The Eternal Queue

Written by Christine Wang from The Harker School, CA, USA

CHARACTER LIST

THE STAFF (DIVINE & DISGRUNTLED)

THOTH / ”TONY” (Egyptian God of Wisdom & Bureaucracy)

exhausted Senior Case Officer whose own work visa renewal is 3,000 years overdue

---------

THE APPLICANTS (DIVINE & DESPERATE)

LOKI / ”Louis Chump” (Norse Trickster God)

Goal: Fast-track approval for ”Genius Visa” (O-1) despite having 14 outstanding warrants from Asgard

HERMES / ”HENRY COURIER” (Greek Messenger God)

Goal: Renew work visa as a Divine Delivery Driver after Olympus LLC declared bankruptcy

ANANSI / ”ANTHONY WEBBER” (Akan Spider Trickster God)

Goal: Obtain work visa for ”Extraordinary Storytellers” although Disney claims copyright on his folktales

THE MORRÍGAN / ”MORGAN GRAVES” (Celtic Goddess of War & Fate)

Goal: Obtain asylum from ”excessive Irish tourism” without obliterating any workers out of anger

QUETZALCOATL / ”QUINCY FEATHERS” (Aztec Feathered Serpent God)

Goal: Reclassify from ”Endangered Species” to ”Highly Skilled Migrant” after NAFTA erased his worship base

----------

THE SYSTEM’S ENFORCERS

IRS GOD (Sent by ICE Gods)

Cosmic auditor who is capable of taxing even divine blessings

THE PRINTER (Eldritch Entity)

Malevolent office equipment that eats applications and demands blood sacrifices

----------

THE MORTAL

DAVE MILLER (Human Accountant from Omaha)

Role: unsuspecting citizen seeking to renew his driver’s license, only to find himself accidentally trapped in the divine bureaucracy of the immigration office…

ACT 1: THE ETERNAL QUEUE

(The fluorescent lights buzz like a swarm of angry wasps. The air smells of despair and cheap disinfectant. A spiral of stained garden chairs circles into oblivion in the middle of the room, each one bolted to the ground as if to stop them from breaking a window and escaping from the gloom of the place. A flickering screen reads: “NOW SERVING: G12”. DAVE, a broken mortal in a “Live Laugh Love” shirt, huddles in a chair with the posture of a question mark, staring at ticket G653 in his hands. He squints at a peeling poster on the wall that reads “UNITED STATES IMMIGRATION SERVICES” in faded letters, then looks down at his DMV renewal form.)

DAVE: (muttering to form) “Weirdest damn DMV... since when do they ask for your 'cosmic lineage'?” (to dying plant in the corner) “If I don't make it... tell the DMV... their new location sucks...”

*(KABOOM! The doors explode inward with a puff of golden light and glitter. The Star-Spangled Banner begins to play in the background. Louis/LOKI enters—golden combover gleaming with the sheen of a thousand failed hair products, suspiciously orange tan glowing like a radioactive pumpkin, tiny hands clutching a solid-gold clipboard stacked with papers that all say “VERY IMPORTANT” in 72pt Comic Sans font.)*

DAVE: (blinking at golden glitter) “Since when does the DMV have a budget for... whatever this is?”

LOKI/CHUMP: (booming voice, arms spread wide like he's about to hug the entire room)

“FOLKS! You're looking at the MOST stable genius in the history of geniuses! The BEST genius! Everybody says so—I have TREMENDOUS endorsements! And let me tell you, this place? A DISASTER! The WORST immigration office I've ever seen! And I've seen them all, believe me!”

(LOKI/CHUMP shoulder-checks a weeping nun out of the way, then slams his application onto the first and only lit service counter. THOTH sits behind it, his head drooping, his nametag dangling by a thread from his shirt. It reads “Tony” in patriotic red, white, and blue.)

LOKI/CHUMP: (leaning in, voice dripping with faux sincerity) “Listen here, Tony—great name, by the way, tremendous name—we're gonna make this quick. I've got YUGE deals happening right now! The BEST deals! Realms to destabilize! Prophecies to misinterpret! Just stamp this bad boy, and we'll pretend this whole 'waiting in line' nonsense never happened. I know people—IMPORTANT people. OWE me favors, buddy!”

