I have a confession to make. But first, a little background about my history with confession...
I attended a parochial school from 1st through 8th grades. I was taught by nuns and forced to attend Mass six days a week--every morning before school and on Sundays. And you'd better not skip Sunday Mass or else you could be in real trouble when Father H. showed up on Wednesday morning to teach catechism class. Because he always asked what the topic of Sunday's gospel and sermon had been. I was forced to attend religion class every single day of my elementary school career and I felt absolutely nothing religious or spiritual in response. I was a straight A student who'd only rarely get a B in religion class, usually accompanied by a comment along the lines of, "Marilyn sometimes stares out the window during religion class." No shit, Sister. I was looking for an escape route.
I'd like to think I'm a spiritual person now (in spite of my sometimes dreadful behavior...more on that to come), but I never felt 'religious'--at least not how I imagined others felt with their bowed heads. I simply adopted the mannerisms of the ritual and mimicked what I saw. Oh, okay...I should stand now?...and now we kneel?...and then we mutter this stuff in Latin?...gotta remember to hold my hands in a perfect prayer position...and keep my head down when I'm walking back to my pew after receiving communion...that seems to be important...I guess it means you're praying about that host that's melting on your tongue... It was all just ritual to me. And when I was really young, Mass was still said in Latin, so the drama of the ritual was heightened. And High Mass? Hoo boy! With the priest swinging that incense holder and filling the church with that funny-smelling stuff? And wearing those fancy robes? It was theatre of the first order to a skinny, overly imaginative 7-year-old on dark, blustery, rainy school mornings.
In 2nd grade we were told (by mean Sister Mary B.) that we were going to make our first confession so that we could receive our first communion. I had major anxiety over going to confession--not just the first time I went, but many, many times when I was quite young. I remember asking Sister Mary B., 'What if you don't have any sins?" To which she replied, "Everyone has sins." What would I confess? I wracked my brain and tried to analyze my 7-year-old behavior against the laws of the 10 Commandments. I couldn't come up with anything. (It should be noted that in later years, the nuns thought I'd be a good choice for the convent, so I wasn't exactly a 'bad' kid or acting out in any way.) I decided to lie. They expected me to have sins, so I'd just have to make some up. If I was 7, my brother would have only been 2, and I probably hadn't really started hating him yet. That came later. :) Even so, I said that I'd been mean to my little brother and also that I had talked back to my Mom. But looking back now, I honestly can't remember ever really talking back to her. At that time, that was the best I could come up with. And it was a litany I'd repeat for years to come. What baffled me is that I rarely got the same penance, even though I was reciting the same sins. We only had two priests. Maybe they grew so bored sitting in the confessional that they'd mix it up a bit just to entertain themselves.
Whoever first said, "Confession is good for the soul" was a wise person indeed. But I don't think forcing 7-year-olds to manufacture sins is what they had in mind. It seems a shame that the process wasn't presented to us in a completely different light. Confession could have been used as a safe place for us to talk to the priest about anything that might have been bothering us, either at home or at school. Of course, not every priest would have provided a safe environment. When we were in 2nd grade, we still had wonderful Father F. We adored him. He once picked me up while we were playing on the playground during recess and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and started to carry me away. I can still vividly recall how much that delighted me. I was wearing a long, red-and-white striped stocking hat that day, and I can remember hanging over his shoulder with that hat swinging below me. All the other kids came running and laughing behind us. I don't think I ever saw him once outside of Mass when he didn't have a smile on his face. He was so beloved that the next year the diocese made him Monsignor and transferred him to the diocesan office. Unfortunately he was replaced by an Irish sadist. So feeling safe would have only been possible if we lucked out when that screen was pushed aside inside the confessional and heard the voice of old Father C. He was just a sweet alcoholic who ran the Friday night bingo game.
But confession was not explained to us in any sort of positive light. Instead it was just another part of the fear-mongering that was drilled into our little brains (unless you found yourself staring out the window during religion class.) That's all just to say that I'm a fan of confession (though not of the Catholic Church). I believe confession can have very positive benefits. It's why in 12-step programs the 4th step--where one inventories all of one's resentments--is followed by the 5th step process of revealing those resentments to another individual. So here's my confession...
A month ago, I 'sold' our printer (she hasn't paid me, just told me that she wants it) to the woman who replaced me at my job. She thinks she's getting it before we leave, but I'm going to tell her that unbeknownst to me, the boyfriend had already promised it to someone else.
When she arrived for her first day of training with me, she came with an insurance form in hand that was ready to be faxed to the administrative office that handles the bar association health plan. My former office is on the same plan and she had worked at another law firm before taking my position. She made sure she faxed that puppy as soon as she arrived the first day, so that there'd be no lapse in her coverage. Before I left my job, I sent a fax to the same office noting my termination date and requesting information on COBRA coverage. The form (which I completed) had my correct address and phone number on it. For days, I/we have been driving to our mailbox facility nearly daily. One of the items I've been looking for is that COBRA information. Yesterday I realized it had been a month since I faxed that form and decided to follow-up. I phoned my replacement and asked her for the phone number of our contact at the administration office. She put me on hold for a minute. Then she gave me the number (which is right on her/my former Rolodex) and then suddenly said, "The package should be at your brother's." What?? She said, "Well, they called about a week or so ago and said the package got returned, so I told them to send it to your brother's house in California." I said I wished that I had known that it had gotten returned so I could have called the administration office to straighten it out myself. I couldn't understand why it had been returned since they had my correct address and our mail hasn't even been forwarded yet. It gets worse. She saw me in her office last week when I took the secretary out for a belated birthday lunch. She sat and chatted me up for probably 20 minutes and made no mention of any of this. Meanwhile, I've/we've been wasting time driving to a section of town that's not close to our condo to check our mailbox.
When I did speak to the administration office, the woman said that when she phoned my former office, she was told they'd get back to her. My replacement didn't call her back for a couple of days (even though she has all of my contact info on a sheet of bright pink paper, so it's very easy to spot) and when she did, she told the administration woman, "That's the only (local) address we have for her. Send it to her brother's." Why she would do that when she's been calling me occasionally on my cell to ask me questions about her job is a mystery to me.
I had heard horror stories about this woman's behavior from her previous stint in that office, which is why everyone is so shocked that my former employer rehired her. The most telling remark was made by the female attorney who worked there a long time, but lives in the States now. She said that my replacement is the kind of person who goes out of her way to NOT help someone. Now I understand what she meant.
I was really pissed after I got off the phone. As I walked into the kitchen, I looked back over my shoulder at the boyfriend and said, "I'm tempted to not sell her our printer after this." He said he knew someone else who wanted it and within half an hour he had a buyer lined up.
One more thing: she's getting paid almost DOUBLE what I did, even
though she has about half the skills that I do. But that's not really
factoring into my decision here. NOT. :)
So that's my confession. Not that I'm going to lie about the printer being sold...but that I'm going to feel good doing it.
Oh yeah...and my replacement? She still goes to Mass.
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ADDENDUM - 4 pm: I knew I would see her this morning, since we had to go by her office to have my former employer notarize something for us. She greeted us as we entered the office, since she was just showing some people out. We chatted for a few minutes with my old boss and his secretary (my pal). Then he notarized the document and we said our goodbyes. The entire time, my replacement remained in her office, even though she could see us from where she was sitting. She didn't even look up when we left, so I didn't bother saying anything either. She didn't ask about the printer and I didn't volunteer.
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