Memoirs of the Mundane - The Reopening

 As this sublunary summer draws to an end, I've found little to write about over the months. Even the mundane has become too mundane to speak of.

I found myself trundling through those doors once again.
But first, a flashback to five minutes prior. Modern media has conditioned us to "enjoy" the flashback as a narrative tool, so in an effort to encapsulate the mundane, I shall include one to bore you. Picture the next paragraph in black and white—if you aren't, you probably need to get your eyes checked...

Squeeze, oof. Suck in. Squeeze again. Man, this quarantine has involved more baking than I thought; I said to myself, as I wiggled into my button-down and slacks like a sausage into its intestinal casing. Do I even remember how to tie this thing? And which to wear? Doesn't matter anyways. Blue paisley it is. Double Windsor comes back to you surprisingly fast. But two years in God's Army will do that to you, I suppose. I climbed the stairs, hoping not to burst a seam. Man, I'd better dust off those running shoes soon. The Ol' ankle is still acting up here and there, but I've got no choice. Hey, at least one things fits, my feet are still the same size they've been since 9th grade. I cracked open the door of my lazaretto. Rays of sunlight streamed through the crack—it burns! The searing light and heat were nearly too much (that's really why I haven't been running. Death to Summer!). But maybe I'm just being dramatic about the sun because I've been religiously watching a vampire movie a day over the past month.

I found myself trundling through those doors once again.
The dimly lit halls and eerie silence were perturbing. From the room beyond, organ music swelled. "Great, this is the part in the story where Dracula comes to drink my fluids through a straw, isn't it?" Fortunately, I had my mask, so he wouldn't recognize me. But then again, I suppose facial recognition only matters to corrupt governments, not vampires. Do vampires have neck recognition? "Ah yes, I've sucked that one before."

But enough of vampires, this was not Drac's castle, but the sanctum sanctorum, a house of God (He really does have a lot of houses, doesn't he? How does He decide which to live in, with so many options?). Regrettably, it was not Bela Lugosi on the organ either—just the bishop.

The building was rather empty. For good reason. If you somehow haven't noticed people whining about masks on the internet for the past few months, I'll let you in on a small detail—there's a global pandemic. People are dying. As I sat down in the socially distanced pews, I thought: the reopening of church has really given a new meaning to CTR—Catch The Rona. So why was I there, you ask? Well, I don't really know. Guess I fear Damnation slightly more than Rona?      

As I settled in, trying to recognize the 50 other people there under their masks, I realized that I really need to focus more on people's foreheads in the future, in case there's another pandemic someday. 
The bishop took his stand and made the announcements. "We encourage you not to sing, but if you must, do so softly." Or at least that's what I'm told he said. All I heard was "singing kills people." And it's true you know. Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon. All singers. All died young. Singing Kills. (Or maybe being famous with a J name kills?). 

As I daydreamed about my heroes dying, for the first time in my life, I became relieved at the fact that I can't hit a note to save my life. But it looks like not being able to hit a note is maybe what has saved my life thus far. Divine incompetence. 

The bishop rambled on: "don't shake hands, don't congregate or chat after the meeting, etc." Beautiful!
Finally an excuse not to spend hours locked in dead fish shakes, or getting old lady lipstick on the cheek. And no Relief Society gossip for hours afterwards. As terrible as I am for saying this, in a way, the pandemic has really been a gift from God, or at least China, to introverts everywhere. And now I've just cursed myself into having to go back to church next time, to atone for my blasphemy. 

Things have gotten really progressive in the church over the past few years. 3hrs down to 2hrs to 45mins now! Can we shoot for 30? One speaker, and the disbanding of testimony meeting. Man, this is the good stuff. So before I have to keep adding more meeting attendance to save my soul from blasphemy, I'd better move on. 

But uhh, that's really it. The meeting was short and painless. As it ended, I marched directly out of the building. Not a word to anyone. And from the sounds of what the bishop said, that makes me a hero. I didn't kill anyone, because I refrained from singing, and I didn't kill anyone by talking to them. Success.