Regular old pagan

On Sunday, after church, I stopped by the grocery store. Yes, I was breaking all the blue laws that our forefathers put in place to make this country great, but my niece’s birthday party was at 1:30 pm and I was to bring some sort of green salad that I had no ingredients for.

I parked the car, jumped out, and started walking towards the entrance. Still in the parking lot, I got behind a very sweet old woman who was pushing a cart towards the store as well, and I decided to walk slowly behind her. I’ve always wondered how older people, those that move more slowly, feel when the rest of the world speeds by them. Marginalized? Jealous? Unconcerned? Just slow?

As I took pride in my patience, we eventually made it to the sidewalk. The store was busy and people were quickly moving in and out. I noticed that the shoppers fit into two dress code categories – those who had come from church and those who hadn’t. Now, I am big on the casual church thing, so I could have easily fit in with the potential “just got out of bed” third category, so I realize that there aren’t any hard and fast rules (or laws) at work, but it seemed obvious to me that some folks were looking rather spiffy.

One couple, in particular, caught my eye. As they marched toward the store they were either coming from church (I would guess the big time fundamentalist church right across from the store, but I suspect that those members can’t shop on the Sabbath) or they were headed to a Sunday morning wedding. The man was immaculate in his tailored suit and tie. The woman was in a flowery, yet appropriately modest, pleated dress and her hair was perfectly coiffed. I was moving so slowly that I had plenty of time to watch as they interacted. She asked him to grab a cart, and as they continued to the door, I could hear her humming a well-known Christian song. Confirmed! The wedding thing was too much of a stretch anyway.

They came to the door, the same door that the sweet old woman and I had finally reached, but as the man looked at us and sized up the situation, he and his hairsprayed hair decided to get in before the sweet old woman at all costs. If I tell you that the church couple SMASHED into the old woman’s cart as they attempted to beat her in, you’d be shocked right? But – if I went on to tell you that after banging into her, that they turned and made ugly, impatient faces and derogatory remarks about her carelessness, how would you feel?

Situations such as these, and by “these” I mean what I consider “injustices,” have always gotten me into deep doo-doo. Somehow, in my attempts to save the underdog, I end up losing my own salvation (the only moments I wish I was a Calvinist). It’s tricky business, and in hindsight, I’m not sure whether I was more angry on Sunday about the old woman being startled and disrespected or the fact that “church” folks were behaving demonically, but either way, I was pretty ticked off.

Since this is my blog, and not the spiffy couple’s blog, I do not need to tell you everything that transpired in front of that store. Suffice it to say that I did not actually break my grace-o-meter, but merely tested it. As other shoppers, coming in and out of the busy store, witnessed the Christian brawl, I was suddenly glad that I was dressed down and could fake being a regular old pagan if need be.

Not surprisingly, the dapper duo ended up going in first as the older woman and I yielded to them after our valiant protest dwindled. I stood there with my new friend, somehow my arm was now linked through hers (perhaps I subconsciously considered using her as a human shield if things came to blows), and I turned and looked right at her. As I stood there and anticipated the tender moment that was about to transpire between us, the sweet old woman looked back at me and said, “Jesus Christ! What an a**hole, huh?!” I'm fairly confident she was referring to the man with the cart and not the Savior of the entire world. I helped her to the deli counter.

If I told you that the song the coiffed woman was humming was, “People Need the Lord,” would you believe me? No, I wouldn’t either, because she wasn’t. It was “Faith of Our Fathers.”

I should have observed the blue laws.