Out Of Darkness

by Smith, Stephanie Jean

  You caught me on my blind side, when I was looking out for everyone else, so I welcomed the reprieve.

  You're a master at your craft; you almost had me on my knees.

  You couldn't tie me down, because of the inner strength that resides deep.

  You failed to understand that life's all about risks you take the good with the bad and do it willingly.

  You're the fool, and you overplayed your hand.

  You were caught in a game of your own making, and you cannot take it back.

  You didn't realize until too late that you lost the real prize forever, and you'll never get another chance to make it right.

  Oh one more thing that I must impart before you have to leave, by the way, don't forget to give me my keys.

  The next time you play this game; the woman might seek vengeance and not bow out so gracefully.

  You Can't Make This Up

  This section of the book is reserved for those surreal and incredibly absurd moments in life. On several occasions, I have felt like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole.

  Choir Practice

  Church Circus

  Co-workers

  Funeral Etiquette

  Give Me A Break

  Hair Phobia

  It Happened In The Library

  Time Wasted

  Trip To Booneville

  Who Would Believe This

  Choir Practice

  I absolutely love singing in the choir, and it doesn’t stem from any musical talent on my part, but my love for music in general. I’ve sung in various choirs at my church: the Cherub Choir, Junior Choir, Inspirational Choir, and the Mass choir. I’ve sung in choirs in high school and I even sung for the Gospel Choir at my job. Being in these choirs allowed me to socialize, travel, and more often than not provide an above average performance.

  That being said there are some things that I don’t love about singing in choirs. Singing with other choirs in my denomination can be a nightmare especially when the directors from other churches don’t have a clue on how to teach a song. I went to choir rehearsal last night to practice for an upcoming Christmas Program. I have a problem with two directors that were going to be there. On the drive to rehearsal, I was psyching myself out in preparation. I’m not going to let either director upset me or steal my joy. I’m going to stay focused on the songs and singing for the Lord.

  I’ve often heard that the pathway to Hell is paved with noble intentions; no truer words have ever been spoken. The mass choir was set to perform songs presented by three directors; our own choir director presented songs that are both inspirational and easy to understand. The female director only presented songs in which she was the soloist; she sat at the piano rolling her enormous eyes and popping her neck. The last director reminds me of Eddie Murphy’s spoof of the Our Gang character “Buckwheat” presented some songs that he made up two minutes before leaving his house.

  At least the female director gave us some words when she taught us her musical masterpieces. Buckwheat said, “I’m going to teach you a couple of quick songs, o-tay.” My friend G said, “I can see how you came up with the Buckwheat thing, but all I was able to come up with was Eddie Murphy’s Coming To America… Sexual Chocolate! Sexual Chocolate, y’all, come on…give it up one more time for Sexual Chocolate! Sexual Chocolate! Sexual Chocolate! He’s good….good ‘n terrible“. (Yes, I know we’re both horrible people).

  I didn’t understand anything that came out of his mouth after that, and my resolve to stay focused totally fell apart. Try as I might, I couldn’t hold in the emotions that were bursting to get out. My knee started jumping, and my smile was beginning to crack. Yes, you guessed it I started laughing I couldn’t help it, here I sat in a choir stand full of people with perplexed expressions on their faces. Choir members kept asking people closest to them, "What did he just say". I was laughing so hard I was crying, tears were streaming down my face, and I felt the heat in my face.

  In prior years, we sung with other choirs from different denominations and an enjoyable time was had by all. Of course, the woman in charge of those programs was headstrong, blunt, and the way she dressed made you think that you were in the presence of a full fledge “diva”. What made her more appealing than the previously mentioned directors? From my own perspective, I would say that she was a professional, plain and simple. She taught difficult songs; however, she provided words. She spoke with clear diction, and never acted as if she were doing us a favor. After the soloists finish their songs, she took the focus off of herself but gave the soloists the accolades. Unfortunately, the woman I’m speaking of passed away last year and the likes of her will never be seen again. The next time I go to practice, I will think of this accomplished choir director and musician, and I won’t complain.

  Okay, I may complain a little because I forgot to mention “Buckwheat” unquestionably has an affinity for the 80’s music he’s libel to break out playing “Fantastic Voyage”, “She’s A Bad Mamma Jamma”, or any of the Barkay's and Ohio Players greatest hits at a moment’s notice. He also gets frustrated with the choir because we have difficulty following his directions. Did I forget to mention that he doesn’t give any directions, unless you consider wiggling his eyebrows and poking out his lips directions? We have six more rehearsals to struggle through, and I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that I behave and focus on the task ahead. Honest, I’m honestly going to try to behave!

  Church Circus

  I’ve seen and heard many things in the church. I’ve heard women scream about the goodness of the Lord. I’ve heard the choir sing songs for twenty minutes and counting. I’ve seen a man dressed like Moses; complete with a robe and staff he also had extremely nice pecs. I’ve seen a husband get beat up during a church service by his wife; he certainly shouldn’t have brought the girlfriend to church. I’ve seen a woman have a seizure in the choir stand. I’ve seen a pastor grab and adjust his “Johnson” and spank himself (hey-hey) in the pulpit.

