Stairway To Heaven

My father and I had a nice chat when I visited him. He's in a nice condo overlooking a lovely group of cumulus clouds, under which you can just make out greater Hoboken. My dad was happy to see me, of course, but sad, too. He thought I should have been allowed to stick around on earth for a while and see my grandchildren get married. I concurred completely. He took me over to Harry Chapin's place (the righteous goyim have their own neighborhood). When we got there Shlomo was there, jamming with Harry. I should have known! I got a big boruch haboh from Shlomo. He wanted to know how I had wound up there so early. I told him I didn't know, but it might have had something to do with my birds. He was confused by that, and rightfully so. So was I. I wanted to know if he had any clout with the Big Guy; maybe he could find out whether there might have been a mistake made, that it really wasn't my time yet. He said he'd make a call...he knew someone who knew someone. Anyway, then the lunch siren went off. We all went to the dining room (except Harry; the goyim have their own food court with, among others, a McDonald's, a Sbarro's and of course the ubiquitous Starbucks). The dining room was amazing. First of all, FYI: there was mixed seating! Dad and I grabbed seats next to Sam and Esther Lieberman. Across the room I saw Dave Engel chatting up Beverly Sills. Personally, I didn't see that shidach at all. It was a veritable Who's Who of dead Jews. I saw the Ramchal playing five card stud with Jack Benny, who claimed that the holy rabbi was cheating. Moshe Rabbeinu and his wife, Mrs. Rabbeinu, were very friendly and gracious; humble, too. Jonas Salk was debating a point with the Rambam. There were these winged waiters flitting about the room. You had a choice between beef lo mein and Amnon's pizza that day. I don't know; you'd think they'd serve something more...more heavenly, right? Apparently the Big Guy is a big fan of Amnon's. Who knew? Oh, and the beef lo mein desparately needed salt. It took me 15 minutes to flag down my waiter and another 10 minutes for him to bring some to the table. I decided I wasn't going to tip him, then I realized that I was wearing nothing but my hospital gown and it had no pockets, so it was kind of moot. Just then Shlomo came running up to me with the news: according to his sources, a mistake had indeed been made. The Malach HaMovess had seen me lying there like a flounder and had simply assumed and jumped the gun. Well, you know what happens when you assume, right? Dad and I said our goodbyes, I clicked my heels together three times and said "there's no place like Columbia Presbyterian" and I was on my way. My father sent regards to everyone, but I never delivered them.

Hey, who was gonna believe me?!

PS If you look closely at that picture of me at the top, you'll notice that my nostrils don't match. It's something I've wondered about for many years.