Very Important Church President

[R. S. Martin]

I tried to tune her out but it was hard. All of us were in the doctor's waiting room.

 

The blue veins sticking our from the bottom of the very important church president's Capri pants weren't quite a dark as on the calves of one or two other women, and her age wrinkles were made up to make her appear like a chubby doll. To her neighbour she recited all the very many things she, as church president, must do on a Sunday.

 

The waiting room was packed; every chair taken. She spoke just loud enough to be clearly heard by all. 

 

I wanted to say, "Tell them (those people who are making you do all that stuff) that Sunday is a day of rest." 

 

I didn't. I had a bad feeling about saying it. Finally, the woman beside me asked if her congregation was quite large.

 

No, it wasn't! It's not as big as she would have wished! 

 

No one responded. 

 

"Morningside!" she said, as though everyone would be impressed.

 

Maybe that's the name of her Very Important Church. No one responded.

 

Suddenly the Very Important Church President quit responding. 

 

I would have liked to poll the general non-belief in that room.