I can beat that

Originally released for publication July 25, 2001
(c) 2001 by Steve Martaindale
As the usual suspects drifted into our small Sunday school class, it became obvious several of us needed to unburden ourselves. We're not talking spiritual cleansing here, something more like Murphy's Law one-upmanship.

Only three of us were there when Rick started it off, telling about an improbable series of car problems, but before he was rolling good, Janis breezed in and started to tell us all about her horrific experiences at a wedding the previous night.

She had barely started when Laurie entered with the troubles she had on a recent trip. Not to be outdone, Leah chimed in about entering what weather forecasters promised would be the hottest weekend yet with the air-conditioning system on the brink of failure.

Scott, who had prepared the lesson for this Sunday, patiently waited while everybody worked through his or her narrative, though each story was interrupted numerous times for comment by wisecracking listeners.

This observer noted that the teacher offered no tale of his own. Now, Scott is the quiet type, but one couldn't help but wonder if his silence on the issue was because two house guests of his were present. Hmm, maybe there will be a story from Scott next week.

Woe are us

We spent probably half the class time relating tales of woe.

Rick's car had a problem that he first of all had to convince the mechanic existed. And while it was sitting on the lot, somebody broke into it and stole what they could from it.

Janis was about to prepare to attend a friend's daughter's wedding when she lost electricity at her home. She finally gave up, gathered her beauty paraphernalia and dress clothes and went to her office to get ready.

Then she developed a monster run in her color-matched hosiery and ended up getting to the service late following an extended search for replacements. Laurie had been on a 450-mile trip to deliver her old car to her son and pick up a new car from a nearby dealer.

The old car broke down on her and she went through an almost unbelievable string of events to find a mechanic and get it semi-operational -- which means that it was running but her instructions were to not let it die because it would not start up again.

That led to her sneaking around a self-service pump to fill the gas tank without killing the engine and then asking a biker-looking fellow to sit in the car and make sure it didn't die while she ran to the restroom.

Leah presented her story about the weak air-conditioner and did a good job of trying to keep pace, but it was difficult since most of her horrors merely held potential. Like Scott, she might have some good stories next week if the AC really does bomb.

Mine is worse

Why do we enter such a competition, trying to prove that my bad experience was worse than yours was? I don't know why, but it is fun, something akin to po' mouthin'. You know po’ mouthin’, like: "We were so poor growing up that our best clothes were made from flour sacks."

"Well, we were so poor that our clothes were made from feed sacks."

"I can beat both of you. We were so poor that we wore feed sack hand-me-downs."

Of course, there are also the stories about how far you had to walk to school and through how much snow. And, you know, when I was in grade school, we didn't have air-conditioners, just windows to open.

And have I told you about that patched-up travel trailer we called home the first year we were married, how it had no AC and no heater and it took us a week to get the plumbing working?

Seriously, there is relief in telling about your troubles and also in hearing other people have problems, too. 

And it makes a pretty good Sunday school lesson, too.


(c) 2001 by Steve Martaindale