Worst Usher Ever
My cousin David got married today. It was a nice wedding at a small church in Merrillville, not far from 61st and Taft. I was a designated usher, but not a very good one. It was partially my job to pull the runner down the aisle before the bride made her appearance. I was told at last night’s rehearsal to pull out the runner before the bridal party walked down the aisle, and I was about to do so while they were lining up, but they told me not to do it until the bride came. I didn’t have any ushers at my own wedding, I don’t know any better, so I went along with them.
It was yet to be seen how little I actually did know about the responsibilities of ushers. I’ve never pulled a runner down the aisle before, and it hadn’t occurred to me that I was doing it ass backwards until I got all the way down the aisle with it. I was unrolling it like toilet paper, walking backwards down the aisle with a stream of paper behind me. When I reached the end of the aisle, I just put the paper down. It wasn’t until I was at the end of the aisle that I realized that there was a better, most likely more appropriate, way of handling this. I was fairly embarrassed by this time, and managed a thankful little nod to Dave before I scurried to the back of the church.
The reception was at the Elks Lodge in Hobart, off of 61st again. Someone needs a punch in the nose for making me go back to Hobart, as I see that place as the center of all that was bad in my developing years. At least the rented tux fit well, and the shoes were more comfortable than rented shoes have any right to be. I didn’t mind wearing the shoes during the reception at all (rented shoes usually kill my ankles). Chrissy and I left Aiden with Grandma during the reception, and we missed him. But there was an open bar, and my nephew Dylon entertained us with his dancing all night.
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