Prayoffs

Every red-blooded American has the occasional craving for Chinese(ish) food, just like we all have a soft spot for apple pie--just the idea, if not the actual execution, makes us feel somehow more complete. No matter if it's microwaved from the freezer aisle, whether Dutch Apple or General's Chicken, some part of that particular consumption fills a soulful part of our American identities.
So it's not unusual to have a handful of whack-left college kids (Mongolian beef, cashew chicken, shrimp lo mein, and hot and sour soup), whack-right fundamentalists (chop suey, sweet and sour, almond fried, and egg drop soup), gun-totin' bible-thumpers from the hinter regions (sweet and sour or almond fried with steamed rice and egg drop), stuffy/batty professorial types (mu shu chicken/pork or a sizzling platter with potstickers), and the sporadic spiritual seekers from town (bean curd vegetables without egg, salt, or msg) all in the same room, frequently at the same time.
We attract a disproportionate number of the local fundamentalists because we are 1) right next to the church, 2) the food is good, fresh, diverse, and cheap, and 3) the owner is socially conservative beyond most fundamentals, although he is not really that into religion (despite going to a rotating roster of churches every Sunday). Not going there, but suffice to say, if I walked down the street saying some of the things he does about racial and ethnic groups, I would be justifiably incarcerated.
We also attract a disproportionate number of missionaries because we are 1) right on the border of town and neighborhood, 2) the food is good, fresh, diverse, and cheap, and 3) the owner's wife loves talking with the missionaries. Not going there, but one of the regular rotational visits is the LDS church, despite his distaste.

Two large groups walked in simultaneously: one group involved in the administration of the fundamentalist church and school, the other a group of elders (that right there is enough to cool me toward LDS missionaries. Who thought of giving an 18 year-old boy the title "Elder So and So" and enough church clout to support the elder ego?). Our two large tables run parallel and just slightly offset from each other, so the groups were sitting back to back/face to face.
My boss made the unprecedented move of holding plates until every entree was ready. He had the wickedly impish smile on and said "wait to take out, they all bow and say something and go 'AMEN!'"
Heh.
We ran the plates out in two trips. As soon as the fundamentalists got a couple of plates, the preacher bowed his head and started saying a blessing. Mormon forks paused midair. By the second trip, someone was thanking Jesus for something or other, someone else was praising God for the privileges, and by the time the preacher finished, he was half-yelling. Someone else took over, and the missionaries took up another round of Christing. By the time they worked each other into group chants, the fundamentalists sounded like troops in a chow hall, and the missionaries had the wild edge of a bonfire.
And the three of us stood there watching. A couple of times, I reminded myself to reel up my jaw.
It took Li, in an unprecedentedly disruptive role, to move things along. Usually, her voice is about as brazen as a baby rabbit poking from behind a crayon-colored flower, but she stood up and trumpeted out, "Alrightenoughalready! Say you "AMENS!" and eat you food!"
It stopped everything: the regulars had never heard such force or volume (nor had I), and the newcomers were justifiably embarrassed at the religious penis waving.
Go team God! er, um, hmmm....