Somebody say Amen.

This actually happened July 29--but in the spirit of catching up, as well as puking on your shoes with a heck of a good story, here 'tis, straight from the pages of my journal;
*****
I went back to sing at the church where I was the alto section leader for the first time since I left at Easter. I must say that I enjoyed my return to church--once i actually GOT there (more in a moment): I sat and soaked up the sense of peace and spirit that permeated the place like a warm bath, felt refreshed and fulfilled after.

I was feeling a bit worn out--it had been a rough night, with a pair of brutal Macbeth rehearsals and coming home to find my poor dog had been sick all over the dining room floor, so I gave myself the gift of a lie-in and a bit of extra driving time which, I figured, would put me at church about fifteen minutes early.
Boy, was I wrong. As I crested the hill of Divisadero at 14th, traffic suddenly stopped dead. Figuring there had been an accident, I turned around and went up Duboce, thinking I'd drop down Masonic--but found a roadblock manned by a policeman. He informed me that I had managed to arrive at the exact wrong time--the San Francisco Marathon was coming through, and the ONLY way to get to the north end of the city was at Divisadero (unless I wished to somehow make my way all the way up to 19th Avenue, which would have taken half an hour or more). So, I crept back to the line of cars on Divisadero and waited. And waited. And waited. It took me (I'm NOT exaggerating) FORTY-FIVE MINUTES to go the block-and-a-half it took to get across Haight street.
And then, things went from 'severely fucked up' to 'downright surreal'.

I'd gotten to the point where I was about to have a meltdown--how could they block off the ENTIRE FUCKING CITY for a godddamn race?? A LEISURE ACTIVITY??!?!!? I was going to be LATE for WORK so a bunch of pretentious yuppie adrenaline junkies could show off their legs???? This was unbelievable!!! OUTRAGEOUS! WHO do I complain to about this???--when I crept abreast of two DPT officers, posted to keep people from driving where they shouldn't (as if any of us could move?). I rolled down the window and spoke to the nearest, an African-American woman with short blond hair, asking her how long it might take to cross Haight. She replied that it all depended: the police officers were only letting cars through in increments, in gaps in the runners--in other words, it could be two minutes or ten hours.....
Near to tears, I pleaded with her; "But I'm late for work! I have to get to church!"

She suddenly lit up, all smiles, and beamed at me sympathetically:
"Oh, THAT's Okay, honey! GOD knows where you are!"
(-!?-)
She leaned in and said, "Come on, we can just praise Jesus right here in your car!"
"I don't think you understand--"
"What's your favorite hymn, honey? We can sing it together! Come on now!" --and right there in the street, with the other officer singing harmony, they broke into a song of praise, while I (and, I'm sure, many others) looked on in open-mouthed disbelief. Oh evil meter maid (I'm sure they were thinking), are you MOCKING us????

The kicker was, they were GOOD. Really. Effing. GOOD. They sang on pitch, in perfect harmony and rhythm. Part of me wanted to scream at them,
"Don't you two have anything better to do--like go eat some of your YOUNG, maybe?"
--and part of me wanted to send them on ahead, in the little go-carts, to church--they'd surely make it before I did...

Eventually, the line moved, and I waved goodbye to the San Francisco Marathon Tabernacle Youth-Eating Choir, and the race, and zipped up Divisadero to where the Swedenborgians waited for me--only half an hour late. Fortunately, I survived the lack of rehearsal just fine, and had a great story to tell the other section leaders to boot.
See? It all worked out.
RM