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Atheist Life Hacks: How To Lunch With Old Mormons

TGIF sinners! Every Friday, I’m going to give you a life hack for the damned. Here’s the first instalment.

For this life hack, you will need:

  1. A mormon boss.

  2. 40 other mormons lunching.

  3. A complete lack of belief in god.

  4. A smart phone with good volume.

  5. Atheist friends to text.

  6. A well-timed prayer.

I used to work for a Mormon. Take a moment, let that sink in because it gets worse. I was one of his directors, whom he liked to try and make his bitches, so I worked with him closely.

Every day.

For far too long.

One day, my Moroni-worshipping boss asked me to accompany him to a lunch event. He said it was for business networking purposes and to invite some of his connections to an event we were very busy planning. You may have guessed already, this is my favourite fucking thing in the world. Lunch dates with stuffy old mormon men and their business connections. Fuck yes. Fuck. Yes.


Oh Fuck Yes


I tried to remain professional and contain my excitement while I told my boss I’d be happy to join him and off we went, giddy as all hell (no holy).

The event was about 10 tables with 4 people each. Looking around, I had started to recognize faces. Faces I’d become familiar with as members of his church. My heart started to race as I wondered if this was it; if they’d finally decided to take me as their blood sacrifice to Joseph Smith.

In the wise words of one frosted, albino thug:

palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. My boss knew I was an atheist. I told him in my interview to get the job. Why was I the only atheist in a room of old Mormon men? Was he going to try and sell me off as one of these old farts’ sister wives? Was I being promoted to director of pot hole repairs in Bountiful, BC?

When we sat at our table, an older man and what appeared to be his wife sat with us. This made me pretty sure I was about to be abducted, kept in a cellar and brainwashed until I emerged from the dungeon ready to accept Wednesday nights as mine to dry hump our shared husband through magic underwear. I started to imagine if it would be comfortable to wear every day, and how hot it gets in Bountiful. Can you even get beer in Bountiful? Can you hide it in magic underwear so the other jeebots don’t know I have it and burn me at the stake? I didn’t think I would make it through the first day there. Worse, maybe he’d send me to Utah. I shuddered.

But alas, it was all just regular, expected, Godless Mom paranoia. I knew this, because suddenly my 70 year old boss introduced me as a 7th day adventist. He’d mixed up my atheism with another director’s seventh day adventism and thought he was bringing someone who, at the very least, was saved by christ.

I corrected him right there at the table.

“No, that’s Jane Doe. I’m an atheist.” (Names have been changed to protect the innocent. The Seventh Day Adventist remains, to this day, one of the coolest people I’ve ever known.)

A swirling vortex of silence encapsulated my body right then, as I felt 40 pairs of blue eyes try to kill me with thoughts.

Silence. Absolute. Perfect. Silence.

It just seemed to go on forever. You know in those slapstick comedy movies, where they use a dramatic pause, but they make it go on too long to make it comedic? Yeah, it went on so long it started to feel like comic schtick. I wanted to punch my boss lightly in the arm and say, “Kidding! Atheist? Me? LULZ” just because the moment felt like it was begging for a fucking punchline.

But I didn’t. I started to snicker a little instead. Anyone who knows anything the fuck at all about me, knows that I cannot contain laughter. I laugh at everything. Good jokes, bad jokes, your jokes, her jokes, bodily functions, swearing, uncomfortable shit, and most fucking importantly, religious stuff. I laugh at it and I do not do it to be disrespectful. I simply cannot help myself.

So, I started to snicker. Inside, my brain is yelling, “shut up! you idiot! praise jesus or something. anything! not this! anything but this!” and on the outside, I was snickering like a smug, careless asshole.


Laughing like an asshole.


I was so busy worrying about my own behaviour, though, that I missed my boss say something.

“Pardon me?” I needed him to repeat himself.

“We’ll make a believer out of you, yet!”

Motherfucker!

I mean, you expect this shit from Mormons, being as they’re like the fucking Borg, just roaming space trying to usurp souls for their jeebot farm. But it still pissed me off.

I sat down steaming. I can’t fucking stand it when people think they’re doing you a favour by trying to get you to believe their twisted bullshit.

It came time for lunch, and, as expected, before eating, the jeebot army had to pray. I made a point of pulling out my phone with the sound on and texting every atheist I knew about what I was being forced to endure for the sake of my job.

Click, click, click, click. Typing angrily on full volume as some silver-haired asshole thanked a goddamned (no holy) ghost for the egg salad sandwich on his plate.

I started to mutter under my breath. My boss began to look at me and  scrunch up his face as if to say, “not here, not now”. He was probably right, but fuck him.

This wouldn’t be a story about Godless Mom, if I’d stood down. Besides, I was in the middle of organizing a major event and he needed me more than I needed him. My job was safe and sound.

I ignored him. He started to call my name under his breath. The prayer went on. I kept typing loudly. He said my name louder. I kept typing. This went on for a minute or so, until finally the prayer ended. My boss, however, had not noticed. He finally exclaimed to me in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear once the prayer stopped,

“You don’t need to believe in Jesus. Just put the phone down.”

And with that, all eyes turned to him, as he panicked, most likely terrified he would be excommunicated from the magic undies club.


The coolest kids in the magic undies club.


For the record, I got a raise after that.

And that, my fellow heathens, is how you handle lunch with 40 morons. I mean Mormons.

How do you handle it when you find yourself amongst people praying? Have you ever had to work for a super religious person? How did you find it?

#mormons

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