I'll bet you think it's an eternity waiting for your turn at the take out. Just how long do you think you'll have to wait in the afterlife for your turn to sit on an empty park bench? This is the novelized form of Episode Two of Where God Went Wrong – from Brilliant Idiot.

Ahead of them was a bench, a bench sheltered by a spreading chestnut tree. Gene hopped toward it with all the vigour that only a dead person can muster. In his wake, the salmon flopped frantically. "Wait!" It warned. But it was too late. Gene had already flung himself onto the bench like a ship wreck victim flops into a life raft.

"Excuuuuse me!"

Gene looked beyond the top of his reclining head. An old woman was standing beside the bench, burdened with a shopping cart, six layers of clothing and an expectant scowl. Even upside down she wasn't too cheering to look at. He looked heavenward, (so to speak). He thought he'd rather look at the turquoise sky.

"You can't just flop down there. That's where I'm sitting."

He sat bolt upright and shuffled down to the far end of the bench. "Very sorry. Excuse me. Here you go."

She remained fixed to the spot. "Has anybody told you, you could sit there?"

Gene shook his head tightly. "It was empty. I needed somewhere to get off the grass..."

"Well you can't sit there."

"I don't understand."

"You'll have to wait your turn."

Gene looked around. Except for this woman, himself, a landed salmon and 10 million blades of grass, they were alone. "I think there's room for all of us," he invited, shuffling down even further. "Please, won't you sit...."

"I will," she glared at him, "when it's my turn".

"Well," Gene pursed his lips, "why don't you just sit here while you wait for your turn." He smiled at her, appeasingly.

The woman stayed rooted. "That's just the sort of excuse you'd expect from a cue jumper."

"Madam," he sighed loudly, hoisting himself to his feet. "I am very sorry if I have acted out of turn. Won't you please take a seat." He offered up the entire bench with a sweep of his hand.

She smiled sweetly - eyeing him suspiciously. "That's very kind of you, but I'll wait 'til I'm told – if that's alright with you."

He sat down firmly on his side of the bench. "That's completely fine with me. I have absolutely no problems with that whatsoever."

"What in heaven's name are you doing?! Haven't you heard a word I've said?! You've got to wait your turn! Someone's got to tell you it's your turn to use the bench!"

"Madam," he sighed, looking straight ahead. "I've told me it's my turn to use the bench!"

Sadly, these negotiations came to a premature halt, thanks to a preemptive volley from the chestnut tree. It's doubtful that this attack was in support of either side of the dispute, as it rained down on both parties alike – nicely dispensing with the incumbent while forcing the encroaching party to tighten up their defenses. In short, the woman dashed off, the salmon ducked for cover beneath the bench, while Gene curled into a ball, batting chestnuts off his head.

From his fetal position, Gene was confident that he was successfully fending off the assault, when the full impact of the situation began to dawn on him.

"Oh God!" He swatted at a handful of something swarming up his leg. "These aren't chestnuts at all!" For a second he thought they were spiders. His hands went into overdrive. "What the – " These weren't spiders at all. "Walking fingers?!" He shook his leg frantically while his hands quickly swept a dozen of them out of his collar.

"Snitfidgets," said the salmon, with deep resignation.

Easy for him to say. They weren't climbing into his underwear.

"They're all over me! Get off! "Gene frantically flicked his arms, sending entire troops of these Snitfidgets flying.

"That's not going to work! There are too many of them!"

Gene was shouting now. He could hardly hear himself over the cacophony of Snitfidgety midgelbub. "How do you get rid of them?!"

"Give them what they want!"

"What?!"

"Give them what they want! And then ask for something in return!"

"Hey!" Gene reached out, as his digital watch was being carted into a gopher hole. "That's my watch! Give it back!"

The salmon rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

The Snitfidgets were amassing exponentially now. They were swarming down Gene's shirt, checking his ears, crawling through his hair, swarming up his pant legs. Dozens were deep into his pockets.

"Quick!" bellowed the salmon from beneath the bench. "Take off your shoe!"

"My shoe?!"

"Your shoe! But be sure to leave your sock inside it!"

"My sock?!"

"Just do it!"

Frantically Gene negotiated the knots in his right shoe. Little fingers swarmed across his arms, negotiating the clasp in his watch strap.

"Get off!" He flicked his arms and elbows while persisting with his shoe lace. A handful of Snitfidgets flew off. For each one he doffed, it seemed 10 others replaced them. They were swarming into his pockets now, tugging at his wallet. His pocket lint was being carted across the lawn, held high with shouts of victory.

"Just ignore them!" shouted the salmon. "Get your shoe off!"

"Just ignore...?!"

They were tugging at the clothing tag inside his collar. "That tears it!" He hauled off his shoe, knots intact. His sock quickly followed. This interested the snitfidgets to no end. They swarmed toward his naked toes.

From beneath the bench, the salmon hollered instructions. "Stuff your sock in your shoe."

Gene immediately crammed his sock deep into the toe of his shoe. Half a dozen snitfidgets went flying.

"Now chuck the shoe onto the path!"

"Chuck my shoe...?"

"Just do it!"

Gene heaved his shoe.

The park disappeared.