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DAVID LESTER ART

Normal History Vol. 129: The Art Of David Lester

Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 27-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.

Another example of a person doing whatever they want while pretending to do something for me arrived as I was about to be wheeled off, flat on my back, to surgery. It was a Catholic hospital. I was alone. Waiting peacefully, thinking my thoughts, when a woman came along and started talking to me, like right up close, leaning on my bedside table. I saw the cross around her neck. Oh boy, here we go.

“I’m Sister Maria,” she said, flashing her PlayLand ride pass at me.

“So I see,” said I.

She wanted to know what I was in for, and as she muddled along, I assure you it was less than helpful, less than soothing. I wished very much that she hadn’t stopped by to talk, to ask me rhetorically, “Why do so many women get breast cancer?”

“I don’t have breast cancer,” I said.

Christ, her lack of tact was epic. What you might call bedside manner—literally non-existent. Filipina missionary, mid-50s.

She asked me quite a few questions, and as I talked about what I do for a living, I noticed that I was trying to make myself sound like a good person, while she was busy judging me. The East Indian guy who arrived to wheel me to the operating room came and left a couple of times, glancing at the sister, wondering how long she was going to hold things up. I tried to meet his eyes above his green mask, to say that I was ready, to please interrupt, to please notice that I was being held hostage by the sister and her selfish need to prattle at this juncture, when I was trying to stay calm and get through a bit of surgery. I wished the East Indian guy would say, “OK, Sister, we should get rolling along now.” Or something like that.

The sister told me again that she was Sister Maria, as if I wasn’t reacting properly enough to her presence.

“Did I mention that I am Sister Maria and this is a Catholic hospital?”

“Yes, I know,” I said pleasantly.

She asked me if I believed in the after life, and I told her no, I wasn’t that sort of person. She winced, and I said, “I wasn’t raised that way.”

Regretting that I’d just blamed my parents for something I was extremely thankful for. An abject lack of being subjected to religious dogma.

Sister Maria said, “Oh, so you don’t have anything at all going on in that head of yours?” Or something similarly condescending.

I said, “I have a philosophy about life that involves compassion, tolerance and treating people with kindness. In fact, it’s probably quite similar to what the bible teaches, but I don’t believe in life after death.”

The East Indian guy was kind enough to take the brakes off the gurney at this point, and the sister flipped her ride pass at me one more time, tangled up as it was with her cross on its silver chain. And as I was rolled out of the curtained room, she did something I consider cowardly, reprehensible and just plain rude.

When I could no longer see her, she put the palm of her hand on my forehead and held it there. Give me a fucking break, lady. I just told you, I am not one of you. I was very clear about that, and I even tolerated the insult about not having anything in my head. I told you I have a philosophy, something different to what you have, and yet you cannot respect that; you have the fucking nerve to weasel your hand onto my body to get your fucking thrills. Christ. Plus, I think it’s beyond rude to seek out people who are alone, without protectors, to get going on your trip. Talk about finding and exploiting the vulnerable. Trapped there, as I was. And she’s asking people going in for surgery whether or not they believed in life after death. Excuse me? Christ. All so she can get her superiority kick, after I already told her, very nicely, that I wasn’t a member of her cult, one based on fear, shame and guilt with its illogical indoctrination of people they seek to isolate, scare and intimidate, to save them from burning in a hell that even the Pope admits does not exist.