Drink To Forget

I listed my sister's orthodox wedding below as one of life's marathon events, but I have to give equal time to an equally long day of nuptial bliss, which was the wedding of a co-worker.

She was an advertising rep at a newspaper where I was the editor. I think her name was Debbie (this was years ago). I don't know if Debbie had few friends, or had few friends who were willing to attend her wedding. (They may have known what attendees were in for.) Anyway, she invited the features editor, who happened to be my best friend, elliott, and me. The church was five minutes from my house, so it seemed about as convenient as a wedding could be.

Debbie was a born again Christian, and after surveying the crowd at her wedding I was pretty sure that Elliott and I were the only Jews in the place. I'd never been to a born again Christian wedding before, and didn't even know if there was such a thing.

Boy, was there ever. The service, on a hot day in a non air conditioned church, was two hours long. The sermon was a good 5 minutes, though the minister (I guess that was his title) said only these few words at the beginning of his sermon: "Words cannot express what's in my heart about the marriage of Debbie and (whomever), so I'm going to offer a musical interpretation of the way I feel about these two fine Christians. He then sat down at the piano and began to play.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but he was awful: wandering rhythm, wrong notes, inability to stay in one key for any length of time (or even play in the same key with both hands). It was excruciating. Every time he started to fade and I felt hopeful that he was near the end, he'd rev it up again.

When he finished I, along with everyone else, applauded mightily. Some may have been applauding his playing; I was applauding its end.

Sitting in the back I could have easily nodded of in the heat. Unfortunately, Elliott, an amateur hockey player at the time, was in pain from a recent hockey injury. Because the pain made it impossible for him to grab a catnap, he decided I should share his misery and nudged me every time I started to nod.

Finally the service ended and we proceeded — maybe stumbled would be more accurate — into the church's social hall, which was the setting for the reception.

Fate delivered the coup de grace: the beverage choices had one glaring commission — no alcohol. Surrounded by born again Christians, I waited in vain for Jesus to turn my water into wine.

Apparently, that was a one shot deal.