gospel

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The Sloan Kettering T**ty Smashing Machine and Other Tragedies

Published May 23, 2012 by Sandee

I am mean?  No, I am not mean.  But there is no way that I would have been able to tolerate what I witnessed behind the front desk at the Sloan Kettering Breast Center as I waited for my breast screening.  In the past as an office worker sentenced to sit next to some of the most hideously unprofessional people I have ever had the displeasure of working with, I have had the task of asking them to please keep their voices down when talking incessantly to coworkers instead of working, and to please turn down hideous pop music blaring from their cheap radios.

A worker behind the desk at Sloan Kettering had some holy roller preacher blaring on her computer.  Yasah, Jaysus-sah – praise Gawd!  Because ya see Jaysus loves ya, yasah!  Unbefucking-lievable!  This should never be tolerated in a place of business.  Another woman sits at her chair behind the desk and starts singing – OVER the other woman’s holy roller station!  And she’s singing a gospel song!  I’m thinking how rude this all is, and at the same time she’s singing music which would imply that she would be respectful to her fellow God-fearing man.  So she then turns on her computer, which is less than two feet away from the other woman with her holler roller station still on.  Her computer comes on, and ta-dahhhh, she plays gospel music on hers!  So we’ve got competing gospel stations on and one bitch singing!  And this is a place of business.

But, they seemed all kumbayah about it as the two competing gospel women began a conversation.  The one who was singing turned around, and I saw that she wore the tightest pants on one of the cottage cheesiest of behinds.  I could see the holes of her butt through her pants.  She says to her competing holy roller friend, “I thought these pants would be too tight.  But I lost a lot of weight.”  Her friend smiles beatifically and says, “Oh so they fit now.  That’s good.”  They weren’t religious rivals after all, but supportive friends and coworkers.  Who knew?

There was a third woman behind the desk who seemed oblivious to it all as she sailed through her work without a twitch, except for a questionable glance in my direction, which might have been interpreted as “Help me…”  She was a saint I tell ya!  I don’t think I could’ve dealt with that shit.

What I did have to deal with was having my already nearly non-existing breasts smashed to pieces in that God-forsaken machine!   The wig-wearing technician was a sadist!!  “I have to make this a liii-tle tighter,” she says, turning the knob further around.  “Seriously,” I tell her, “I never had this thing turned up so tight before.”  I left out of there screaming, I swear, “My titties hurt!”  I think I scared her.  Maybe she didn’t want to get fired.  In the dressing room, when I couldn’t find my glasses she ran over to help me look for them trying to be all nice and everything.

Lastly, the show on the TV in the second waiting room, the one away from the front where all the women wear robes, was a breast cancer awareness program.  I realized that one of the actors in the film was an ex friend of mine!  Ahaha!!  Could this day not be any more interesting?  She played a sympathetic family member.  (What a joke!)  I thought, well at least the bitch is getting some work.

The reality of me and a wild, imperfect, confounding life

Published May 6, 2012 by Sandee

There’s a woman I see on the bus when I come home from work.  She smiles constantly – a subtle, creepy smile — even when she’s sitting alone.  I heard her say something bitter with that smile on her face.  “What’s wrong with people?  Why don’t people move to the back of the bus when it’s crowded?  That’s what you’re supposed to do!”  She waved her hand indignantly, before smiling again with a slightly glazed look in her eyes.  “I knew it!”  I said to myself.  The smile was an affectation.  I thought, maybe it covers up negative feelings that she can’t face; maybe her parents told her that she should never show anger — to always be nice.  Perhaps they told her that she had to smile otherwise people wouldn’t like her.

It turned out that this woman and I knew the same person, a nice Jamaican woman whom I met on the bus.  I approached the bus stop one day and the smiley-creepy-lady and nice Jamaican woman were there.  The Jamaican woman introduced us.  “Hi,” I said, planning never to say hi to her again.  I’ve seen her quite a few times since.  I look away or turn my head in the other direction when I’m sitting on the bus and she walks by.  I fantasize that she thinks I hate her, that she thinks I’m a snob, that she thinks I think something’s wrong with her, that she thinks I think I’m better than her.  I fantasize that she’s desperate for people to like her.  Ha ha ha – what fun for me!  She’s someone I have an aversion to.  I don’t like her.  She sits very straight, and wears plain clothes, drab colors – with that smile the whole time.

Too bad for this lady because I read in a zen book once that when we get mischievous thoughts, we shouldn’t freak out and try to suppress them (These were not the exact words.).  The book said that we should accept the thoughts, to let them come in then let them go out, because it’s who we are and we can’t escape it.  We have that side to us no matter how hard we try to cover up the stench.  The writer said also – I’m paraphrasing – that sometimes it’s healthy to act out a little mischief.  I suppose as long as it’s not evil.  I’m not going to look at the book to make sure that I’ve paraphrased correctly, because I really like the definition I just quoted.  What if I’m not remembering it correctly?  I don’t want my belief of what the reading was about to be shattered – so there.

This smiling woman was forcing a countenance which made me uneasy.  I think that this is the same as me listening to music generally thought of as uplifting merely because it is a common belief that it would lift a person’s mood.  Perhaps I would listen to a song like the one below, which is really really good by the way – Mahavishnu rocks!  But believing that I should force myself to be ‘lifted’ from a mood by listening to a type of music that is commonly thought of as uplifting is supporting a false idea.  The song below has the mantra, ‘Let me fulfill thy will. Oh lord supreme, supreme.  Let me fulfill thy will.”  It’s a kickass song and I’m not dissing it – I’m just using it as a palatable example because I think inserting an actual Jesus Lordy Lordy gospel song would be too extreme and distracting from my point.  I could easily listen to this song with these lyrics and imagine that I’m merging with the idea, “Oh lord supreme, supreme,” and that I should release myself unto this vibration for an all around harmonious rest of the day.  But I would listen to a nice song like this and feel murderous, absolute angst, fear and self-loathing after going to work and confronting a reality that only required me to take a really deep look at myself in order to iron things out, instead of trying to escape my mood with some superficial means, or forced method.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4K1VxNg9Bc

Really what I might feel inside is this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sem_3Gm3n48

I listen to this and feel invigorated, relieved of the feelings that the mood of the song mirrors.  I’m in touch with the reality of the anger and pain that I’m feeling.  I’m not smothering it.  I’m not going to church on Sunday and on the way home in the car suffering bouts of road rage, or gossiping or judging people on what I believe to be inappropriate based on what “God” told me.  I’m looking at me, the reality of me and a wild, imperfect, confounding life .