The Nunnery

         “THINK ALEX, WHY DON’T YOU THINK BEFORE YOU SAY SOMETHING?!?”

         This has been the lament of my wife for well over 18 years now.  However, she’s off base as it is not my inability to think that gets me in trouble, it is my inability to discriminate.  My impaired ability to self edit results in me saying something for effect, or thinking out loud because I think my thoughts are actually funny.  Unfortunately, others will find these statements funny more often than not, which keeps me going and doing the same type of thing.  It’s a vicious cycle that continues to frustrate my wife to the point where she has started tuning me out.  Sometimes this is true and the comments are funny, and sometimes heeding my wife’s advice is exactly what I should be doing even though I choose not.  There are many times that I am able to keep my ‘precious’ thoughts to myself and those are usually cases of self preservation, or other moments where speaking would be costly in some way.

         From a Freudian perspective, my ability to keep my mouth shut, keep my eyes to myself, or just keep any verbal or nonverbal reactions to myself is clearly relegated to the Ego and Superego part of my brain.  The ego is a reality based component and the superego encompasses one moral center.  According to Freud, it is the Id which is that part which knows little boundaries, besides those instinctually bred in a person, such as fight or flight instinct, or one’s basic survival instincts for food, water, and (according to that wacky guy Freud) sex.  The Id is the first part of the brain that develops in humans; it is selfish and needs immediate gratification of its desires.  The Id is that part of ourselves we sometimes fight in the morning as we struggle to find the motivation to get to work.  It is the repression of this aspect of me that is woefully underdeveloped. 

         A good example of self preservation occurred recently when I was teaching at a Nunnery, or more commonly known as a Convent.  This Convent also served as a retreat.  The retreat center was a large building nestled in the southern end of a Women’s Catholic college campus.  The retreat center is a very large building, three stories high, with a chapel at one end and housing and facilities in the rest of the building.  The retreat center is of course run by nuns, and once you enter you do have the feel that you are in for a relaxing time.  There isn’t much in the way of technology, except for one television with cable access in the lounge area.  The walls are painted cinderblock, and the furnishings are an accumulation of (mostly) less than comfortable furniture from the late 1970’s.    There’s a quiet nature to the place, I quiet nature with conditions attached to it I came to find out.

         For the most part these nuns are really nice, well mannered people, and are a fascinating group to get to know for many reasons (like the whole not having sex the rest of your life thing just fascinates me, but I know not to ask that question out of fear of eternal damnation, should that exist).  However, some nuns are really nasty, nasty people, and of course I attribute this to the whole not having sex for the rest of your life thing.  Anyway, I ran into a really nasty Sister, Sister Nasty McMeany, and we’ll call her order ‘Sisters of the Caustic Cloth’.  Sister McMeany is really a classic representation of what you would think of a Nun; sans the habit.  She was in her 60’s, white hair, short and naturally curly.  She was overweight, not the “I can’t get up from the couch because the fabric is now part of my body” fat, but noticeably overweight that you commonly see in many people as they age.  It’s hard to tell if she experiences joy, though my situation with her tells me she’s not a fun loving, lighthearted person who enjoys a good laugh.

         The whole Nun incident started with my usual routine before I go into teach, where I grab some cold carbonated caffeine as it sets me in motion.  I view teaching akin to entertaining, except the audience actually has to learn something too.  So teaching to me is just a way of honing my stand-up act while telling people about the latest theories of counseling, or best practice ethical standards.  Caffeine helps me get into the mindset of having to stand in front of a crowd and keep their attention for the next 3-6 hours.  The conference I was teaching at was an extended residential learning experience; what is known as immersion training.  This means that all students and teachers live at the retreat for the entire week; shower in common showers with the men located on the 2nd floor and the women on the 3rd.  The Nun’s were also located on the 3rd floor, with residing in a private section of the floor.  Due to the fact that I had to live there for 1 week, I had bought all the caffeine I needed, and put it in a refrigerator, located in one of the meeting rooms not being used (at the time I put it in there it wasn’t being used).

