Portion of chips (go back »)

“Portion of chips!” the woman said, smiling. That’s what she called me.

“Hey Anne.” I replied, going up to her. She handed me my nickname.

“Is there enough salt or you want more?”

I handed the chips back to her, “Well actually I’d like a burger today.”

“A burger?” She looked at me.

I nodded.

“But you’re my Portion of chips, you’ve always been!”

“And always will be,” I reassured her, “Just for today I want a chicken burger.”

“You buy?”

I nodded. She set to work. I looked out the window. I looked back. The burger was ready.

“£3.50,” She stuck out a hand. I stuck both in my pockets… and looked at her.

“Lost my money.” I frowned. She raised an eyebrow, “Might have dropped it at church, be right back, keep it warm.” I raced to church, checked where I’d been sitting for the afternoon service. The pastor walked past.

“Pastor!” I called, going towards him as he turned to look at me, “Have you got some spare change?”

“Hmmmm…” he rubbed his chin with the hand which wasn’t holding his Bible, “Well you know what the Bible says about spare change, don’t you?”

“Yes.” I lied.

“Good man!” he clapped me on the shoulder and took a £5 note out of his Bible, “Then buy what you must, and keep the spare change.” I watched him as he walked away. I stood for a second, wondering what he’d meant by ‘buy what you must’.

I left church and paced towards the chip shop, hoping my burger was still warm. I was just about to step inside when a familiar hand clapped me on the shoulder and turned me around. It was the pastor, with hell in his eyes.

“WHERE are you going? Stealing MY money!?” Nearby people and the woman in the chip shop looked at us. The pastor’s lips were pulled back, revealing sharp teeth. His look was so sinister and his grip on my shoulder so strong that I was wondering if it were God’s or the devil’s son I was up against.

“No! I’m, I’m…“

“The superstore is that way! Where are my biscuits?” His biscuits?

“I, I was going the long way, for exercise, see?” I put my hands down and wiggled my fat belly to justify my words. Thank God for all the portions of chips I’d had, knew it might save my life some day.

The pastor looked at the chip shop, looked at me, and looked at the £5 note.

“Liar! Taking the long way my back foot! Your mind stinks of buying a burger with my money!”

I pulled out my last trick, “Look into my heart, pastor, and you will see I’m not lying!”

“Fool!” the pastor replied, “How can I look into your heart? Who do you think I am? Jesus?” He pushed me into the shop. The woman looked at us.

“I give you money to buy me food, and you take it to buy you food! You think I don’t know?” He pointed at the burger on the counter, “Buy it!”

I did just that and got the change. The pastor snatched it and the burger, took a mighty bite, and chewed.

“Hmphmhphmm…” he paused to swallow, “… lying to a pastor!” then left.

There was a moment’s silence. Anne took out the portion of chips she’d handed me earlier. On that day, I learned not to lie to a pastor.

And to stick to my portion of chips.

In Short Stories and Really Short Stories