A (literal, not figurative) God/dess, fallen on hard times, forced to work 9-to-5 to make a living, in the absence of offerings et cetera. And how the lowly mortals around them feel about it.
Make it as light-hearted or dark, as uplifting or Schadenfreudic(?) as you please. – RecklessPrudence
(#00424 - A049)
[AN: Considering that 99.99999% of Gods are arseholes…]
Grace tried to hurry past the street market. Goddamn hippies were bad enough, but now there were goddamn foreign hippies selling all kinds of weird foreign muck. All in their hemp shirts and in a haze of whacky ‘baccy and crystals and assorted bullshit.
They were everywhere.
And half of them spoke some damn foreign lingo.
All she wanted was to get some beers for the boys at the 7-11. Not trip over damn foreign hippies and their weirdo bullshit every day. And some even tried to talk her into sampling some.
Honestly. You go out once a Sunday to spread the Good Word of the Lord, and everyone takes that as licence to be an asshole for the rest of the week.
There was another one in the 7-11. Buying up armloads of cheap munchies and chatting with the damned foreigner staff.
Grace got her cases of beer and, juggling them in either arm and wrestling her trolley behind her, made her way up to the counter where the hippie was counting out coins.
He was a nickel short.
Grace glared at him. At his weatherbeaten sandals, his worn-out jeans and threadbare shirt. At the calloused hands and the T-square tucked into his worn, rope belt. At the long hair and scraggly beard. At the dark brown skin and too-big nose.
She half expected him to have a damned-foreigner accent so thick you could build out of it. But instead, he spoke perfect English. “I’m very sorry about this. Would you have a nickel to spare? I guarantee it’s for a good cause.”
“Get a job, hippie,” she growled. One keg on the counter. “I GOT TWO OF THESE, SANCHEZ! TWOOOOOOOO!” She put the other one in the trolley. “RING ME UP FOR TWWWOOOOOOOO!”
“I am serving this customer, ma'am. Please to be patient?”
Grace puffed. “It’s hot. I’m in a hurry. The boys need their beers. Can’t you just bend your pissant rules once and ring me up. I ain’t gonna come back if you make me wait hours for two cases of beer.”
“Promises, promises,” muttered Sanchez. They were all called Sanchez or Diego or Juan. Whatever happened to good, honest, Christian names like Matthew or John?
The hippie searched his pockets. “I could have sworn I had that nickel…”
“What’s the matter, hippie? Your drum circle got the munchies?” Grace growled.
“No. I’m doing a bun run for the shelter down the street. And FYI? I have a job. I’m a carpenter. Just like one of my Dads.”
“Fuck. A fucking gay hippie.”
“Adopted, thank you. I just happen to have a good relationship with the man who fathered me and the man who raised me.” More digging around in his pockets. “Not one coin for Christian charity?”
Grace slapped the notes on the counter and shoved the other case into her trolley. “I got better things to do with my time than wait around for some bum to find a coin.”
*
Max watched her go. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?”
“There’s that nickel,” Jesus pulled it out of thin air. He shook his head. “How did I go so wrong?”
Max shrugged. “You didn’t write it all down, straight away, I reckon. You want someone to know exactly what you said? You gotta be specific. You gotta get it writ down. That’s why everyone remembers the Leviticus and nobody remembers the Love Your Neighbour.” He rang up the bread rolls and tuna. “You can really feed everyone with this lot?”
“I’ve done more with less,” Jesus smiled. He looked out the shop windows in the direction the woman had gone. “All this time in what they call my Father’s country, and not one of them recognises me…”
Max bagged the purchases before ringing up the beers for the books. “Keep up the hope, eh? I recognised you.”
“May one become many,” Jesus joked. “Better days to come.”
“See ya around. And say 'hi’ to Gautama for me.”
Max stuffed the angry woman’s change into the tip jar. He kept wondering what it was like to not see the divine figures one worshipped. What it could possibly be like to miss seeing all the angels in their midst.
Some folks were just born blind, he guessed.
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