“Well, what have we here? We weren’t expecting you for quite some time. What happened?”
“‘Scuse me?”
“We thought we had another 20-25 years before you got here,” the gate attendant replied.
Jack looked around at the fluffy ground and giant golden gate in front of him. “Am I dead?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Wow. How’d that happen?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking you.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Of course not,” the attendant replied. “Free will and all that. I had you on December 27th, 2035. I’m Pedro, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jack mumbled. He was thinking. “You know what? I think Cinnamon killed me.”
“That might be a first. What do you mean?”
“Well,” Jack responded. “Wait. What do you mean you ‘had’ me in 2035?”
Pedro blushed a little and said, “We’re not really proud of this, but there’s quite a bit of wagering on earthly matters up here.”
“Huh. Well, anyway, I was reading this thing about ‘Wonder Foods’ or something like that. And they said everyone should eat a lot more cinnamon. It’s great for you and an anti-inflammatory and cures diabetes and blindness and stuff. So, I figured I’d give it a shot and I started eating more cinnamon at every meal. I’d have coffee cake or donuts or cinnamon buns or french toast at almost every meal.”
“Now, that’s just plain stupid.”
“I know, but it sure was delicious.”
