This is an actual conversation; over wine; in the sunlight; the day we first met; in Berlin. Neither of us had ever been there.
I looked at him angrily and called him god; not in some mystic, esoteric, biblical sense, but because he was. I was mad. I wanted to hit him (well not him, but something) as he told me that his job was boring. His job… Was boring? He worked with Ricky Gervais, Steve Carrell, lived in Paris, traveled around, his best friend was an anorexic chef at the most famous cooking school in the world, and his life? …Was boring. Naturally, I responded with the same passionate violence that infiltrates all areas of my life (whether I want it to or not). I called him god. “You’re god, you’re fucking god, Daniel!” I was breathing heavily, I felt my chest expand with thinly concealed heaving. “You make these characters, you bring them to life, you decide what they look like, feel like, enjoy, loathe, love, hate, are good at, suck at, and will endure. If they fall in love? If they kill themselves. If they are rich, poor, happy, depressed…” I looked to the side for a brief second, “You’re fucking god, Daniel. I work in a call center. I impact no one’s life; people complain to me, and you create the universe, write the story, and determine fate.”