5,000
I’m standing up on the bus holding a strap near the back. It’s too crowded to sit down anywhere. Old crones bickering in Polish, sleepy-eyed third-shifters, kids curdling the air with their whoops and screams. One beautiful young woman with tears on her cheeks, and some ancient, hairless fellow with a seeing eye dog. The dog, somehow, looks bored. Meanwhile, I’m coming from a job interview for this position as a Bible salesman.
The man had asked, “Let’s say you had to feed 5,000 people out there on a naked little hillside, and all you had was a little bit of bread and some dried-up fish. How’d you go about doing that?”
It hits me now what I should’ve said. I should’ve said, “What about 5,000 starving Jesuses, waiting for a good word and a bite to eat? I got speeches, so we’re all set there. But who’d dare open the Son of God’s mouth and put food on his tongue?”
Flip the script, right? Answer the question with a better question. The wow factor, like, ‘This guy thinks way outside the box.’ Damn, why do I have to think of shit like that only on the bus afterward? ‘Who’d dare open the Son of God’s mouth and put food on his tongue?!’ Fucking fuck. That’s solid gold.
What I’d said actually said was, “Like in the Bible story?”
“Yessir,” he said, and sat back and folded his hands on his gut.
“Start with I’m not Jesus,” I said, “Let’s start there: I’m no Jesus.”
“No sir, you are not,” he said.
And then I said I’d pray on it. Right then, right there, in front of all those people. That’s what you’re always supposed to do anyway, right? Pray on it. Talk to God. Ask for help. Pray, pray, pray, pray, pray.
But the man sighed and sat forward and the chair groaned under his weight. He jotted something down on my resume, then looked up and said, “We’ll be in touch,” and slid his eyes toward the door. There sat a few more kids out in the lobby too, waiting on the man, all dressed in black like me.
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