When god spoke to me

Many believers think that their god speaks to them in a 
cryptic manner but few have had the good fortune to actually hear his voice in all its glory (more later on why it's a him). I am one of those lucky few. It was November of 1973. I was hitchhiking from Miami, FL to Columbus, Oh. My first ride was a young man who had been paid to drive a car from Miami to Cleveland, OH. I could not believe my luck. One ride all the way. But god works in mysterious ways. A few hours later the engine blew and I was abandoned in the south central part of the state. Although it was late fall, it was Florida, so the sun was bright and warm; but I was all alone on the side of the road. There was nothing to see but blue sky, grass, palmetto palms and asphalt. Suddenly I heard a deep, manly but somewhat tinny voice: "Attention hitchhiker." I searched all four horizons and then finally looked above. Nothing. It was kind of creepy. I chalked it up to a flashback and stuck out my thumb again, although there wasn't a vehicle in sight. Shortly I heard, "Attention hitchhiker. You can't stand there." Holy shit. I still couldn't see anyone. It was then I realized that god must be talking to me. It sounded like he was using a megaphone which didn't strike me as odd at the moment. I was truly stunned. My religious timeline of Catholic school, drafted altar boy, forced church attendance and faked confessions followed by a lazy agnosticism had led me to believe that god had forgotten about me. Apparently he hadn't. But why didn't he want me to stand there? Did he have a greater purpose in mind for me? Without thinking much about it, I picked up my backpack and began walking towards the sound of the heavenly, but tinny, voice. I didn't know what to expect when suddenly I heard, "It won't do you any good to come down here." That didn't sound very godlike. At least not the god they had fooled me into believing existed when I was in Catholic school (he was mean and spiteful but he did give you a fighting, albeit losing, chance). So I took my chances and forged ahead, cresting the top of a small mound, when my eyes rested on my version of the kingdom of heaven: a toll booth for the Florida Turnpike. The bored booth operator, a stickler for state laws, informed me that I was not permitted to hitchhike on or near the turnpike. He directed me towards a state highway close by. I schlepped over there in the hot sun and stuck out my thumb. After only a few minutes, a Florida State Trooper pulled up. He was even more stern than the voice from heaven; no doubt my shoulder-length hair and backpack didn't lighten his mood. He told me that I couldn't hitchhike there, that I would have to go over to the county road. I could see the road. Between me and the road were a creek and a barbed wire fence. I asked the trooper if I could look for a shallow place to cross. He said he knew the creek well and there weren't any shallow places. I said, "You don't give a guy much of a choice, do you?" He replied, " You have a choice. You can cross the creek or get in the car." It was then I realized there was no god.