  I’ve seen my Aunt Temple chase a little girl around church, just because the child wanted to show everyone her new panties. Heck, I’ve seen grown women wear see-through skirts to show their panties too. I’ve seen our vacation bible school besieged with single mothers in search of a husband while their children behave like gremlins. I’ve heard extended family of deceased church members give meal orders to the church’s kitchen committee during the family dinner following the funeral service. This is not Burger King; you can’t have it your way.

  I’ve never seen a circus at church like this past Sunday. I usually don’t attend church on Second Sundays because the men sing and I use this as an opportunity to visit friends. Well anyway, my mother decided to attend church on this Second Sunday. My mother hasn’t attended a church service since Easter, so I was happy to take her to church. I asked my nephew to attend as well so he could help me with my mother’s wheelchair. Okay I drafted him. I needed someone with muscles.

  Church service began like normal; it started with praise and worship and went downhill from there. I don’t know about you, but in my mind, the Sunday morning prayer is a time to inspire church members and guests and get them prepped for a glorious church service in which they will be partaking. It is not an opportunity for someone to get on their soapbox and complain about the delusional fantasies in his or her head.

  Well one of our paranoid members gave the “morning prayer”, and it was tolerable until she started screaming about all the evil in the choir. This incessant screaming continued for what seemed like an eternity. In reality it was more like 10 minutes, I know this because one of the children timed her. Being a choir member, I stopped texting and thought about what she’d said, and then I started to wonder whom this heffa was calling evil. I looked up, and I saw several choir members looking around trying to find out who that evil person was in the choir. Even the men’s chorus was looking around, knowing she was talking about the mass choir, although she was pointing back at them.

  Then came
time for announcements and introduction of visitors: one visitor got up to introduce herself; I barely heard her name before she started yelling about pain. Now, I didn’t know if she was in pain, or if she was screaming and yelling about the pain and drama she’d put her family through. My ears were feeling some extreme pain at that moment.

  I looked at my nephew, and he agreed with my assessment. My mother just bowed her head as if she could make the whole scene go away. So of course, the church prayed for this woman, she was escorted to the altar so the church could pray for her. Now instead of the pastor praying for this woman, some moron gave the microphone back to the “morning prayer” basher. She took the microphone and picked up where she left off twenty minutes earlier and proceeded to scream again. She was screaming and throwing her body around as if she were trying cast out demons from the woman she was praying for, the only thing missing was holy water.

  I usually sit in the back of the church, in case I need to make a quick get-a-way, a trait I got from Mother. Well this didn’t pay off on this particular Sunday. I had my mother there and to wheel her out I would have to disrupt church service. Things began to calm down until this man came in and sat in the back of the church near my family. He decided he wanted to read a newspaper during this church service. The woman sitting in front of me couldn’t ignore this insolent man. Therefore, she took it upon herself to tell him not to read the paper during a church service.

  The man slowly folded the paper and gave her a dark look, and when the choir started singing, he started to clap his hands and grinned at the woman in question. I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her “Why in the heck are you telling crazy folks what to do in church?" We’re boxed in the corner I’ve got my mother and nephew back here, we can’t run off and leave her, so that‘s means we have to fight. I asked Ms. Disrespected, "Do you feel like fighting crazy folks today?” She shook her head in the negative and patted her purse, which was her non-verbal of letting me know that her pistol was close at hand.

  Crazy man wasn’t the only one moved by the singing of the choir. Miss In-pain decided that she was feeling the spirit and proceeded to get up and dance. She didn’t just stand up and clap her hands. She got in the middle of the main aisle and did the raunchiest, booty-shaking, pelvis gyrating dance I’ve ever had the misfortune to see. My nephew looked at me for several minutes before asking, “What kind of dance is that?" I told him, "It was called stank-ho without her pole dance."

  After that, church service was tame. I asked my mother if she was glad she came to church today. She had no response what so ever she just kept shaking head back and forth. I have to say I found the whole service wrought with mishaps and foolish behavior, which later turned out to be quite entertaining. Maybe I’ll attend church more often on Second Sunday, who knows I might have plenty of examples for more stories.

  Co-Workers

  I’ve had the pleasure of working for a living since the ripe old age of eighteen, twelve if you consider babysitting. I’ve worked with people of every race and religion, and there are a few types of people who tend to stick out that cross all lines.

  Whiner:

  According to the Free Online dictionary, definition of a whiner "is someone who utters a plaintive, high-pitched, protracted sound, as in pain, fear, supplication, or complaint." Out of all of my pathetic co-workers I dislike the whiner the most, sad thing is that a whiner never realizes that he or she is a whiner.

  He or she starts the morning by talking about everything the spouse, kids, and the dog didn’t do right. Lord help you if it’s Monday morning because then the whiner will whine all day about what happened the past weekend. The whiner is convinced that everyone else is the problem, when in fact it’s he or she.

  How do they differ from people who complain or bitch? Unlike whiners, people who complain or bitch about a situation get everything off their chest and they’re done. Whiners can rattle on and on about the same topic all day long.

