HEAVEN'S MAITRE 'D ST. PETER THREATENS TO RESIGN AFTER ENCOUNTER WITH “VISITOR” MICHAEL SINGER

EDITOR’S NOTE - The first 65, 70% of this story was written one year ago when Michael Singer was down and out and the referee had counted “eight……. nine…” and was just about to reach a knockout. A year later, we are, what’s the word, grateful, I guess, that Paul Newman jumped the gun. Read on and maybe that will make some sense.

*************************

For over 1,900 years, Simon Peter, aka St. Peter, one of the 12 Apostles of Jesus Christ, has been in charge of the entrance to Heaven which is beloved as The Pearly Gates.

Since 576 AD, Peter, a Syrian national, has also been the Maitre ‘De Hotel of “The First Supper”, the finest restaurant in all of heaven, hell and Earth. Peter has sat history’s most renowned people including Alexander the Great and Frank Sinatra, who both have their own booths.

The chef de cuisine is Auguste Escoffier. The garde manger is Antoine Carame. Fernand Point is the sous and line cooks include Joel Robuchon, my grandmothers, Anthony Bourdain, Masataka Kobayashi, Charlie Trotter, Jean and Pierre Troisgros.

The bartender is Winston Churchill. who is often toasted.

Muhammad Ali is the bouncer.

And yes, St. Peter runs the front of the house.

But, this week, St. Peter was frazzled to the point that he threatened to resign after a maddening encounter with a supposedly new resident of Heaven. one Michael Singer of St. Louis, USA, Earth. Peter was so frustrated in the encounter with Singer that he sent a long text to his bosses, Jesus Christ and his father, God.

The Mozza Tribune, though sources that requested full anonymity, found part of the message Peter sent to his superiors. “I’ve had it. I can’t do this anymore. Can I just go back to the Pearly Gates and welcome folks to Heaven? This restaurant stuff is not for me. This guy Michael Singer. Ay yi yi.“

The First Supper’s security footage obtained by the Mozza Tribune reveals much of the encounter between St. Peter and the guest, this Michael Singer, an investigative news producer based in Earth. Some audio accompanies.

The footage begins with St. Peter leading Mother Teresa and a group of beggars and lepers to a table, pour them some 1921 Dom Perignon and then returning to the host stand and greeting Mr. Singer.

“Mama T drink?” asks Singer.

“Excuse me?” says St. Peter. “Oh, you mean Mother Teresa, the Saint of the Kolkata Gutters. She indulges a touch. Can I help you?”.

“Oh, no,” says Singer. “It’s Calcutta not this Kolkata shit. Same for this Mumbai crap. It’s Bombay. Bombay and Calcutta.”

“Sir, can I be of some assistance regarding you being her at The First Supper?”

“Yeah, Pete, I gotta a res for two. Me and my boy Howard Weiztman.”

“Hmmmmm..” says Peter as he looks through the reservation book. “Don’t see it.”

“I made it while back.”

Saint Peter looks and looks. Going back some time. Until.., “Oh, here it is. But you are late. Quite late. You were suppose to be here 10 years ago. We hold the table for 8,760 hours, that’s the equivilent of one of your Earth years. But then we have to cancel.”

Singer pounds the reservation/ host stand. “That’s some bullshit!”

“Watch your language. You are in Heaven, may I remind you.”

“Oh, you can only cuss in Hell? Gimme a Goddamn break.”

“Mister Singer.”

“Don’t Mister Singer me. Look , Pete, maybe i did have a reservation 10 years ago. Maybe I was supposed to kick off in 2014 or whatever. But I couldn’t leave my wife. I could not leave my Ruthie. I love her. She loves me. We are a team. You feel me? And I sure couldn’t skadaddle on my son Nick. I tell you about him? The filmmaker. Moving to Harlem. Believe that shit. Ruth and my boy moving to Harlem.”

Just then a beautiful saxaphone solo begins at the restaurant. Singer’s ears perk.

“Wait. Is that John Coltrane?”

“Mister Coltrane plays here every Sunday.”

‘Well, I’ll be.”

