Having A Pew Pew Fight, Part 2

, , , , | Friendly | June 19, 2020

After reading the Having A Pew Pew Fight story, I had to submit these two incidents. At sixty-five, I AM an older person, although I believe “elderly” is however old I am plus forty years. However, both of these incidents take place when I am in my late thirties.

Incident 1: I am at my usual church for 11:00 am Sunday Mass. I have arrived early as there is always a problem getting a place to sit at this particular mass. I have removed my jacket, settled my purse, and am on my knees praying when two older women come down the same pew. 

Older Woman #1: “Excuse me, miss.”

Older Woman #2: “You are in our pew!”

I cross myself and try to feel loving and kind since, you know, I am here to praise God and all.

Me: “I’m sorry.”

Older Woman #1: “I said you are in our pew. Everyone knows this is our pew!”

Me: “Uh— I didn’t know.”

I look at the pew, which is about eight feet long and which has a column going up through the end where I am sitting.

Me: “I mean, there’s still—”

Older Woman #2: “No, no, no, no. You are in our seats. You are sitting where we sit. This is our pew. Everyone knows that.”

I stare at them in disbelief, and then I decide it’s better to give them the shirt off my back, as it were, than start a fight over whose pew this is.

I gather my stuff and proceed out of the pew and they barely back up enough to let me by.  

Me: “Enjoy. Have a great day!”

Older Woman #1: “Where are you going?”

Me: “Further back.”

Older Woman #2: “Oh, that’s just silly. You don’t have to leave. You can sit on the far end.”

Me: “With all due respect, ladies. yes, I do have to move further back. Trust me.”

Incident 2: It’s right before Easter and I have been trying to get to Confession for weeks, but my church changed the hours of Confession and I am usually working when the sacrament is available. So, I go to another church that has a reputation for being snooty. 

I can attest to the snootiness, too. After I had attended several masses and no one would look at me, much less shake my hand during the sign of peace, I got the message and found my other church.

I have gotten out of the Confessional and, as there is a good half-hour before Saturday evening Mass begins, I grab a pew at the back to go through my penance prayers. And I figure I will then just stay for the Mass as Sunday is going to be a busy day.

I haven’t even gotten through one Hail Mary when I feel a forceful tapping on my shoulder. Think “Woodpecker with a glove over its nose.” Tap, tap, tap.

I look up and see two people, maybe in their early fifties, but acting as if they are over one hundred and two.

Woman: “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you think you are doing, but this is our pew.”

This is literally the worst pew in the world. It’s right at the back of the church and so far to the side in front of the Confessionals that you couldn’t see the Mass if you had one of those telescopes that goes around corners.

Me: “I am just doing my penance and…”

Woman: “I said this is our pew. You have to leave now.”

I survey the whole church, which is still completely empty because Mass doesn’t start for over half an hour.

Me: “But, I—”

Man: “WE ALWAYS SIT HERE ON SATURDAY NIGHT.”

And then he adds the phrase that they seem to think should make sense for someone who rarely goes to their church.

Man: “EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT!”

I start gathering my stuff and pushing my way out because, like the other two ladies, this couple wants to make sure they get IN before I get OUT.

Me: “Enjoy your pew. I guess I will go find a more pleasant place to say my penance.”

Woman: “Oh, well, you can stay at the end if you want.”

What is this obsession with having to sit all the way in? I was taught that you take your seat and move in.

Me: “No, I don’t think so. I just finished Confession. I need to leave right now before what I am thinking turns into words and I have to go straight back in and make another report.”

No, I really wouldn’t do that, but I am so peeved with these two pew huggers I get down on their level for a minute.

Woman: “Oh, really, that’s so rude!”

Me: “Well, it is for one of us.”

I have only been back to that church once and it was for the memorial service for a friend’s infant. My friends were registered at that church because it was close, but even they agreed the vibe was annoying. It was the only time the church was filled with warmth and friendliness as no one else but the grieving couple was a member.

Seriously? I never sit in the same pew twice when I attend church and I don’t worry about someone sitting in my spot. WHO does that?

