The Waiting Room
Somewhere a bad instrumental version of La Vie en Rose plays through a tinny speaker. I tip back another tiny dixie cup of lukewarm water (why exactly do they call it a water cooler, anyways?) and wish for some new magazines.
They say it used to be a much quicker wait. There used to be countless obedient schoolchildren pleading on the behalf of folks like me. But of late the church has shied away from certain less glamorous points of theology, and now so few even think about us, let alone pray.
And now the unbaptized babies are crying again.
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