Your Operator: Booey
The dining room at Merril Gardens (The Burger King of old-folks homes, complete with tacky interior design, incompetent teenage staff and a catchy, consumer oriented slogan: Retirement Living Your Way!) has high backed chairs that, fulfilling the dreams of many kindergarteners, have wheels where their feet should be. At this particular moment in the dining room I was nursing a cup of quite possibly the worst (read: best) coffee I had experienced in some time. There were only a few old church ladies sitting at the adjoining table, and it was the righteously indignant squeak of a chair's wheels, mirroring it's occupants sentiment as she scooted forward and bellowed (not for the benefit of her compatriots, but so that she could hear herself),
"He's WHAT?!"
"No," said her friend, who had a face that was broad and angular, like a worn out writing desk, "he's non-denominational!"
The woman with indignant wheels leaned forward, accompanied by another loud creak, "It's WHAT?!"
"NON-DE-NOM-I-NATION-AL."
The chair was feeling utterly exasperated and let its deaf occupant know as she flopped back, like someone had tossed her, "I just don't know what that means!"
"He's a minister," the desk-faced woman explained gently.
"Wait, so they have a minister coming in here and not a priest?" She and her chair were now straight backed and anticipatory.
"Yes," desk-face sighed and waded back into the deep water, "He's non-denominational."
If the chair-woman had been Jewish she probably would have said, "Oi, Vey." (of course she probably also would have enquired after a Rabbi and not a Priest), Instead, she flopped back, exhausted in her chair, and crossed herself. The chair made a farting noise and her fellow Denominationals nodded sternly.
"He's WHAT?!"
"No," said her friend, who had a face that was broad and angular, like a worn out writing desk, "he's non-denominational!"
The woman with indignant wheels leaned forward, accompanied by another loud creak, "It's WHAT?!"
"NON-DE-NOM-I-NATION-AL."
The chair was feeling utterly exasperated and let its deaf occupant know as she flopped back, like someone had tossed her, "I just don't know what that means!"
"He's a minister," the desk-faced woman explained gently.
"Wait, so they have a minister coming in here and not a priest?" She and her chair were now straight backed and anticipatory.
"Yes," desk-face sighed and waded back into the deep water, "He's non-denominational."
If the chair-woman had been Jewish she probably would have said, "Oi, Vey." (of course she probably also would have enquired after a Rabbi and not a Priest), Instead, she flopped back, exhausted in her chair, and crossed herself. The chair made a farting noise and her fellow Denominationals nodded sternly.