         This immersion training consisted of 30 students, all of which were training to be certified or licensed as drug/alcohol counselors.  It also consisted of three main trainers; me and two other teachers.  I was about to start class and I needed to get into the room were I stored my coke.  As I looked into what used to be my vacant room, I could see people meeting.  I could see that the meeting was full of women, approximately six altogether.  I assumed it was some type of Nun meeting, maybe discussing the latest issue of the choir, or discussing some fundraising they were planning.  Now that I look back I strongly feel the discussion was efficacy rates of various corporal punishments and discussions of ruler vs. skin thickness, and levels of redness and irritation which will signal an end of the ‘lesson’.  However, in the moment I felt safe entering, they’re Nuns after all.  More importantly, I needed that coke, and decisive action was needed. 

         I entered the room by knocking on the door as I opened it, then apologizing upon entering and telling the participants I would be right out their way, and then apologizing again as I left (genuflecting and bowing appropriately through the entire procedure, not too much you see, as Nuns are keen on sarcasm).  This incident took no longer than 10 seconds from knocking/entering, apologizing, genuflecting to leaving.  I then went directly into my classroom, and started up my lecture by passing out PowerPoint handouts … not yet realizing the true wrath I was about to incur.  Others had noticed her entrance into the room before I did, because I was busy handing out things and was also going over the lecture in my head.  As I was leaning over to answer a student’s question, Sister McMeany made her presence known to all.

         “YOU INTERRUPTED OUR MEETING!”

         At this point I looked around, honestly thinking she must be addressing somebody else, it didn’t take long for me to realize this comment was directed at me.  Since I didn’t pay homage to her powerful presence enough, she decided (for dramatic effect I think) to repeat that last statement, but say it slower and louder than she did the first time.  She also decided to add content that was supposed to clue me on the true scope and nature of my crime.

         “You interrupted our leadership meeting!”

         I’m still assessing the situation, I’m noticing the student’s reactions and taking in what the heck she is saying to me, first thought that popped into my mind was “Wow, you guys have a steering committee? I kind of assumed God steered you and all.”

         However, I what I think and what I say are actually sometimes different.

         “I’m sorry Sister”. 

         Heck I just wanted this thing to end, and figured humility and the ability to repent were the keys to my quick exit of this situation, you know turn the other cheek, love thy neighbor, be humble, apologize, move on.  Nope … she wasn’t done with me.

         “You went into the room and you didn’t even knock!” using the same tone as before and raising the level of anger ever so slightly. 

         At this point, I found myself moving one hand over the other in order to protect against a potentially unprovoked ruler attack.  I’m not even Catholic and yet that was as instinctive a response as moving your hand off a very hot surface.  I actually didn’t realize I did it until processing the event afterwards, but it did occur.  That’s the power that the Nuns in the Nunnery possess; the power of fear. I wondered to myself if God intended it to be that way?

         She had this annoying way of adding one new fact with each damning and shame filled hate statement thrown at me.  This of course was done to drag out the verbal lashing and it was her hope that this public verbal flogging would be supported by the people in the room and I, the perpetrator, would be riddled with shame, guilt and remorse.

         That last statement she made was technically not true, technically I knocked as I opened the door, which is fruitless when you think about, because I’m saying, “I’m going to pretend to be polite, but I’m getting my soda dear Sisters, excuse me, hail Mary, praise Jesus, etc.”  So if you want to argue this from a technical point of view, technically I did knock, just not up to her standard for door knocking, that I’m sure of. 

         This is where my Id enters the picture.  My Id is that inner voice that thinks of most of my funny material, but this comes at a cost.  The material must be played, usually immediately.  Sometimes my Id doesn’t directly give me material, but acts more as my brain’s ‘Buckingham Palace Guard Dog’.

         “You should debate her!” decried my Id, “You did knock, you followed my directions and knocked as you entered because you didn’t want to take no for an answer, tell the old broad that!”

         “The ‘old broad’ is a Bride of Christ” I silently replied back to my Id.

         These were the things were going through my mind, but did I say any of them?

         “I’m sorry Sister.”

