God's Work

“I didn’t kick them out, they kicked themselves out.” I said this to the banquet host with his mutton chop attitude and his whimsical lisp. It was my job as Hall Inspector to make sure that all of the preparations had been made and that everything ran tip top. I explained to the host that I had to boot those youngsters out - they were horsing around in the lavatory, playing grab-ass with the soaps and towels. We simply could not have that kind of behavior in this establishment. The 50 plus guests in the hall deserved better. I remember the confusion peppered across their faces as they watched me curse out the boy’s families for allowing their children to behave in such a way. It soon got to that critical point in the evening when the guests began to show the telltale signs of hunger. They stirred in their seats, picked at their nails and teeth anxiously waiting for the great feast to begin. Please allow me to take a step back at this point and enlighten everyone as to what I was going through my mind – lets just say that I felt remarkable in my own way. I knew that I was in control and that it was now my duty to strut my stuff. I had applied myself over years of training for this very moment - my finest hour on the industry’s biggest stage. I walked down the long buffet table inspecting the food, leaning in close here and there to take a whiff of pudding or scalloped potatoes, whatever it may be. I placed my hands on the great swan ice sculpture and said a prayer. I brushed off some dust on the white table cloth and made sure the napkin rings were finely polished. When I blew my whistle and everyone filed into line I felt true contentment. And when I stood with my hands folded before me and watched as the guests happily lashed into the strawberry pie and chicken croquettes, I knew that I was doing God’s work.