THOTH: (not looking up from his ancient typewriter) “Number.”

LOKI/CHUMP: (fake laugh that sounds like a seagull being strangled) “Tony, Tony, Tony... numbers are for LOSERS, Tony. I don't DO numbers. I MAKE numbers. BIG numbers. BEAUTIFUL numbers. The BEST numbers. Everyone says so—'Louis, your numbers are INCREDIBLE!' (Leans in) Between us? I could make you assistant manager. Very prestigious. Many benefits.”

(THOTH presses the button. The dispenser wheezes out ”G999”)

LOKI/CHUMP: (snatching ticket, face purpling) “G999?! This is the WORST number I've ever seen! A TOTAL DISGRACE! The MOST unfair, rigged, disgusting number in the HISTORY of numbers! This whole system is a SCAM created by the DEMOCRATS to make our lives harder! Probably Odin's fault—nasty liberal, by the way, terrible eye-patch, no fashion sense—just the WORST!”

(Flops into a chair next to DAVE like a deflated whoopee cushion, arms crossed in a pout that could rival a toddler denied candy.)

LOKI/CHUMP: (leaning toward DAVE, whispering loudly enough to be heard by THOTH) “You seeing this, Dave? Total WITCH HUNT. They're afraid of me, Dave. VERY afraid. Because I'm TOO GOOD. Too POWERFUL. Too... YUGE.”

(A voice crackles over the intercom: “Now serving... G13.” The sound is barely audible over the collective groans of the room.)

LOKI/CHUMP: (launching out of his chair like it's electrified) “UNBELIEVABLE! This is the SLOWEST office in the HISTORY of offices! I could build a WALL around America in less time! I could strike FIFTEEN—no—TWENTY deals with Russia in less time! And let me tell you, folks, they would be BEAUTIFUL deals! The BEST deals!”

(LOKI/CHUMP storms back to THOTH's desk, ignoring the line of mortal-dressed deities now actively praying for Ragnarok.)

LOKI/CHUMP: (slamming his tiny fists on the counter) “Listen, Tony—you seem like a smart guy. I like smart guys. But this? This is BAD. VERY bad. I've got VERY IMPORTANT PEOPLE waiting on this approval. BIG things! YUGE things! So let's make this easy, yeah? Just... slide it through. Nobody has to know.”

THOTH: (finally looking up, eyes glowing with the patience of a being who has literally seen eternity) “Loki. We both know you're not actually Louis Chump. And you’ve probably heard that I’m Thoth, not Tony.”

(THOTH snaps his fingers. LOKI's disguise GLITCHES—golden hair flickers to black, suit melts into leather armor, tiny hands remain inexplicably tiny—before he SLAMS the illusion back into place.)

LOKI/CHUMP: (grinning like a shark who just heard a knock-knock joke) “Worth a shot.”

THOTH: (stamps DENIED with the finality of a god who has had ENOUGH) “Appeal in three centuries. Maybe four. We're backed up.”

LOKI: (sighing dramatically, dropping the Chump voice like a bad habit) “Ugh. FINE. But next time? O-1 visa. 'Extraordinary Ability.' Because let's face it—I'm EXTRAORDINARY.”

THOTH: (points to the demonic PRINTER in the corner, where smoke currently rises in three uniform columns) “Printer duty.”

LOKI: (horrified) “You wouldn’t do that to me, Thoth! I’m your friend! And PLUS, that thing ATE BALDUR'S APPLICATION LAST WEEK and spat out a PROPHECY about the stock market!”

PRINTER: (demonic screech, lights flashing like a rave) “ERROR. LOKI DETECTED. INITIATING PAPER JAM OF DOOM.”

-----------------------

ACT 2: DIVINE STRUGGLES

(The doors creak open as “Henry Courier” stumbles in, his delivery uniform soaked through with sweat. His backpack straps strain unnaturally against his shoulders.)