Related:
Having A Pew Pew Fight

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Music Lovers Come In All Kinds

, , , , , | Working | June 19, 2020

I am an African Canadian working at a local full-service gas station chain. We only have a small office big enough for one employee and a couple of soft drink coolers, all located on the gas pump island. It is summer and gas prices are up so business is slow.

A couple of my friends have pulled their car up near the pumps but left room for customers and they are playing some reggae on the stereo.

While I am fueling up a customer, I see another approaching on foot: an extremely pale caucasian in his mid-twenties with a shaved head wearing torn shorts and a [Heavy Metal Band] T-Shirt. I try to get the attention of my friends to turn the music down but they don’t hear me.  

While I finish fueling the car, he gets some pop from the cooler and waits. I notice that he has started tapping his foot not impatiently but with our music.

Me: “You like this music?”

Customer: “H*** yeah, [Reggae Artist playing at the moment]! Hooah!”

He put his bag with his pop back in the cooler to keep it cold and hung around chilling with us for about ten minutes. I learned that day not to jump to conclusions about customers.

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On The Chatterbus To Shut-The-H***-Up-Ville

, , , , , , , | Friendly | June 19, 2020

I’m on a long bus trip from Montreal, Québec, to Ottawa and then Toronto, Ontario. It’s something like seven hours, not counting the connecting time in Ottawa. It’s a “night trip” starting at 21:00 in Montreal and ending at 05:00 in Toronto.

There are two women sitting just in front of me for the two-hour trip from Montreal to Ottawa. They chat non-stop for the whole trip. It’s relatively early, so it’s not that bad. They speak some Arabic language, which makes it like “noise” to me, and I’m able to take a nap, not being tempted, voluntarily or not, to eavesdrop.

Then, there’s the leg from Ottawa to Toronto, which is four hours. They are sitting a few rows behind the driver, but are just chatting again non-stop. I am seriously amazed that their vocal cords haven’t called it quits by this time. All we hear is them. No one else is talking.

Then, about an hour into this trip, the bus driver speaks up.

“To whoever is talking non-stop behind me, it’s 3:00 am. Some people might want to sleep. Could you please be considerate and shut the h*** up?”

That might not have been the most courteous way to ask for it, but it did the trick.

I’m sure many travelers, in their heads, clap their hands for the driver. I know I did.

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Unobservant Animal Lovers Increasing Insurance Rates

, , , , , , | Friendly | June 18, 2020

It’s a warm summer day, about 75 degrees. My dog goes for a ride with me to pick up some groceries. I go into the store, and I leave the windows open an inch or so and the car running with the AC on.

I am in the store for twenty or thirty minutes. When I come back out, my car window is smashed, and there’s a note that says, “Hey, dumba**, take care of your dog! It’s too hot out for this.” 

Thank God my dog is a good boy and stayed in the car. I still never got to meet the person who did it, but it really upset me that I had to pay for a new window.

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These Dog Shows Have Really Gone To The Dogs

, , , , , , , | Friendly | June 17, 2020

My wife and I have had many dogs in the years we have been married. Some might have been purebred. We don’t know; none were ever papered or registered. Most of the dogs we have had are what are commonly referred to as mutts, but we love each and every one of them; they are family members. As a term of affection, we often refer to our dogs as mutts, no disrespect meant for their lack of pedigree breeding, just our term for a well-loved pet.

We decided to go with a relative to a dog show in another city — one of those fancy dog shows with high-priced dogs, well-paid trainers and handlers, etc.

As we were in the parking lot on the way in, a lady walked by with what we refer to as a “dust-mop” dog — small, long-hair, etc. My wife whispered to me, privately, “Oh, what a cute mutt!”

The lady overheard her and immediately went into a rage, quoting the long list of the dog’s pedigree, the papers, the ribbons, the awards, etc. She was ranting and raving about how low-class we were for not acknowledging the superiority of her dog. We said nothing. Then the lady said, “I bet your dog doesn’t have papers.”

To this, I responded, “Well, he did have some, but he couldn’t read them so we put them on the floor when he was a puppy, and he used them. What does your dog do with his?”

Screams of obscenities followed us into the show.

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