Comedy And Tragedy On A Sunday.

A true story of tragedy, bad judgment, and mirth dredged from my past for your enjoyment.

When I was quite a bit younger, I lived in Massachusetts. My family
and I went to church in Boston. The congregation had grown way too
large to fit in the church building. So, the Sunday services were broken
up by area or held in the Boston Garden arena, back before it was
rebuilt. The services were held right there where the Celtics and Bruins
played. During hockey season mats were placed out on the ice and a
pulpit and sound system. We had to bundle up for church, the arena
was cold. Boston was cold. During basketball season they set up just
out of bounds at half court, just off the old hardwood floor on which
the Celtics played.

It was the era of Larry Bird and Kevin McHale. I could list the rest of
the lineup beloved by Bostonians but that is not the point of the story.
I was never eager to sit through another service. Putting it off, as long
as possible, I went downstairs to the McDonald's across the street.
On the way there, I saw something which, whenever I remember it,
makes me laugh to this day. It seems the McDonald's had gotten all
new uniforms, the Friday just before. They had made the mistake of
putting all of the old uniforms in the dumpster. This cache of valuable
warmth was promptly raided by all the local homeless.

So, when I walked out of The Garden, onto the street, I was confronted
with a sight that is making me weep with laughter as I write this. There
appeared to be gangs of extremely disheveled McDonald's employees
milling about the street, some pushing shopping carts filled with all
manner of junk.Some were waiting to get a little change from the
churchgoers, so they could get a Sunday morning cup of joe.

Now just so you know, I have been homeless. I'm not laughing at homeless
people here but, the comedy comes at least in some part from the
spectacle and in some part from the poor judgment of that McDonald's
management. I worked at McDonald's at the time, the scene was
particularly acute in my awareness.

Predictably, the comical appearance faded over time but, the reminders
were still apparent months later, for those who had the eyes to see, in
the appearance of a red and white, vertical striped shirt appearing here
or there amongst the homeless at The Garden.

This story is my own work, a story from my own life.
One cannot plagiarize oneself, this is impossibility.

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