What god would be hanging around Terminal Two of Heathrow Airport trying to catch the 15.37 flight to Oslo?

The line uses a deliberately mundane, hyper-specific image—an all-powerful deity loitering in an airport terminal, anxiously making a scheduled flight—to puncture grand religious or metaphysical claims with everyday absurdity. By juxtaposing “god” with the banal logistics of modern travel (Terminal Two, a precise departure time, Oslo), it suggests that divinity, if imagined in human terms, becomes comically constrained and bureaucratic. The humor also critiques anthropomorphic religion: if gods behave like harried passengers, they are not transcendent but merely scaled-up humans. In Adams’s characteristic style, the joke doubles as skepticism, implying that the world’s messy, prosaic reality sits uneasily with tidy notions of an intervening, personal deity.