they want to talk about krill?
Well, the unlikelihood of God receiving a bonus for the week was beginning to dawn on Him.
Which was very bad news, His remuneration being so heavily geared toward the bonus.
Nor could He expect to receive any ongoing royalties for His creations. Here, you give Management a fish, and they say, “Thank you for inventing this fish, which, as your employer, we own the intellectual property rights to,” and then proceed to make billions more fish, following your blueprints, at no extra dime.
It was a Saturday. God was hungover. (This was before He had a Son, during His bachelor days.)
Or you turn in your plans for the zebra—an idea you have worked so hard on, solving multiple complex engineering problems in the process—and all they can muster is “Bit derivative of the horse, don’t you think?”
But does He complain? Well, no. How could He? His position isn’t exactly safe. Not a day goes by when God doesn’t hear whispers of departmental downsizing. Which makes sense: once the hole has been dug, what use is the digger?
Whatever. He has a seven-day contract—He will see it out.
Besides, by the look of things, day seven should be relatively chill.
A revision: on the sixth day, God created ear wax, indigestion, and unwanted hair loss.
Who could blame Him? If Management cared about quality, they wouldn’t set such unrealistic targets.
Still, He did have His moments of inspiration.
He came up with earlobes.
He invented ringlets.
That way you feel right before you sneeze: Him!
For every bunion, there was a dimple. For every hernia, a tooth gap.
It was consuming work, and before God knew it, His day was done. He hosed down His tools and collected His lunch box from the fridge. He selected a podcast for the walk home.
Not one to trust the weather, He kept His umbrella handy.
And as He was locking up, God looked back at His day’s work, and lo, He saw that it was good enough.
Simon Webster is an Australia-based writer and journalist