I’ve worked as a chapel assistant on weekends, and some random weekdays, since July. It’s a perfectly ambiguous title, because it sounds as though I should be assisting the couples getting wed or the families christening their babies, but in reality I work for the chapel. I turn the lights on, set the temperature, make sure it’s clean and that it stays that way. I see the patrons as they come and go (speaking of Michelangelo), cleaning up any remnants of their ceremonies and pocketing my own sometimes practical, sometimes funny keepsakes. I rarely get a chance to have an intimate interaction with the chapel’s guests.
Wooden hangers, lint rollers, ring boxes from Jared’s, a revised wedding day version of “Oh, The Places You’ll Go!”, a program that specifies a Boyz II Men song will play at the end of a wedding ceremony and a few good stories.
There was a young couple—probably no more than two years older than me—who quietly stared in opposite directions for a few minutes before the newlywed bride finally said: “So, can I get a ride with you to the reception?”
It was like watching Michael Cera play a groom AND a bride in an indie comedy. I sincerely enjoyed their awkwardness.
I can’t imagine the other awkward phrases that will be exchanged between those two and for that I thank God.
This next one is the type of story you always hope to hear but are always kind of afraid to tell for fear you’ll mangle it:
The couple had lived in Lawrence their entire lives and had attended rival high schools.
They both went to KU.
They both were in the School of Fine Arts—he was a Music Comp. major and she was Music Theory.
They were probably in the same place at the same time many, many times but they never met—at least, not until their junior year.
They met at Kohl’s.
She was working and he was returning something.
He left with her number and now they teach music in Texas.