I can’t do it anymore; this job. It’s too much and I’m just now realizing that white isn’t my color. And have you seen how much weight I’ve gained under this robe since I started this gig? Those communion wafers are delicious, but eating an entire box of them in one sitting is not recommended. (Hypothetically, of course.) They say polyester is forgiving, but I look like a white cow in this get up.
Now I want cookies and milk because of the cow reference, but all I have to eat are those crappy communion wafers that are making me fat. They don’t even taste good, which is the worst part. I’m pretty sure they’re a combination of wax paper and choir boys’ tears.
Plus, Priest Hernando has been hitting up the communion supply closet pretty hard lately, so the entire storage room smells like a hangover. Somebody needs to tell that guy to come out of the closet. (The supply closet, that is. Come on, now. We don’t have gay priests.)
As if dealing with my belly fat isn’t enough, I don’t understand why I have to wear a long dress to work in the first place. People who work at The Gap get to wear comfortable chinos and a button down shirt to their jobs. Instead, I’m saddled with a robe and a 3 foot hat that gives me a bitch of a hat-head by days end. But then again, employees at The Gap probably have to wear underwear to work. And pants. Suckers.
This robe is not my best look and is part of the reason for my resignation. I can’t be taken seriously when I drive around in my super souped up Pope-mobile, complete with bullet-proof glass and sub woofers that blast “Ava Maria” at volume level 3. (Yeah, that’s right. I blare it!)
If only the church would let me pimp it out a little bit with some seat covers and fuzzy dice, that Pope-mobile could transform into a Pimp-mobile and I’d be in business. Instead, I’m stuck riding around in it waiving to people, all the while hoping Judge Judy is recording on my DVR. (It was. I dodged a bullet there, but that’s not the kind of bullet that a bullet-proof glass windshield could save you from. If only….)
No wonder I can’t get chicks. I don’t have a Pimp-mobile, I’m not up on current events since I’m always missing my “stories” on daytime TV, and this robe makes me look like a character from the beloved children’s game, Candyland. At least If I had a scepter I could be a super hero, except my only true power would be making others feel inadequate when I pass judgement on them. It’s a great power, and it’s one I already possess, so I guess the scepter would be worthless. (Much like Hernando’s attempts to give up communion wine during Lent.)
It’s not just the robe that makes me miserable. Have you seen this hat? I look like I work at a children’s fast food restaurant. I could store a small animal in this hat and no one would know. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why Bishop Bob is always telling me he’s looking for places to put his gerbils. Maybe he wants my hat.
Because of all these things, I think it might be time to throw in the towel on this job. In this case, when I say “throw in the towel” what I mean is “throw in the robe and silly hat and return to regular clothing.”
Do you know how difficult of a boss I have? He never sleeps, is always alert, and seems to know what everyone else is thinking before I can ask. He’s kind of a know-it-all, which makes it difficult to argue with him. I can’t very well tell him I was late to work because my hot water wouldn’t turn on in the shower. He knows I’m lying and I was finishing up my game of Words With Friends. He just knows.
There’s definitely down sides to leaving this job, one of which is the sweet Pope/Pimp-mobile I referenced previously. Before I quit, I want to put a bumper sticker on it that says “I break for bread.” Get it? Cuz I break bread for my job? (I seriously need to go on the road with this comedy gig. I’m hysterical.)
One of the best parts about this job is whenever I get sleepy (which is every 5 minutes at my age), I can just put my head down and close my eyes and people assume I’m praying. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to find that gig at a Home Depot. I need those frequent cat naps to get through my day. This is one of the few times where that hat really comes in handy.
Plus, I have access to a ton of luscious babes. Granted, they’re all nuns who wear black robes, but the black just suggests it’s forbidden. I can’t stand watching Sister Mary Helen prance around the Narthex in her 72 year-young skin, flashing her eyes at me through her liver spotted eyelids. I can’t handle it! She’s too sexy for that robe and all I want to do is see her chastity belt. It’s too much for this heart to take, especially when I’m popping blood pressure pills the way I am.
So I guess I will resign, as I don’t want to get anymore bitter about this job than I am now. I will let my boss know, although I’m sure he already knows…(to-be read in an uber-sarcastic tone). What’s the best way to let the big guy upstairs know I’m peacing out of this gig?
Yeah, you’re right. Email works best.