When the family walked in, the youngest daughter of the deceased was extremely distraught, which was understandable. She had on four-inch heels, and her body was enormous, twice the size of me, there was one skinny, little man trying to keep her steady on her feet. I was just hoping she didn't fall. There was no way that man would be able to pick her gigantic butt off the floor. I know what it's like to be fat and fall. No one could lift me up, and I would crawl to the sturdiest piece of furniture to help myself off the floor. Okay, I'm not going to lie; there was a small part of me that wanted to see her take a tumble.
The service proceeded and was quite beautiful, that is until a woman got up to sing. I can't recall the song; however, I do remember the pain in my ears because the sound system was too loud. She kept screaming and moaning, and I couldn't get enough cotton in my ears. Makes me wonder was she requested to sing at this funeral or did she ask to sing. Sometimes people volunteer their services no matter how awful those services.
Several people came to the service late, and one woman came in wearing "daisy dukes" she went up to the front of the church during the eulogy to speak to the decease's daughter. She bent over and showed her pink drawers (my sister said they were magenta) and everything else she wasn't wearing. At the end of the service, the pastor spent fifteen minutes begging people to give themselves to God. When it came time to move the body, two of the pallbearers were in the back of the church on the phone. It took them five minutes to realize they were holding up the recessional.
***
An aunt on my mother's side passed last year. I have no clue of the denomination of this church the casket was brought in, and the family walked behind the deceased. My family didn't know that, so we sat quietly in the back of the church. My mother and I, one of my sisters, and two of my brothers attended this funeral. The priest said a few words, and then the casket was opened to view the body. People jumped up and started to fellowship in the middle of the funeral. After thirty minutes or so, the priest walked around the casket swinging some type of smoking lantern then the recessional took place.
On the way out the door, my cousin started screaming at us because we didn't sit with the rest of the family. I told her keep walking. That fool came back screaming that we were more of my aunt's family than she was because she was adopted. One of my brothers grabbed her arm and escorted her out the church. My mother, sister, and I came out of the church preparing for the trip to the graveyard when my cousin went off again.
This time she reprimanded us for not riding in the family car. My mother walks with a cane and out of the corner of my eye; I saw the cane rising in the air. My other brother moved my cousin out of the way, and my sister grabbed my mother's cane. What my cousin didn't realize is that my mother was about to crack her upside her head with a cane. All of the sudden my cousin seemed to act as if she had some sense. Alcoholics call that a moment of clarity. She didn't realize until that point that she had been acting like and ass at her mother's funeral.
***
An uncle on my father's side passed this year, unfortunately, his children were fighting. My cousin was mad that my uncle left the house to his sister. Therefore, he showed up late to his father's funeral with a militant posture and stood in the back of the church in the middle of the aisle. He may have been packing I don't know, but my sister and I had a plan to survive if things got out of hand (being a disaster planner comes in handy). When I went to view my uncle's body, one of his eyes was open; the creepiest thing in the world is to have a dead person staring back at you.
Well the rest of the funeral went off without a hitch until three large women (okay they were fat) and a midget (maybe she wasn't that short) did a dance. Yes, they did a dance during the funeral and told the attendees not to look at them, but to feel the music. Now, I'm no Einstein, but if your dumbass is dancing, I'm going to look at you. To make matters worse, it unquestionably was downright lousy dancing and one of the women almost bumped the casket.
After getting over the shock of these surreal funeral moments, the inappropriate side of me can see the humor. I don't want to become a thrill seeker lurking around funerals like Indy 500 fans secretly hoping to see a car crash. So maybe I'm the person lacking funeral etiquette.
Give Me A Break
I’ve worked part-time jobs ever since, well ever since I could work. Most of the jobs have been some kind of phone work: whether I was taking orders for the greatest hits of the 70’s, 80’s, or 90’s; Elvis Movies; or taking credit card applications. One commonality was that most people I spoke with had phone etiquette skills; I mean they knew how to communicate with people over the phone. When I was a child, I was taught to respect my elders, person hygiene, and phone etiquette. When answering the phone we would say hello you’ve reached the Smith residence; this was the customary greeting we used when answering the phone because how you conversed over the phone was a reflection on your family.
Now, people don’t take pride in anything not even basic manners to show that at some point in their lives they received home training. People have voice messages that are abrasive and rude. Worse yet, they have their lisping children leave a message (this is so not cute). Is this unhealthy behavior a sign of the times, something else we can blame on the economy, or is the negative way in which people feel about themselves and others rising to the surface?
Currently my part-time job is conducting surveys for hospitals, banks, tire companies, department stores, food products, and soft drinks just to name a few. The job is hassle free, which is just what I need after working an eight-hour shift. Sometimes the nastiness of respondents just amazes me. People pick up their phone and scream that they’re on the ‘Do Not Call List’, and of course, it gives me immense pleasure to tell them that surveyors are not cover by this because we’re not selling anything. Bill collectors, market research groups, non-profit agencies, and politicians can still call you.
