And sometimes the answer is: “Let me talk to my manager and get back to you.” “Really,” the caller is saying, “I’ve been donating to the church for years. Going every Sunday. He wanted that. He wanted us to get married there. It’s legal now. Honestly, I expected better service, but I think persuading him to come home is the least you can do at this point.” The client’s voice shakes a little with frustration. “Amen,” he adds. “I understand your frustration,” I say. “I really do understand, and I appreciate your patience, Mr. Rimington-Pounder.” Across the desk, Grem, my cubicle buddy, collapses in a fit of silent laughter. Gremory is a demon, so he’s allowed to laugh at the unfortunate, including the unfortunately-named. I try to explain to Mr. Rimington-Pounder, as gently as possible, that prayer is not a vending machine, where you pop in a certain amount of devotion and miracles drop into your hands. “Is there—” the client moistens his lips. “Is there someone higher up the chain I can talk to?”
What do You think about Your Orisons May Be Recorded?