         “I’m sorry Sister, I’m sorry Sister” mocked my Id in a whiny, demeaning voice reminiscent of the famous scene in ‘The Godfather’, “You can act like a man!”  My Id can get pretty nasty if his needs aren’t being met, and I’m doing my best not to meet them.

         “You cannot disrespect this meeting and come in as you please, this is the leadership meeting of the Sisters of the Caustic Cloth, and it will not be disturbed again!”

         We’ve clearly established this as a fact I think.  It is not in dispute that I came into the meeting, it is also pretty darned obvious that you didn’t approve of such.  There’s no need to beat a dead horse here, unless one’s aim is to shame and humiliate, which in this case it’s a sure bet that’s what she’s doing.  At first I started feeling sorry for the millions of Catholic School raised children across the world, but quickly my Id interrupted with how I should respond.

         “Hey Sister you’re filibustering, and quite frankly I’ve got 17 black women in this group of 30, who really look like they want to take you out back and kick your ass right now, so maybe you better check yourself,” retorted my Id. 

         So now my Id’s getting more upset, it’s riling me up and I’m getting pissed and quite frankly, getting black.  I’m also really struggling not to say anything here.  Part of things I love about different cultures are the strengths each culture brings, and I tend to emulate those strengths during different times of my life, which in this case, is the ‘get in your face’ style of a good strong African American woman with attitude.  So this is now what’s going on in my mind, and of course, what comes out?

         “Please forgive me sister.”

         “You big pussy!” taunts my Id.

         “Shut Up!” I retort back “It’s a Bride of Christ for Christ’s sake, an ugly fat one, but a bride nonetheless.”

         “You will not interrupt this meeting again and you will move your drinks to another refrigerator!”

         She’s unrelenting this one is.  Now all that came to my mind at this point was to get back at her with her own beliefs, which was to say “Sister, even Jesus forgave, can you?”  It took all my might not to make that comment.  One reason was I thought it was kind of funny, and heaven forbid I let a good joke go to waste, I won’t hear the end of it. My main reason I didn’t say it was that I really thought if I did, the comment might make Sister McMeany so mad that she would kick the entire group out of the Nunnery.

         “It won’t happen again Sister.”

         “I’M SURE IT WON’T,” and I think she finally decided that this was a sufficient public flogging for a first time offender, because she finally turned and left.

         However, the destruction she left in her wake was palpable.  There I was, a crumbled man, now expected to teach for three hours after the caustic winds of change just came in and ran willy nilly throughout the room.  You could see the Sister’s impact didn’t end with me.  Every person in that room was impacted by the diatribe that just occurred.  Each impact was different depending on the particular person’s childhood experiences with a hate filled, screaming authority figures.  My fellow teacher was in the room for the whole thing, and I eased my way over to her while I tried to figure out what to do next.  The Sister did her job with me as I was rattled and filled with inappropriate Catholic guilt for the first time in my life.  My coworker is an accomplished psychologist with a calming way about her that makes her an exceptional therapist and teacher.  She was also raised Catholic, brought up in private Catholic schooling, and was willing to help me through this event as only a skilled Catholic therapist could.

         “That witch was way out of line Alex; totally uncalled for” she whispered to me.

         It was exactly what I needed to hear, totally not what I expected from this ultra smooth professional, and kicked me right back into gear.

         The next thing was my need to get the class kicked back into gear the same way, but without being disrespectful.  They were watching; hell I’m the teacher, so of course they’re watching, but they were really watching right now.  You could tell some were angered, some shocked, some totally self absorbed and engrossed in whatever memory the dear Sister triggered for them.  I could tell many wanted to process this event, and the anger that would ensue from these discussions would be hard to control and were bound to get as inappropriate as Sister McMeany got with me.

         “We’re going to get started” I said to the class as I worked my way to the front of the class.  This snapped the remaining few back into the present and now they were all looking to me for a discussion on this.  I’m in a room with 32 counselors, so you know they wanted to process their feelings, talk about this great injustice that just occurred, or maybe wanted to echo the sentiments of Sister McMeany, who knows.  One thing I did know was that with a room full of therapists, we could have processed that thing all day and not gotten to any of the lecture.  Understand that therapists are trained talkers; actually we double major in school, in talking and listening.  That was not a possibility in my mind as I am a teacher and I need to teach.  I also need to get them past this event and move on to what they’re all here for … training.

