But this client is destined to become part of my personal mythology. He is truly in a class of his own. Mr. Luminous Being walked into my office last week. For those of you who missed his first entrance, please read this.

He did, in fact, go to Greece. He loved the hotel room I got him near the Acropolis. He took many, many photos out his window of the sun breaking through a heavy cloud cover with big, golden rays piercing the gloom and illuminating a rather uninspiring view of rooftops, antennae, heating vents, and telephone poles. He excitedly showed me about twenty of these photos while I booked him a return trip, one way, to Athens.

"Lucy, man, look at this. This is exACtly the SAME as the COVer of this CD. Look at the spaceship. It's there, see it? Above the clouds! It was really there!" And he held up a battered Boston CD cover showing a drawing of a spaceship with little rays coming out of it. I bit my lower lip and looked back at my computer screen.

"And check this out, it was so incredible. See that fuzzy spot? That's a spirit. It's the Invisible Man. It's all real!" He was starting to get worked up, and he pawed among his photos to show me a better picture of the fuzzy spot. A baggie full of sticky green buds fell out onto my desk. He didn't seem to notice.

"Uh, yeah, it's mysterious, all right," I replied dubiously, hoping none of our clients at the Police Department were due to pick up tickets.

"You know who that is, right?" he said eagerly. "That's the keyboardist for the Doors. You can see him right there underneath the face in the clouds."

All I could see was a steam vent. I wasn't sure if he knew Ray Manzanerek was still alive, or if he thought that's who the spirit was. It was getting pretty weird at my desk, and all the other travel agents were desperately pretending they couldn't hear this guy. Cowards.

So he kept babbling, and I kept making polite noises and working on his ticket. My lunch time came and went as we searched for the cheapest way back to Greece. His comments got more and more religious, lots of references to the need for sacrifice, the miracle of life, the strange times. Finally, he told me it was essential he get back to Athens in time for a certain date as he was going to sneak into the Acropolis at night. I told him it was guarded by men with guns and attack dogs. He knew that, he said, but he'd figured out a way in. He needed to stand exactly between two particular pillars just as the sun rose. Jim Morrison would be there to greet him and help him "break on through to the other side." His eyes were glowing with that incandescence peculiar to the truly spiritual and the certifiably lunatic.

"You know why, don't you, Lucy?" he said in a half-whisper, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's because I'm the one. I'm the chosen. I'm the American Christ."

I stared at him, speechless.

"I know, sweetheart! I know! It's incredible. I'm so filled with love! I'm going to make it possible for everything to change. And you have helped me so much. You're the best, you're a great human being!" He stood up and threw his arms open wide. "SISTER! SISTER LUCY!"

I smiled, and made him sit down. He told me to pick out the picture I liked best as a souvenir, presumably of having met the American Christ, or maybe of Ray the fuzzy blob. He gave me his credit card to pay for everything. I charged his ticket, gave it to him, and got a hug and a kiss goodbye, and a promise to see me in the afterlife. Then he danced out the door.

Jesus uses Visa. I bet AmEx and Mastercard are going to be pissed.

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