Lots of Yelling

Things were a lot more chaotic than I expected today. I started out the day getting yelled at by a woman who wondered why the area where we were able to donate clothes this weekend was shut (this was at 7:40am). When I said I didn't know at what time the volunteers would arrive, she shouted something about going to the Salvation Army instead. Not a good omen for the rest of your workistry shift when you get yelled at so early in the day.

The shouting continued towards the end of our final mass when people realized we had run out of palms. Now, we had 3500 palms, or 700 for each mass. However, there seems to be a custom of grabbing as many as you can possibly carry by some of our parishioners, so others were left with absolutely none. I got a mouthful from at least six people I can remember, including one who burst into tears when I said we were out. I did tell all of them to stick around and get some that would inevitably be forgotten in the pews, and when I saw most of them had taken that advice and were holding at least a palm or two each, I was pleased.

I have a theory that Ash Wednesday and Passion Sunday are among the most heavily attended masses we have as a Church, because people get to take home the Catholic equivalent of door prizes. A bulletin doesn't really cut it as exciting since they're distributed regularly, but if you get to bring home some dirt on your forehead or a piece of a tree, now that's exciting. But I digress...

The fun continued right after our last mass when we heard the yelling of one of our regular customers outside. I didn't think too much of it when I went back into the church to lock up, but in the five minutes when I had disappeared, he punched in one of our windows. Our little high school secretary was terrified and didn't open the door. I told her that was very wise, but much to my horror, the boss rebuked her and said she should have opened the door so he wouldn't have punched in the window. I couldn't let him tell her that and I contradicted him, telling her to scream for help by all means, but for goodness sakes, don't open the door because the guy is out of his mind and probably would have hit her instead of the window. The boss seemed to understand why I made the correction I did to his instructions, but he still seemed amazed as to why she wouldn't have been inclined to open the door to this irate and intoxicated man. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one with common sense around there...

The one bizarre part of my day that didn't involve yelling was when the associate came into my office and told me that part of my job included seamstress duties. I am sure I had an incredibly concerned look on my face until he explained that his cassock was too short with his cincture on, so he had me get down on the floor and measure how much more length he needed to not look "silly". I'm fairly confident that if someone walked by the door with me down on the ground holding a plastic ruler up to his pants, "silly" would spring to mind whether or not his cassock was too short.