         So I decided to go for a non verbal conclusion to this.  As I approached the front of the class I searched for the one thing in the room that was not impacted by what just happened, my coke.  I gestured to the class as if I was about to talk … pausing; then held my hand showing that I’ll be with them right after this.  I then reached for my coke and took a dramatic, elongated swig of it.  I did it like you see an athlete do on a coke commercial, after playing a long game, all sweaty.  I arched my head back as I drank the coke, with the elbow of my arm holding the coke pointed to the ceiling, and I slowly drained the thing that led me into the room and brought the Sister out.

         The class immediately started laughing, and then they broke out in applause, immediately embracing my (belated) show of arrogance and rebellion.  Their applause was louder and longer than I expected, and I know part of it was for my gesture, my answer to their unstated questions and comments, and part was for Sister McMeany to hear their own non verbal responses.  It was obvious then, that thing she intended to do, to instill fear, guilt and shame did not have the impact she intended.  This is the way it is with most tyrants, they breed the exact thing their trying to squash.

         This non verbal bonding event got me what I wanted, a brief ending to this encounter and the ability to move on, and it also brought the class together as they now had a common enemy to rally against.  I was also able to use this incident throughout the week as a running joke in my lecture material, which really helped me get my information across while being able to laugh while doing so.

         The last thing I told the Sister before she left the room was it wouldn’t happen again, but it did happen again and only a day later.  I was mindlessly walking towards the classroom area, made a quick left to grab my soda (which I didn’t move, because I also suffer from Oppositional Defiant Disorder), and froze in my steps after slightly opening the door.  There they all were the leadership group, meeting again, turning slowly to see the infidel as though I was defying Christ Himself! Quickly I shut the door, turned and sprinted down the hall, hiding in the stairway hoping they didn’t follow.  I don’t know if she pursued me down the hall because I didn’t give her the chance to find me.  I quickly moved from the stairway into the basement men’s room, figuring that was my only sanctuary, and I hid for a while.  Fortunately for me I didn’t have to teach that morning … and I did have to go to the bathroom, so it was time well spent.  Many students saw me running at full sprint speed down the hall and out of site, and again it allowed for a humorous continuation of the situation.  It also showed everyone, including myself, that my ‘arrogance’ and ‘rebellious’ convictions of yesterday ran about as deep as my empty can of coke.  But I didn’t care, I was running for it.  I’m just trying to be funny, not suicidal.

         So now I’ve procured an adopted case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with Catholic Nuns (born and raised Methodist, I had no experience with Nuns besides watching reruns of ‘The Flying Nun’ on TV as a young child).  There’s something about Nuns though, I mean look what happened the very next day, I went running for the hills, literally, and I’m not even Catholic! 

         My biggest accomplishment in that situation was that I was actually able to hold my own, not listen to that inner voice that said “ooooh that would be really funny right now”, and shut the heck up.  I’m not sure if this is the world’s greatest example of me being able to keep my mouth shut because it was the wrath of God, or at least a Bride of Christ, that enabled me to keep my mouth shut. 

         Later during that same week I stared at a picture of the founder of the order, Mother Caustic, and I bet she would have not let me off as easy by looking at her picture.  She would have hunted me down in the bathroom, and had me publicly flogged by the looks of her.  She had a mean look on her face, and in the picture she only had her face and hands visible, as the rest of her was covered with her habit.  I had to look closer to realize that she actually held a ruler in hand for this picture.  She didn’t look happy in the picture, as a matter of fact it looked as if it was snapped just as somebody off to the left had done something worth breaking out the ruler for.  I could tell by her picture that many a strong man had buckled under her rule.  I then got goose-chills and had to leave the picture.  I have taught at this institution each year for the past 2 years, and I’m going back later this year, God willing.  As the time gets closer to going back to teach each successive year, an involuntary twitch develops in my right eye.  I’d like to believe God didn’t intend this type of actions/reactions in His name but my brief experiences at Nunnery makes me wonder.