fellowship dinner

Last night, we went with Mr. A’s dad to the free fellowship dinner at a local church.  Normally, I would have tried to weasel my way out of something like this, but we are having the floor replaced in our kitchen and have had no ability to cook.  After a week of no stove, I will accept any and all offers of warm, edible food that is not prepared in my living room.

I knew that the fellowship dinner was going to be awesome as soon as we walked in.  We were greeted by a rotund old dude wearing a Shriner’s shirt AND Shriner’s socks.

“What is your nationality?” he asked my FIL in that slow halting way of people who assume the listener does not speak English.  When he found out my FIL is Taiwanese he said “Ooohhhh, Neeee HOoooooww!”  ”Say Say!” and then some other phrase that must have been either Cantonese or some other language he was mistaking for Chinese.  Apparently he learned these Chinese phrases from some other (probably longsuffering) Chinese at the senior center.

FIL loves the free Fellowship dinner.  He told me he has “been recruiting” other old and disabled people from his subsidized apartment complex to go too.  They were quite a motley crew and my FIL seems to fit right in to their collective oddness.

Seeing him interacting with his “friends” was funny.  They all call him only by his last name (let’s say it is Chang, even though it isn’t.)  ”Oh, Chang told us about this dinner,” they said.  ”Chang is always so quiet.” “I have never been formally introduced to Chang, but he always says hello when he walks by.”

When I went to L to the bathroom, I walked smack into the boss of my ill-fated three day job from last summer.  The job I quit after three days…by leaving a message on her answering machine.   THAT was a bit awkward.  Fortunately, she is kind of older and I don’t think she could place where she recognized me from.  I think she thought she had seen me before at the fellowship dinner.

My FIL’s favorite part of the fellowship dinner is the fact that they let him take home a styrofoam box of leftovers when it is over.  I had to forbid Mr. A from taking some too, because there were many people there who needed leftovers more than us.  (This was clearly one of those times where Mr.A was clueless about appropriate behavior due to being raised by non-culturally American and/or somewhat crazy parents).

FIL was outraged that Mr. A didn’t take any leftovers.  After we walked home, FIL circled around and got another box of leftovers and brought it to our house.