In addition, I can’t tell you how many times people have picked up the phone and yelled “its dinner time you ass.” No dummy you’re the ass, people act as if surveyors know what time they eat dinner, and we called specifically just to disrupt their dinner. I mean honestly is there a set dinnertime for everyone in the U.S. people eat as early as 4:30 pm and as late as 10:00 pm so chill the hell out. I can’t tell you how many times some angry woman has picked up the phone and, “Children are trying to sleep in this house.” Okay so the phone is going to keep children awake. Technology is impressive, but we’re supposed to know by osmosis that you have children: sleeping, eating, and taking a bath; these idiots need to chill out too.
The absolute worse types of respondents are those who want to curse people out over the phone. Cowards such as these undoubtedly get their rocks off cursing at people over the phone because it’s something they would never do in person. “I told you bastards to stop calling me! Lose my phone number asshole! This is an unlisted number take me of your goddamn list!”
I keep a daily tally of the people I speak with each day; I put a tick mark down for people who were polite, okay, jerks, losers, stupid, dumbasses, asses, snotty, useless, heffas, or just a straight up bitches. Every night when I add up my totals it seems as if the asses always win. What I’ve come to realize is that remarkably few of the people I speak with are even cordial. I’m not a bill collector so why does a person calling to conduct a survey bring out so much hostility and rage.
I have a couple of theories about the hatred spewed on me from respondents. I think sometimes respondents had a crappy day and relish the opportunity to berate someone else for their lousy day. I also think that sometimes the same respondents are called too often to conduct surveys and just tired of receiving calls. Regardless of how you feel about the situation just realize that the person you’re speaking to so crudely is someone’s mother, father, or child and if someone spoke to your loved one that way you’d be upset.
I’d have to say that I don’t have that problem with phones because my phone doesn’t manage me. I can hone
stly say that I don’t receive phone calls from people I don’t wish to speak. I have a landline and a cell phone; both have caller ID and both have voicemail, and I’m fairly certain that everybody else’s phones has the same capability.
So if someone’s calling you while you’re eating, gee let voicemail take the call. Oh my goodness, if the phone is ringing while you’re bathing your children, you’re driving, on a long distance call, the playoffs are on, you’ve got company, or you’re getting ready to leave let voicemail get those calls too. Don’t use it as an excuse to act like an ass, take the high road and be a better person, and maybe just maybe the condition of proper phone etiquette will come back in style.
Hair Phobia
I have to tell you there’s nothing nastier than pulling someone else’s' hair out of your food. I wouldn’t eat my older sister’s mashed potatoes because I swear she would comb her hair over the potatoes before mashing them. Her hair was long and thick, and she always managed to get her hair in whatever she cooked.
The first time I noticed hair in my mashed potatoes I had to be about five or six years old. I was sitting at the table swinging my legs (children are at their happiest while eating) thoroughly enjoying my meatloaf and mash potatoes until I pulled a long black hair out of my potatoes. It made me so sick I vomit on my dinner plate. From that point on, I was extremely meticulous about whose mashed potatoes I would eat. It even got to the point that I only ate when my mother made dinner. My phobia of hair in food didn’t stop at home it carried over into other facets of my life.
When I first entered the job market many, many years ago, I never participated in food days at work. You know everyone would bring in his or her favorite dish or bake that unique cake. I worked at the bank for several years and one Christmas we celebrated the twelve days before Christmas. Each department had to select a day and bring goodies for everyone on the floor.
Initially, the twelve days before Christmas went off without a hitch. People brought in cookies, cakes, and candy. The employees enjoyed their treats until day eight when one woman brought something extra in with her cookies. Evidently, her cat Precious was sitting on the counter while she mixed up these tasty chocolate chip cookies, and apparently, Precious added a secret ingredient. HAIR!
I brought in my treats, but I didn’t eat anyone else’s treats. I don’t eat some of my relative's cooking because of what I know about them. I sure as hell wasn’t going to sample people at work’s food. I remember another occasion when employees brought in cakes and other refreshments to celebrate the division’s high performance. The cakes were set up on a table where everyone could help himself or herself.
There was one cake that no one touched and let me tell you why, it was a chocolate cake decorated in coconut; well everyone thought it was coconut until closer inspection people realized the whole cake was covered in cat hair. The woman who made the cake had a reputation for being disgusting anyway. She never washed her hands (wetting the urine on your hands and drying them doesn’t count), and sometimes she would cleanse her face in the basin, in the restroom. She would leave behind a grayish scummy residue in the basin. The woman in question was upset that no one wanted her cat cake. Well, just because you like a little cat hair in your cake doesn’t mean that everybody else does.
Over the years, I've gotten better about participating in food days. As you get to know people, you can rather tell whom the disgusting, nasty slobs are, and the people who take proper care with food preparation. You come to realize that people who pick their nose and dig in their ass all day don’t stop being nasty when they’re baking cookies, they’re probably worse. If you don’t want to hurt a person’s feelings go ahead and take that cookie or brownie, then ball it up in a napkin and throw it in trash later. Enjoy the Christmas season and all the treats you can stand to eat.