HERMES/“HENRY”: (adjusting visor nervously) “Just your average, totally human delivery guy here. No wings. Definitely no—” (His left wing bursts through his shirt sleeve with a loud RIP) “GAH! I mean... uh... extra shoulder padding? For... ergonomics?”

*(He collapses into a chair, his wings now hopelessly tangled on the “PLEASE STAY SEATED” garlands hanging from the ceiling. His sweat drips onto Form I-3472/B clutched in his hands)*

HERMES: (muttering to himself) “They revoked my work visa! Said 'flying delivery guy' isn't a real job! Try explaining to Zeus that his messenger is now 'undocumented'!”

(The ceiling tiles rattle as “Anthony Webber” gracefully lowers himself from the vent on a silken thread before hopping to the ground.)

ANANSI/“ANTHONY”: (smoothing out his pants) “Freelance web designer here. Completely human. Two arms. Maybe... occasionally three when the deadlines loom?” (A third arm instinctively catches his falling phone before he awkwardly tucks it away.)

(A thunderclap rattles the windows as “Quincy Feathers” enters, his weatherman blazer barely containing the iridescent feathers bursting from his collar.)

QUETZALCOATL/“QUINCY”: (adjusting his microphone pin) “Meteorologist studying... large avian migration patterns. From a strictly... ground-based perspective.” (A feather escapes his collar; he stomps on it aggressively.)

(Glaring at his paperwork, his feathers ruffle in outrage.)

QUETZALCOATL: “'Species: Large Bird (Exotic)'? I'll show you exotic—” (screeches like an offended eagle)

(The lights flicker as “Morgan Graves” materializes, her knuckles white as she clutches a spontaneously-materialized funeral wreath.)

MORRÍGAN/“MORGAN”: (deadpanning in an Irish accent) “Funeral director. Standard mortality cases only. No prophecies. Definitely no fate-weaving.” (Her oversized purse rattles ominously as she begins sharpening her pencil-disguised sword on the ticket dispenser, sending sparks flying.)

MORRÍGAN: “In my day, we settled paperwork disputes with honorable combat. Much more efficient. And bloodier. Blood is very efficient.”

*(A beat passes as the gods stare at each other, first with suspicion, then with unspoken mutual understanding. The silence is broken by a bewildered voice.)

DAVE: (holding up crumpled form with growing panic) “Excuse me? Mr. … Webber? Does this look right for license renewal?”

*(turns paper to reveal ”Form I-ASCEND-999: Application for Divine Ascension”)*

“The kiosk gave me this when I pressed 'Driver's License'...”

ANANSI/“ANTHONY”: (all arms freezing) “Oh, sweet summer mortal...” (awkwardly pats Dave's head with three hands simultaneously while another arm snatches the form away)

(The vending machine, sensing weakness, swallows DAVE's last dollar with a mocking gulp and produces a single Skittle that simply reads “DESPAIR”. The air in the room seems to stand still for a moment, before the gods realize that this is simply too much of an act to put on for one mortal.)

HERMES: (whispering to Quetzalcoatl) “Quincy, you’re Quetzalcoatl, right? I think you should tell him.”

QUETZALCOATL: (hissing back) “Hermes, you tell him!”

LOKI: (grinning from beside the equally-invested printer) “Oh, this is gonna be GOOD—”

DAVE: (staring at the Skittle, then at his DMV confirmation email, then at the “UNITED STATES IMMIGRATION” sign above Thoth's desk. His voice cracks.) ”...This isn't the DMV... is it?”

(The PRINTER chooses this moment to roar to life, spewing paper like a volcano as LOKI dives for cover. The vending machine locks its coin slot with a definitive CLICK. All divine eyes turn to DAVE.)

MORRÍGAN: (sheathing sword solemnly) “Welcome to bureaucratic purgatory, mortal.”

ANANSI: (softly, all arms gesturing to the ”NOW SERVING G14” display) “Your number is G653.”

THOTH: (without looking up from the service counter) “Bring snacks.”

DAVE: “Wait… Are you all GODS?! Shouldn’t you have immunity from this type of thing?”

