Hey, hey, hey! Time for some pleasantly disturbed thoughts here on The Broken Quill! Yeah, yeah, I know. What else is new?

I think some church folk might be disturbed. At least the church folk in my circles. What’s up with not clapping when someone plays a nice offeratory? Or when we’re serenaded with psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs? Like it’s against the Ten Commandments or something. I mean, heaven forbid we should encourage by tapping our palms together. Oh! Unless it’s children under the age of 15. You can clap for them. Otherwise, a hearty Amen! is the only spiritual thing to do.

Yeah, see … disturbed. Wonder what would happen if next time I went to the movies, I stood up when the credits started rolling and shouted, “Amen!”

Dare me?

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You know what else is disturbing? Toilets.

Some kids just have this knack for knowing when my fanny hits the toilet seat. The very second I feel cool, white porcelain on my hiney, I hear, “Mooooooooommmmmm!”

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Speaking of mom’s … my mom and I were going through the checkout line in my hometown the other day. The clerk got down to business and ran all the groceries through in a jiffy, right? But Mom … she decides to wait ’til aaaallll the groceries are tallied up … and then she brings out her checkbook.  

The clerk stared incredulously as she took her sweet time, writing as carefully as a second grader getting graded on a penmanship paper.

I said, “Say Mom … you know they have these nifty things called bank cards now, right? Like .. right now, you could just whip your card through this here little machine, sign your Jane Hancock, and let this nice man get on to his next customer. It’s really a beautiful, fast thing.”

The clerk shook his head, then busied himself with the bagging.

“Oh, shut up,” Mother yelled.

The clerk threw us a look that said, “Don’t make me call security.”

Mom was horrified. “Oooohh, I wasn’t talking to you!!! I was talking to my daughter!”

“Oh yeah, great, Mom,” I said. “Like that’s a whole lot better, yelling at your daughter to shut up in a public place.”

The clerk continued to stare.

By this point, Mom and I are laughing so hard we’re trying not to pee our pants.

I finally gathered my wits about  me, and Mom followed suit.

“So this is your daughter?” the clerk asked, trying to get his facts straight for when security arrived.

“Yeah,” Mom said, as she scribbled the amount on the check. “And I don’t even like her.”

Again, we laughed so hard we were both hoping we chose to wear feminine protection that morning. It’s a pain getting old.

The clerk sighed and handed us the receipt.

“You saved five dollars and thiry cents today, ma’am.”

“I did?” she asked, pleased as punch. “Look, Brenda! I saved five bucks!”

“Yeah, Mom. Now be a good customer and pay the nice clerk for the emotional trauma you’ve caused.”

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I honestly don’t know what people’s problem is now days. It’s like if you laugh and have a good time, they think you’re crazy. Or disturbed.

I think they’re just jealous.  

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**This post has been part of Duane Scott’s blog carnival. Click here for more!