True story, though seemingly unbelievable: we were regularly served deities at a local restaurant, until something ruined it. The manager moonlit as an erotica author, but that's neither here nor there. We developed a good business relationship with her, always asking for a table in her section (she occasionally served tables in addition to her managerial duties) and tipping generously. One day, instead of ordering any particular dishes, we asked her to surprise us. She brought us an amazing platter that wasn't on the menu. Though quite exotic, we recognized at once what was being served to us: deities. Our marvel and delight couldn't be disguised, and the manager knew she had us hooked. Though the price of the special platter was as high as the most premium dishes the restaurant served, we paid it unblinkingly and, in fact, redoubled our visitations. One fateful day, however, the restaurant owner saw her preparing our special platter and asked what she was doing. He asked why she was serving us deities when other patrons were limited by the menu. He was appalled that she gave special treatment, that she didn't serve all patrons equally. Ashen-faced, she approached our table to reveal that she could no longer serve us deities. We were mortally offended by the owner's attitude and by the manager's handling of the situation. We'd never asked to be served off the menu, much less to be served deities. But once that pattern had been established, we obviously couldn't go back. We made clear our attitude toward the owner's philosophy, we mentioned how much we'd in fact been paying for the "special treatment" (petty, but one slips sometimes), and we stormed out, never to return. The thing is: once one has partaken of the heavenly gift, once one has tasted the powers of the age to come, one realizes that we are all unworthy to wolf down the most holy and efficacious of sacraments.