  I do all the research for projects in my department. So everybody will check with me occasionally to check the progress on his or her projects. There used to be two researchers, but the other researcher got paroled early for exemplary behavior and moved on to another department. I remember the other researcher constantly complaining about this one guy in the department, she would say stuff like, if he doesn’t shut up I’m going to cram my shoe down his throat. I thought this was a little harsh. I mean the guy in question seemed like a genuinely amiable fellow. Well that's what I thought until I was researching one of his projects.

  A project was assigned to a lady whose father had died, and everyone was asked to help because it was such a massive project. In a span of two days, the before mentioned co-worker asked me about the research for this new project twenty-five times. How do I know how many times he asked? I wrote down a tick mark every time he asked me about the project.

  Things became clear darned quick, now I understood why the other researcher hated this guy. He prattled on in this nasally voice about how he wanted to get started on the project, immediately. I ended up telling him that I would let him know when the research is complete, and to stop talking to me. He was surprised by my tone he thought I was kidding at first and began to laugh. I told him I wasn’t playing. I wanted him to shut up and not talk to me about the project again.

  I finally completed the research for this project, was this whiner appeased? Of course, not, instead of reading the documentation I provided for him he kept asking me what I did. I told him the research is done, and everything I did is in the documentation, and he would have to read it for himself. If he had any more questions, to ask the project coordinator.

  Snitch:

  Snitches are absolutely the worst co-worker in the department. They wait around for something to occur, so they have an opportunity to report to the supervisor or manager everything they just heard or saw. Snitches buzz around the department like hyenas waiting to steal a lion’s cub. More often than not these people are engaged in conversations, but never seem to report their own comments.

  I don’t understand snitches because there is no point to their nonsense; there is no promotion on the horizon, no bonus on their paychecks for snitching on other employees. Once you recognize these individuals in your department give them wide berth and never tell them anything of relevance unless it pertains to work.

  Several years ago I worked for a bank; I didn’t care for my manager or her minions. I noticed that one of her special pets reported everything she heard; sometimes she could barely contain her excitement about ratting somebody out. I deliberately let her overhear a conversation I had with another co-worker. I told my friend in the department that I thought I might be pregnant. I was trying not to laugh the whole time, but I knew the snitch absorbing our conversation like a crack head taking a toke on his pipe. I was scheduled to go to the storage facility later that week, and my manager volunteered to go with me.

  I thought her behavior was strange, why would she volunteer to do anything that involved physical work. When we got into the vault my manager wouldn’t let me lift any heavy boxes, nor did she let me climb the ladder to put boxes away. Then it clicked, this idiot thought I was pregnant and she was trying to make sure that I didn’t get hurt in the storage vault.

  The thing is she couldn’t honestly ask me about it because I didn’t tell her I was pregnant it was information she had garnered from her snitch. I let this situation continue for a couple of weeks before my manager figured out that I wasn’t pregnant. It was amusing to me, but my manager learned that information from snitches isn’t always reliable.

  Know-It-All:

  Everyone has the self-appointed department know-it-all, or as I like to call them pain in the ass. This person takes immense pride in his or her intelligence and wants others to acknowledge it too. There’s a guy in my department who sits and waits for other co-workers to make statements about something they heard on the news or received in an email. He then logs on the Internet to see if th
e statement is true or if he can find the story.

  I receive e-mails all the time about warnings regarding health and safety. If someone sends me a funny video, I don't care if it’s real or not, Mr. Know-it-all cares and he can’t wait to ruin my euphoria. I often send him e-mails that I know are bogus so he can spend most of his time doing research on the subject. Someone should have told him years ago that true intelligence is evident, and ignorance is blind.

  Funeral Etiquette

  People behaving badly at a funeral can memorable for all the wrong reasons. All of the deceased people mentioned in this short story were disrespected at their home going service by loved ones. A funeral is one place that a person can expect the eulogy will focus on all the goodness they've done during their short time in this life. Having said that, I would be remiss if I didn't say that the antics displayed at these funerals provided ample entertainment for me.

  My nephew's grandmother passed, and I attended her funeral. I didn't realize until then how I've been comparing my church to other churches I've visited, whether it's for funerals or weddings, etc. I've also noted the different mannerisms in churches. The last three family funerals I have attended have been akin to some type of sideshow that I never imagined that I would be a witness.

  The church I was in is one of those storefront churches with one spacious room, where nothing is sectioned off except the restrooms. Okay, I attended this funeral to support my nephew because I love him dearly. My sister and I walked into the church, and the ushers grabbed us before we could get in the door. Some people call this a hug; however, I felt as if I had been molested. I had to extricate myself from one of the women so I could sign the visitor's book.

  The funeral was at 2:00 pm, it didn't start until 2:15 pm, the pastor of this church was my nephew's uncle, and he truly creeped me out. The pastor was standing at the front of the church smiling and nodding his head back and forth like a bobble head. He came into the audience to greet people and shake hands. I was sitting there praying that he wouldn't talk to me; because there was no way, I was going to let him touch me.