Just a note to anyone who has been trying to catch me for the past two days: it’s been very hectic and I’m quite exhausted, as evidenced by the fact that it’s 8:45 and I’m just about to go to bed. But the climate seems to be improving as the weekend approaches. So fear not. There will be sarcasm and Canadian indie rock (maybe even in French) and an a new rant on how fucking annoying it is to be told to “have a blessed day.”
Unless I decide to do something else, that is.
One of the hazards of everyday life in the South (and increasingly in other regions of this ever so devout country, I’m told) is constantly being told by restaurant and retail employees to “have a ‘blessed’ day.” It used to be something that came mostly from the mouths of older African American church ladies but it’s becoming rather ubiquitous. I do not find it sweet nor endearing. I find it off-putting and insulting.
It’s a little like telling someone to have an “orange” day–not really grammatically incorrect, but it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense either. Grammar (and triteness) aside, though, this little greeting is pretty much just a passive aggressive way of introducing religion into inappropriate situations. Cashiers and servers who would be fired or disciplined for saying things that are more overtly religious to their customers feel they can get away with this allegedly more subtle form of proselyting. And they’re right, unfortunately. As a rule, Muslims, Buddhists, and humanists generally do not tell you to have a “blessed” day. This is specifically an evangelical Christian thing. And it’s bad customer service because it involves pushing religion in my face in situations where it doesn’t belong.
Besides, don’t evangelical Christians believe that we are all “blessed” pretty much by default, just by virtue of the fact that a merciful god has allowed us poor wretches to exist in his presence? Isn’t it sort of redundant to tell people to have a “blessed” day when you believe they pretty much can’t help but to be having one already? Isn’t it sort of like telling them to “breathe air?” Yes. That’s precisely it. The only reason, it seems, that a Christian would ever tell someone to have a “blessed” day is (1) to make damned sure the poor slob being so greeted knew that that the person offering the greeting was a Christian, and (2) to hint ever so slightly that the “greetee” might want to concentrate on his own faith just to make sure he recognizes the tenuousness of his relationship with the man upstairs.
In other words, to do a little preaching.
In an inappropriate place like with your customers in a restaurant or a store.
See paragraph #2 above.
Unless I’m figuring something horribly wrong, it looks like I’m not going to owe any significant tax on the sale of the Pittsburgh house and also like I’m going to be getting a refund in the neighborhood of $2300. I probably haven’t gotten a tax refund in close to fifteen years. That’s some pretty happy financial news…assuming it holds.
Ummm…how about nowhere?
Vanishing STL on the Pruitt-Igoe implosions that began forty years ago this afternoon. I wrote about my obsession with Pruitt-Igoe a few weeks back and I’m happy to report that the documentary will be screened locally in a few weeks.
Way to put the post office on notice, SAA!
I’ll bet this envelope gets to its destination hours before it would without that urgent labeling.
Josie Cotton
Jimmy Loves Maryann (1984)
Thoughts for a Monday night with a Hawaii Five-O rerun on Netflix:
Strange how grocery-intensive this post turned out to be, eh?
I went to the doctor this morning for my six-month checkup and oil change. He asked if I were seeing anyone new since last visit, to which I responded, “That’s pretty much the last thing I need in my life right now.” He chuckled and said that I was probably right, so I guess my celibacy is now a doctor-approved therapy. In a nutshell:
More random thoughts for a Tuesday night spent with Eames on Netflix: