Find the operations manual for the world, and read it.

There’s a book laying open on a wooden desk in front of me. On the spine of the leather-bound tome, the words “Instruction Manual for the World and Everything In It” are embossed in gold. A monk stands behind me. I can feel his breath on my shoulders. <br><br>I shift my weight from one leg to the other. I was a few years past being a child, but I still have little patience for waiting.<br>“We need a minute?” I ask, without looking up. <br><br>“Yes, of course,” the monk says, “This is a big responsibility.” <br><br>I glance back over my shoulder at him. I don’t really feel like I’m ready for big responsibilities, but here I am.<br>“Is there an index? I kind of have a lot of questions,” I say.<br><br>“The Good Lord is all powerful and all-knowing,” the old man said, “But he is not a very good writer.” <br><br>I look back down at the open pages on the desk. The ink was so faded that you could barely read it. How am I supposed to be in charge of everything and I can’t even read the instructions?<br><br>“Who wrote this thing? God?” I ask.<br><br>“The Good Lord is all powerful and all-knowing,” the old man said, “But he is not a very good writer.” <br><br>“Oh, that’s what you said before. So who wrote this?” I ask.<br><br>“Some angels. I think,” the monk said.<br><br>I look at the page that is open on the desk.<br>“Ok, so how do I keep the world from flooding all the time?” I ask.<br><br>“What page are you on?” the old man asks.<br><br>“I don’t know, there’s no numbers or anything,” I say, looking down at the yellowed page. <br><br>“Well, let me look,” he says. After a moment, he says “That’s the dolphins.”<br><br>“Oh,” I say. The page is a description of how God made fish to live in the ocean, but just a couple of them have air bladders so they can breathe air. I look at the monk. <br><br>“Why are there two kinds of fish? Even if some of them need air, why can’t they all just have an air bladder, that way all the fish can breathe air.” I ask.<br><br>The old man shrugs. “I think that it’s supposed to be funny or something,” he says.<br><br>“Yeah, *ha ha*, real funny. What if I change it so all the fish can breathe air?” I ask.<br><br>“You can’t change anything. This is how God made the world and this is how it has to be run,” the old man said.<br><br>I look at the words on the page. It takes me a few minutes to make out the words talking about fish. I get out a ball-point pen from my pocket and scratch out the words “some of the fish” and replace it with “all the fish”. After a minute, I hear a weird groaning, grinding noise coming from the ocean. After a few more minutes, all of the world’s oceans had turned into lakes. <br><br>“There we go,” I say.<br><br>“It’s not supposed to be like that.” the old man says.<br><br>“Well, then maybe the Good Lord should have hired a technical writer,” I say. I flip the page and a picture of a couple of birds falls out. The next page is about how to make it rain. <br><br>“Oh man, that sounds important,” I say.<br><br>“Yes, it does,” the monk says.<br><br>I read the page. It’s a long page. I take out my pen and start crossing out words again. <br><br>“You can’t do that!” the old man says. After a minute, I hear the sound of a lot of water moving.<br><br>“You know, you’d think that with world peace and hunger and disease and all that other stuff I have to worry about, that it wouldn’t also be raining in here,” I say.<br><br>I hear the sound of a lot of water moving. After a minute, a very cold breeze blows through the room and I hear the sound of water hitting the stone floor. <br><br>I look up at the ceiling to see where the water is coming from, and a few drops fall into my eyes. I brush the water out of my eyes so I can see again. I look back down at the desk and realize that I wasn’t really reading the pages. I was just sort of skimming them.<br><br>I flip the page back and really read it. It’s pretty complicated. I realize that I really have no idea how it rains now. <br><br>I flip the page back again, to the page with the dolphins on it. I read it again, and I don’t really understand how fish live in the ocean, either.<br><br>“Shit.” I say.<br><br>“What did you do?” the old man says.<br><br>“I changed the wrong page,” I answer. The sound of rushing water is so loud that it’s almost deafening. The room starts to fill with water. <br><br>“Well, just change it back,” the old man says.<br><br>“I don’t know how,” I say.<br><br>“Well, then you’re going to have to figure it out.”<br><br>So I do. I read the pages over and over again, trying to remember how rain is made, and how fish breathe. I scratch out my previous changes and replace them with what it had said before. <br><br>After a few hours, I finally get it right. The water stops rushing into the room and the roof stops leaking. I look up at the monk.<br><br>“I think I have it now,” I say. <br><br>“Good,” the old man says, “You have a lot of work to do.”<br><br>I look back down at the desk. There are a lot of pages left to read. <br><br>“I know,” I say. Then I ask “Do you think the angels would be willing to hire a technical writer? This is way too complicated and poorly written for one person to do on their own.”