Thou Shalt Not Be Rude to Wait Staff

The queue stretches, and stretches, and stretches. Our hero cannot bear to look up at it. He couldn't see the end of it if he did, and not just because the sinking sun would be glinting in his eyes. It stretches down the hillside and winds out of sight.

The crowd is rumbling, like one gigantic belly full of hunger.

Some of these folks will be getting this fare for breakfast.

He is already working pretty fast, but he mutters a message to his Dad and quickens his pace. There is something close to a mad glint in his eyes, and a tightness in his jaw. Although the hottest part of the day is long past, he's sweating.

The stink of fish fills his nose. He tries to tune it out, with intermittent success.

Ha! Tuna it out!

He chortles at his own joke, aware he might look crazy.

Since when have I ever cared about that?

The stench does help to blot out the smell of so many people, so that's a positive. Sweaty people. Who haven't discovered dentistry yet. Ugh. Maybe eu de fish is better...

"Are you sure this is OK to eat?" one is saying. "It's a bit whiffy, isn't it?"

"It's fine," he replies through gritted teeth. "It's only because there are so many of them in one place, that's all..."

Blessed are those who work in the service industry, for they will one day be allowed to slap rude customers with a bad fish.

"I can't eat that," says another. "It's a myth they don't feel pain, you know. Do you have any that's cruelty-free?"

"I don't think that one had a hook in his mouth," says the woman standing next to him. (Bless you, my child!) "I think the actual, you know, ocean-caught ones got eaten ages ago. These are copies. It doesn't count."

Mr Fussy wrinkles his nose. "It's still a copy of one that was tortured so we could eat, though, isn't it?"

An argument on the subject breaks out around them and ripples backward.

The woman shrugs, and shifts her weight subtly to put herself a hair's whisper in front of him in the queue. There is a nonchalant air about her. That is, if you don't look too closely at her elbow, which is sharp and ready to defend her position.

"Listen," pipes up another, cutting through the babble, "I'll take your fish if you don't want it. I can't eat anything else..." He sounds weary, and his belly growls. Then he adds, with a hopeful air, "Unless you have any bread that's gluten-free?"

After much wrangling, he takes his fish and shuffles away. The next in line belches softly. A fish-scented breeze wafts from his mouth.

"Hey!" someone shouts. "You've already had yours!"

"Yeah, this is, like, your third helping!"

Fish-Breath juts a belligerent chin.

"So? It's magical bread and fish. It's not going to run out!"

There's a predictable outcry at this.

"There's five thousand of us, genius!"

"Some are going to be waiting a very long time as it is, even without greedy swines like you-"

"You want to watch yourself, mister!"

"Plenty of rocks, around here pal."

Jesus puts down his spatula and wipes his hands on the front of his tunic, wondering, for a god-forsaken moment, if this lot really are worth saving. Cupping his hands round his mouth, he bellows for quiet.

The noise dies down. A sea of owlish faces stare at him expectantly.

"No fighting!" Jesus says sternly. "Or you can go to the back of the line! Got that?"

There's some cross muttering, and a "that's communism that is-" but it's quiet enough that Jesus can pretend he didn't hear it.

"Right. Who's next?"

"Ummm. Me. Do you have any water? Mine ran out ages ago."

Oh, Dad, here we go.

Cruelty-Free speaks up with his mouth full. "Actually, that's a good point," he says. "This bread is awful dry."

"I heard there's a neat trick you can do with water," says Fish-Breath, who has somehow materialised, once again, at the front of the queue. He lifts his pitcher and sloshes it, waggling his eyebrows.

Ah, what the hell. How else am I going to keep four thousand people happy while they wait??

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Thank you for reading!

Content warning: irreverant biblical themes

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