I was trapped home yesterday, relegated to the couch watching Law and Order and shoving Kleenex up my nose. I’ve been cursed with a dread illness given to me some idiot who decided to attend a conference while highly contagious, and I found myself seated next to her and her germs, not only becoming infected with her bacteria but having to answer her stupid questions and pretend to be interested in her stupid job. The whole time, I was thinking, “This nutjob better not get me sick.”
Lo and behold, in the middle of Dale’s fabulous 80’s party, death felt imminent. Suddenly, the three greatest elements of a party (costumes, food and booze) were no longer fun to me. If you ever find me not wanting to dress like a freak, not wanting to shove food in my face and not wanting to pound booze like it’s my last day on earth, call 911. Something is horribly wrong.
So I finally gave in and called my boss. “I’m sick. I’m dying. Send flowers.”
Thus, once again, I refamilliarized myself with daytime television. As I worked on my will while watching the Lifetime Afternoon Movie, the doorbell rang. In men’s sweatpants and one of my brother’s high school football shirts (I believe the back of the shirt proclaimed something along the lines of, “100% Marin Catholic Pride”), I blew my nose and opened the door.
As if in a movie, there stood two miniscule nuns in full 1960’s habits. I'm 5'11" in bare feet and if you stacked one on top of the other, they'd reach my elbow.
They stared at me, deadpan, waiting for a response.
“You speak English?”
“Yes. I speak English.”
This was of immense disappointment.
“You no speak Spanish?”
“No. I mean, I took French in high school and…”
“We look for Spanish speaking families.”
“Sorry. I don’t speak Spanish.”
They then pointed to the flat upstairs. “They speak Spanish?”
This seemed to piss the nuns off. Apparently, they’re opposed to the gentrification of the Mission and expected to find their target demographic on my ghetto block. Good luck with that. I live in the whitest building this side of Sheboygen.
The “chatty” one shoved some pamphlets at me and spun around on her heels, the littler one following behind her, both of them muttering and no doubt, placing curses on me and my spawn.
I retuned to the couch and looked at their pamphlets. There before me was Jesus glowing up on his cross surrounded by the Star of David and lots of literature in Spanish which I can only assume proclaims the glory of Jews for Jesus.
This is an organization I’ve never really understood in the first place. Although, maybe because that’s because I'm a suburban shiksa and the only thing I can say in another language is "take out your homework" in Francais…