At this point Rembrandt arrives with Caravaggio and Leonardo da Vinci. St. Peter excuses himself and seats them. He returns to the stand and Singer,

“Oh,” says Singer. “I see how it works. I’ll go get my goddamn paint brush and maybe I’ll get a table. Jeez. The three of them are drawers. They draw! I exposed injustice. Let me repeat that. They drew. Glorified crayon guys. I woke the world’s eyes to oppression. Who wins? A guy who paints a chubster lady who barely smiles. Another motherfucker who paints a bunch of guards on the night shift? Some stabber boy who knows the difference between light and dark? Or the journalist who exposes the rich betraying the downtrodden?”

“Sir,” says a quickly getting upset St. Peter, “Those three gentleman who walked in are arguably the greatest painters of the history of your very own planet. Leonardo da Vinci,…

“The Last Supper and Mona Lisa,” grunts Singer as his fingers drum the host stand.

“Rembrandt,” says St. Peter

“The Night Watch guy,” mumbles Singer, his eyes rolling,

“And Caravaggio.”

“Yeah, Caravaggio,” says Singer. “Remind me what did he paint?”

St. Peter shakes his head and says “The Calling of Saint Matthew.”

“I’m about to be calling St. Matthew if I don’t get a goddamn table pretty devil damn soon.”

“Here, I will say it slower,” says Saint Peter. “You. Do. NOT. Have. A. Reservation.” Hey look, Mike,,,,”

“Don’t Mike me,” Singer snarls back.

“Ever see Heaven Can Wait. Or here comes Mister Jordan?,” asks St. Peter. “Maybe someone fucked up and brought you here too early.”

“Jesus,” Singer says.

“I’ll call him.”

“I’m too early? A minute ago I was too late. You people need to get your act together.”

“Hold on, Mike. Sorry, I mean Michael.”

At that, St. Peter confers with several angels, and several other rather important people who asked the Tribune for anonymity.

Here’s what happened, according to those sources. Michael Singer was in a bad way a year ago. Real bad. His wife Ruth’s heart was near ruins. An angel, yeah, trying hard to get his wings, made arrangements to have Singer moved from Earth to Heaven. However. the angel, one Paul Newman, in his memo to get the deed done, spelled the word “arrangements” as “arraignments”, as in a court situation. Some think Newman, an actor on Earth who once wonderfully played Frank Galvin, a drunkard attorney on a redemption mission in “The Verdict”, had a flashback to that movie And while Singer was transferred to Heaven, but with faulty paperwork. (A little known fact about heaven is the place is way anal about paperwork.)

A decision was made to have Singer sent back to Earth.

At that point, St. Peter motions over to his bouncer and Muhammad Ali comes over to the host stand.

“Your the Greatest, Muhammad,” said St. Pete. “So I need you to do this one right. Punch this Singer guy so hard he goes back to Earth and lives with this Ruth woman he keeps talking about. I do not want him up here. Maybe one of these days, but not now.”

Ali walks over to Michael Singer and says “I hear you’re like me, a troublemaker.

“Well, I’m not good a taking shit,” Singer says..

“Here’s a poem I wrote about Sonny Liston. I might apply it to you. This is back when they called me Cassius Clay.”

Singer mumbles, “Yeah before you went Shiite.”

“What you say?”

“Nothing Champ.”

Ali takes the stage from Coltrane and unleashes his poem.

Now Clay swings with a right,
What a beautiful swing,
And the punch raises the bear,
Clear out of the ring.

Liston is still rising
And the ref wears a frown,
For he can't start counting,
Till Sonny comes down.

Now Liston disappears from view.
The crowd is getting frantic,
But our radar stations have picked him up.
He's somewhere over the Atlantic.

Who would have thought
When they came to the fight
That they'd witness the launching
of a human satellite!

Yes, the crowd did not dream
When they laid down their money
That they would see
A total eclipse of the Sonny!
I am the greatest!

With that Muhammada Ali punches Michael Singer and he goes sailing out the restaurant out the heavens and all the way back to Earth and lands. with a thud. on the kitchen floor of the home he lives with with Ruth Reichl.

Ruth is startled no little and rushes into the kitchen. She is flabbergasted, stunned. and thrilled beyond to see her husband back on Earth.

“I feel again. But this one was a special fall.

Ruth helps him get up, kisses and hugs him and says “Come back to bed and tell me about it. I gotta a feeling it’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Doozy doesn’t begin to describe this one,” says Singer who takes Ruth’s hand and the two walk to off to the bedroom

.