October 2009

I like to think I’m fairly awesome at my job.  Even if I’m currently watching two-week-old episodes of the Colbert Report while blogging.  No, really.  I am.  Fairly awesome.

All the churches in my area support a local food bank.  Part of my job is soliciting donations for that food bank from my congregation.  I enjoy the scope for creativity and the sense that I’m doing something productive and meaningful in the community.   Last month, for instance, we were collecting hygiene supplies.  Each bar of soap or whatever people donated earned their favorite NFL team a point in a contest to determine the best NFL team in the state.  We ended up with about 400 items, which was a record for our congregation.

This month I put together a scarecrow.  The plan was to encourage people to bring in bags of rice to stuff the scarecrow.  I say was because, well, I really hate masks.  I also spend a fair part of my work day alone in the church.  I’ve spent the past two days having the bejeesees scared out of me by this scarecrow every time I glance up from my computer even though I took pains to make this particular scarecrow as non-threatening as possible:  I gave him dimples and dark circles under his eyes to make him look a bit more like me and less like, oh, Leatherface.

Please don’t start calling me Leatherface.  Please?

And yet, several times an hour: Who is that strange man wearing a paperbag mask?   And has he come to kill me?  With a bag of rice?

So I just dismembered him and dropped his head behind a couch.

You know, like ya do.


When you’re signing up to participate in a ministry, consider printing rather than writing the fancy signature you sign on checks and fans’ bosoms.  I just spent ten minutes flipping through the directory trying to figure out whose signature could be mistaken for “Satans Bitch.”  ‘Cause I was pretty sure that’s what the list said.