Mis. Er. Y.

Twice in the last week I have attended services at [local house of worship] and twice I have endured the searing agony that is The Reader. The Reader, I'm sure, is a very pleasant and amiable man. He has a cheery-looking wife and an important looking cell phone strapped to his belt at all times. Unfortunately for me- and everyone within hearing distance of [local house of worship]-  The Reader is the Absolute Worst Reader in the Entire History and Universe of People Who Read Out Loud. Worse than people who read the directions for the SAT, worse than President Bush, worse than my medieval lit class when we had to recite the first eleven lines of Beowulf in Old English. So bad that each minute my ears are forced to suffer the heinous public speaking crimes of The Reader,  my palms sweat, my head pounds, and my heart beats with painful intensity- a condition to which I'm already predisposed and I sincerely do not need The Reader escalating my situation.  For The Reader drives me blind with cacophonal craziness and I cannot breathe freely until he leaves the podium and peace is restored.

It's not obvious at first. The Reader is quite adept with big words. He speaks clearly. He raises his gaze from the text and makes eye contact with the congregation. He projects his voice. My high school debate coach would be proud.

Except for the fact that The Reader's own high school debate coach must have sat him down one afternoon and told him the words that would haunt all those in The Reader's wake for the rest of his life, "[Reader], are you trying to outrun a train with your mouth? For the love of God, SLOW DOWN! And do you know what this caused? The miserable wreck of Reading that this small statement inflicted on the World at Large?

Oh, Internet, save yourselves. Now we have The Reader turning ten-verse readings into the Passion while the entire congregation turns blue holding its collective breath each time he takes a pause. A pause is not a pause when The Reader is at his podium- it is a lifetime.

He waits until [local house of worship] is settled and silent before he stands- with excellent posture- and marches righteously towards the podium. Steps before he reaches it, he puts his hands behind his back, slightly bows his head and clenches his jaw. We the congregation, already bored, watch him ready himself in preparation. It is a small illustration of what is to come.

This.

Is the Word.

Of.

The Lord.

And then? It commences. Each space between words is given the full weight and solemnity of the Almighty Comma. The comma, in turn, is treated as a distinguished and respected Period. The period? You'll have time to draw several yoga breaths before The Reader gets to the next sentence. You will examine your nails, rummage around for your offering envelope, memorize the bulletin, and write a doctoral thesis on the popularity of the hymn On Eagle's Wings before the next verse begins.  And God help the congregation if The Reader reaches a semicolon.

It's as if The Reader repeats the "wise" words of his debate coach between every sentence. He adds an extra beat or two to every break, stretching his readings to nearly unbearable lengths. I'll give him credit for consistency, but every time a sentence ends, my muscles tense in expectation, waiting for him to begin the next one.  Instead of listening, I sit there anticipating each new pause and measuring them. The readings themselves aren't long or boring, but when infused with so much space, the focus switches from the Story to the Incredible Growing Gaps in the story. And Reader, O Olympic Champion of Slowing Down? YOU ARE CAUSING NEEDLESS SUFFERING AMONGST THE MASSES.

Tomorrow: the great moral profundity and shocking dearth of smartness in the Washington State educators basic skills test.