Chapter 3

"When did you first hear the voice of God?" asked Dr. Robertson, a professional woman dressed in a grey skirt suit.

"On September 11th," I said.

"You mean September 11, 2001?"

"Yes."

"What did God say?"

"He said he has a purpose for me," I replied.

"Well, Michael, God has a purpose for everyone." Dr. Robertson made a few notes on her yellow legal pad. "The problem comes when you think you have a special purpose from God."

"Whatever this purpose is supposed to be I can't figure it out."

"You need to stop playing prophet and get your life together again."

"What's wrong with my life now?"

"Well, you're unemployed, on disability, living in a state subsidized apartment, and basically doing nothing with your life."

"Hey, I went to Harvard."

"But, you never completed your degree there. Plus that was almost a decade ago."

"I've been trying to get a job, but nobody will give me a chance."

"The last job you had was at the prison over in Otay Mesa. You got along better with the inmates than with your coworkers. You quit after only one month on the job."

"My coworkers were idiots. Plus, I couldn't stand cutting names and social security numbers off of eyeglass prescriptions."

"A man with your intelligence could easily get a job with the government. You used to work for the Department of Defense. Why don't you give them a try again?"

"Believe me, Dr. Robertson, I've tried and I've tried. The DoD is just not hiring, and they're certainly not hiring me."