The Collapse

Ah. The United States of America.

This post will be a short one. Actually, that may be a lie. There are a lot of wonderful stories to tell from the past few days. I didn’t get to write anything while I was down there, and I’ll be busy the next few days. But stories will be coming.

There are a few things I won’t be telling, however.

I won’t tell you about what happened in the middle of the afternoon service on Sunday. It was two hours in, and the first preacher was delivering his heart to the congregation.

I can’t divulge the details of how, in the middle of his sermon, the plastic chair I occupied finally decided it couldn’t take any more.

The chair was accustomed to the average height and weight of your usual, everyday Mexican sitting on it.

I am not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill American, much less Mexican.

Five seconds before the chair imploded underneath my not-so-average height and weight composition, it felt as if someone was pushing the chair down.

Before I realized the problem was me, my thoughts were, “One of these guys behind me is pushing down really hard on this chair.”

Then, the point of impact occurred, and I found myself completely parallel to the floor. Within two seconds, I jumped and turned around.

I realized that I was the problem. It was me. No one else had been touching the chair. The water bottles I had been guzzling had been shot out into the aisle near the platform. So I went to gather them while a precious, short, skinny young man gave me his much sturdier metal chair.

After the explosion of plastic and metal, the preacher looked down at me, said, “Oí,” and kept preaching. A man sitting behind me leaned forward and, in a heavy Spanish accent, asked in broken English, “Ever-ting good, Señor?”

And that was it. Not one single person in the entire building laughed. Not one.

They were as solemn as if they were attending a funeral service of their dearly departed. And no one ever said a word about it.

And that’s when I realized those people are much better than I will ever be.

If that happened to someone else, I would have been doubled over with fits of laughter. And I would’ve wished I had gotten a video.

And later, during the afternoon meal, I sat down in another plastic chair because I didn’t see any metal ones. Immediately, a man got up, rushed over to me and said, “No, no, no Señor!” As he shook his finger at me. He went and found me a metal chair to sit in.

So anyway, I can’t tell you that story. But I wish I could. Maybe someday I’ll feel comfortable enough to share it.

Until then, I’ll just say it was quite the spectacle. And I may need to eat less.

to all the plastic chairs I will never trust,
– Caleb