Damn You, Foul Ignorance!

On a normal day, I have class in the morning and then head to the office for work. I don't know if it's fair to call what I do work but I think it'd be accurate to label this place a certified office. Cattiness, absurdities, pastries, and pitch-ins... what else could it be? Upon entry, the first thing I usually see is the plate of tasty delights on the corner of Pam's desk - donuts, brownies, cookies, muffins, whatever. If it packs on pounds, it's on her desk. Usually Pam moves these treats to the kitchen around noon after spending 2 hours lamenting another failed diet.. I'm not on a diet. I don't know why I can't keep these yummies on MY desk. So selfish... but moving on. My entry routine is to say hello to all the secretaries, stop in the kitchen for some Sprite, wave to Omar at his desk of scouting futility, and then head down the hall and into my own office. By the time I sit down and kick my feet up, something has gone wrong and I'm either in the hall discussing an issue with a player or being lectured on virus updates by the OIT guy, Stan - a Rastafarian that drives a child molester van, wears dashikis (hat and all), and reeks of patchouli.

I don't know how it is at most offices but here, the secretaries all have tvs... there's no cable, mind you, but they have high-powered antennas, which means soap operas and talk shows all day, every day. Ellen, Montel, Passions, Dr. Phil, that soap with the serial killer and the rich people, and Oprah. Always Oprah. Entertainer, business woman, middlebrow book critic, dieter, director of your soul's salvation, and more, her daily siren song beckons women to gather 'round the tele-pulpit and absorb the gospel of Oh-prism. On a typical day, I don't see the show, as I'm at practice or conditioning. However, this was an unusual day. Though I missed the intro, the day's topic centered around religion, finding your spirit, or a soul-searching journey. Sounds deep. At the conclusion of the program, it is my guess that Orca charged her army of self-actualized, co-dependents with proselytizing your beliefs to the masses... because hey, believing in anything is better than believing in nothing. And if you don't believe in anything, how can you find your spirit? That's O for ya, Oracle of Harpo.

I sat in my office quietly, writing the newest installment of conditioning evaluation reports. The only thing on my mind was getting home in time for dinner. It was Anthony's night to cook and he had lasagna planned, so I was pretty excited. But I couldn't get my bloody work done due to the incessant, secretarial drone. Catholic or Baptist.. Pentecostal or Church of God... Lutherans or Methodists. Which one was the right one? Does working at Notre Dame mean carte blanche support of the Catholic church? I tried closing my vents and even put a blanket in front of my door but it was all for nought. Their conversation grew heated - an argument was coming. Surely this was a dangerous situation, as I don't think groups of menopausal women on diets should ever have their stress levels raised to such a pitch. The good thing (for me) is that I found earplugs in my desk a few minutes later and forged ahead with my work. Eventually, however, I needed to visit the loo. I ventured into the hall.

"Little A, what church do you go to?" The voice was Jennifer's - the office manager. [I don't why they call me "A" but you can't possibly fathom how much I've longed for these women to (at least) stop prefacing any reference to me with "little." Apart from this minor issue, I've yet to determine what Jennifer does all day... all I know is that though she has permanent, painted eyebrows, she often neglects to shave her real ones in a timely manner. This makes for double eyebrows, something that is quite freakish and upsetting. It's like 2 facial expressions going on at once.. That said, she's a lovely woman.] "I attend the Sinai Synagogue on La Salle. It's a Con.. conserva..tive..."

Tumbleweed. Crickets. Uncomfortable throat clearing.

Was there time to change my answer? Am I in dan--"Aren't you Mexican?" A random male, sounding a bit like Foghorn Leghorn, interrupted my inner monologue. [Flash thought: I'll refrain from typing every expletive and obscenity that flowed through my brain at that moment. Please understand, I have no quarrel with Mexicans or potentially being one. My problem is that this false ID gets old. This was the 65th time I'd been asked this question in the last year and 65,000th in my life. It's always some new, tactless crackerjack, convinced that though my hair and eye color don't warrant the conclusion, my facial features prove that I have a Mexican parent (at the very least). Explaining that one of my parents is an Indian is often futile and leads to more frustrations. "Yeah, the Apaches. Down there with the Mexicans. Probably interbreeding." The resulting stress has caused an uncontrollable tick in my left eye... or maybe that's the eye tourette's...] Sandra then spoke up, "No Jim, didn't you hear her?" (Yay! She'll tell him what's what!) "She's a Jew." AAAHHH! Foiled again! Damn you! Damn you, Foul Ignorance! (I'm shaking my fist at the air, in case you are wondering).

I turned to Omar... the clueless shrug. Thanks, buddy. I knew what was coming next... witnessing. Saving the Jew from eternal damnation. I didn't feel like explaining that though I am a genetic Jew, religiously, I am more of a Torah-observing Christian. It wouldn't have mattered though... Foghorn started in with his memorized installments of the 700 Club. "Well you should come to the service at First Baptist to learn about the Lord." Christ. "Even Moses would want you to come to service and he's one of you people." Ah yes, Moses. How could I have forgotten about him? "You like government?" "I'm interested in its processes," I said. "Well, you know Congress... that's Israeli territory. You ought to move down to Broward County and run. But that's another talk for another day." He was messing with me. Normal people just don't act like Pat Buchanan on purpose. "Y'all people need to get yourselves together. So you killed Christ? He forgives." Breathe, focus, breathe, calm. I would not have an Incredible Hulk freak out at the workplace. Problem was, I unknowingly managed to move 10 feet while doing so. A foot separated us. He wasn't a physical specimen by any means. Without the assistance of a 2 inch heel on his cowboy boots, he was a man of average height and a beef jerky scent. The only things particularly remarkable about him were Bob Davie-esque capped teeth and a Wannstedt porn stache. Cute. Then he opened his mouth again. "You're saucy Jew. Like ours back at home." I clenched my fist. "But you and these Catholics should keep surrounding yourself with good Christian folk. Cure y'all of worshiping statues and money."

Suddenly, the office was a-twitter! I knew I shoulda pretended to be Catholic! Someone might have said something to shut him up in my defense, otherwise. It certainly wasn't going to be me, as I just as soon hit him in the face as speak to him. Four secretaries became irate - how dare he come onto this school's property and challenge all that she holds true? Foghorn was on the defensive. "Well now whu-I said what.." [No, not really - I added in the Foghorn stammering for effect] He tripped over his words for a couple minutes before reiterating his point: "Hey y'all stop worshipping statues and you will be welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven." I'll be honest - for a moment, I just glad he'd moved his attention to a new group but then a shouting match developed. Quotations from scripture vs. Quotations from Oprah. God vs. The Devil. "You sir, need to open your eyes, find your spirit, and re-connect." That's exactly what he needed.. until he called Pam a Jew. As I opened my mouth to point out the ultimate irony with, "No Jim, she's a Cath-" Pam turned beet red and bitchslapped Foghorn in the mouth. "I may be a lot of things, Mister Man, but I AM NOT Jewish."

Ouch. We're not THAT bad.