Time Wasted
Time is one thing that once lost can never be recovered. I daydream a lot I always have. As a child, I daydreamed about the future; as an adult I daydream about the past and people who are no longer amongst the living. Some people consider daydreaming a waste of time; I find it quite relaxing and of course, my time is mine to waste. It's one thing for me to waste my time, but it's annoying when others think they have the right to waste my time.
I’ll give you an example; when I was in high school, I made a Friday appointment to get my hair done at a salon near my school. I got out of school at 2:45 pm; my appointment was at 3:00 pm. The woman I had the appointment with was the owner of the salon. I immediately noticed that my appointment was of no relevance to her. She made concessions for all of her church members and worked them in, and I didn’t get out of there until 10:00 pm. I was mad at myself for allowing the owner to waste my time.
The owner gave me a ride home, which was the least of what she should have done. I was kind of in a bind because I had to be somewhere first thing Saturday morning. Otherwise, I could have walked out of the salon seven hours ago. The salon owner dropped me off at my home and told me that she’d see me in a couple of weeks. I told her that I was never coming back to her salon again.
***
I find that church events usurp a lot of my time. I have never attended a church program that started on time, regardless of the program or denomination of the church sponsoring the program. Last Friday my church hosted the “Seven Last Words” Easter program: the program began at 6:00 pm on Good Friday.
First of all, who plans a Good Friday program at 6:00 pm? I’ll tell you, a person who doesn’t have a job and one who has little regard for other people’s time. Most people who worked that day probably got off at 5:00 pm, and they were stretched for time if they had to make arrangements for children or they were scrambling around picking up other people attending the program.
I knew that the only people who would be on time were choir members and most of the musicians. Sure enough, I reached my church at 5:30 pm there were ten cars in the parking lot and all of them were choir members. The closer we got to 6:00 pm, more choir members and musicians showed up. Unfortunately, there was only one person in the audience. At 6:20 pm, my pastor apologized to the six people in the audience because we were running late. He told the members in the audience that if he had wanted them to come at 6:00 pm he would have told them the program started at 5:30 pm.
First of all, we were not running late, the speakers were running late. How can you be late for a program for which you’re speaking? I’ll tell you how, the choir didn’t find out the time of the program until the Monday before Good Friday. I’m sure most of the speakers received this information at the last minute.
The program started at 6:30 pm and the last speaker still hadn’t arrived, which was unfortunate because this program was mostly his idea. I was glad the program finally started because I was tired of hearing the whinny voice of the person two seats away. “I’m hungry, wha wha, I’m starving, if I’d known they were going to be this late starting I would have stopped and gotten something to eat.”
Come on now, we knew the program wasn’t going to start on time, that’s a given for any church program. Most people feel comfortable in being late because church programs just don’t start on time. How many times have you heard someone say why should I rush, the program isn't going to start on time? How do we get out of the sinkhole we created for ourselves?
From this day forward, I think programs should start on time regardless if the speaker hasn't arrived. Musicians haven’t arrived yet, tough, the choir will sing Acapella. The speaker hasn’t arrived yet; get the backup ready because he or she may have to speak instead. The pastor of the host church is running late, but the program will move forward as scheduled. Until this happens, people will continue to ignore the “on time” rule.
Of course, time wasn’t the only factor that was off kilter, there were several choir members who only showed up for one rehearsal who had a lot of attitude demanding that someone move to provide them a seat. Four altos had to move to accommodate these soprano violators. One wo
man was so flustered that she didn’t know how to get from the second row to the first row. She stood there several minutes repeating, “Which way should I go oh Lord I’m so lost.” Therefore, we stood there for five minutes until someone pointed out the easiest way would be to walk around and come back into the choir stand on the other side. Choir members were lip-syncing, and the organist was playing music you will only hear on an ice cream truck.
The truth of the matter, no one can waste your time, but you. It’s physically impossible for someone else to waste your time. So the next time you hear people say, hey they wasted my time, let them know that their time is their own and to use it wisely. Do I feel as if I wasted my time? No way, if I didn’t attend all of these gosh awful programs, picnics, and choir practices I wouldn’t have all these interesting stories to relay.
Trip To Boonville Missouri
It was the summer of 2011 my choir, and a few church members decided to support our pastor to fellowship with a church in Booneville, MO. He was the pastor of this church prior to moving to Omaha. The day started out perfect; it was a beautiful, warm day. Unfortunately, flooding in the Midwest was at an all-time high, and before we made it 50 miles into Iowa, we encountered two detours due to flooding. This would be the precedence for our entire trip, what should have been a three hour trip turned into a six hour trip. It was downhill from there.
My trip to Boonville, MO started off fantastic. I took roll call and by the time I got back to my seat I realized that my pastor and his daughter were sitting across from me. I like my pastor he’s a genuinely personable guy except for one little thing HE TALKS MORE THAN I CAN LISTEN! I purchased two seats so I could stretch out, the other reason I purchased two seats is so no one could sit with me.
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