QUETZALCOATL: (exasperatedly throwing up his hands) “Dave, we’re not from America. We’re IMMIGRANTS! To answer your question, YES, we’re gods, but no matter what we contribute to the country, we’re all still waiting on our work visas.”

DAVE: “But if I’m in line here… and even GODS don’t get privilege… (slumping to his knees as the weight of eternity crashes down) I just... wanted to renew... my license…” (faints onto the ”PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER” dispenser, which cheerfully spits out ticket ”G1000”.)

(The PRINTER in the corner suddenly ROARS to life, its paper tray snapping like hungry jaws. LOKI yelps and jumps backwards, shielding his face with a stack of printer paper. Ignoring the chaos, the gods each grab one of DAVE’s limp limbs and hoist him onto a row of chairs.)

---------

ACT 3: THE SYSTEMIC MELTDOWN

*(The sun has already faded behind the horizon by the time DAVE awakens from his deep and much-needed slumber. He rubs his eyes warily, suddenly remembers his surroundings, and lets out a long, exasperated groan as if his soul is being sucked out of his body.)*

(THOTH, at his limit, finally looks up as the IRS GOD materializes behind LOKI in a puff of audit notices.)

IRS GOD: (glowing eyes locking onto LOKI like a predator) “AUDIT DETECTED: CLAIMED $8M IN 'WISDOM ROYALTIES.' PAID $12 IN TAXES.”

LOKI: (backpedalling into a filing cabinet labelled 'ABANDON ALL HOPE') “WITCH HUNT! I have the BEST deductions! Very legal! Very cool! The BEST cool!” (Realizing no one is planning on saving him, his eyes narrow) “Who sent you? Was it Odin? ICE? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted those tax return filings! All this for what! 12 DOLLARS?!”

THOTH: (standing, a small smile on his face, wings spreading like a bureaucratic angel of death) “Printer. Now.”

PRINTER: (demonic roar, gears grinding like the teeth of the damned) “COMMENCING ETERNAL PAPER JAM.”

(LOKI screams as he's dragged toward the machine, his golden hairpiece flying off and landing in DAVE's lap. The lights flicker like a strobe light at the world's worst rave. DAVE stares at the hairpiece, then at the chaos around him, and whimpers.)

DAVE: (to no one) “What about my license...”

(Suddenly, a MIRACLE! The PRINTER spits out a single, pristine envelope. THOTH, having already deposited LOKI into the machine’s massive maw, picks it up and opens it.)

THOTH: (reading) “David Miller. Application for... (squints) mortal license renewal at divine immigration office?” (shrugs, stamps APPROVED) “System error. Not my problem.”

DAVE: (eyes widening, voice trembling) “I... I can go home?”

(The room falls silent. Even the PRINTER pauses. Then—)

PRINTER: (softly) “ERROR: MAIL DELIVERY FAILURE. DOCUMENT LOST IN TRANSIT.”

(DAVE's face slowly crumples like a discarded application.)

DAVE: (whispering) “...No.”

(The vending machine, sensing his despair, eats the approval letter. The lights go out.)

(The sound of shredding paper and distant, maniacal laughter—possibly LOKI, possibly the PRINTER, possibly both—fades into darkness.)

—------

EPILOGUE: THE CYCLE

*(The Immigration Office lights up. A new day. The office is pristine. DAVE 2.0, showered and fresh-faced, takes a seat. He now holds two forms - one for the DMV, one for United States Immigration Services. He looks back and forth between them as the room slowly fills. The screen reads: “NOW SERVING: A1”.)*

DAVE 2.0: (reading the small print) “'By taking a number, you agree to processing in any reality, dimension, or afterlife'... oh come ON!”

(The doors SLAM open. LOKI/CHUMP strides in, golden hair restored, tiny hands clutching a NEW application.)

LOKI/CHUMP: (to the room) “FOLKS! You're not gonna BELIEVE what happened to me yesterday—TOTAL SCAM at the IMMIGRATION OFFICE! But we're gonna fix it! I am the BEST at fixing things, folks. NOBODY is better than ME!”

(DAVE 2.0 sighs and settles in for the long haul. The vending machine licks its lips.)

CURTAIN.