I’m open about my beliefs, always have been. In high school, though it was a Catholic school, our mascot was the Viking. My principal got a kick out of me because I was the only Scandinavian there. “There she is!” he’d shout in the hallway. “Our actual Viking!”
“Hail Odhinn!” I’d reply, loudly.
“Stop that!” he’d say, lest one of the priests or nuns overhear me.
I have a horn-shaped coffee mug, because of course I do. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence to see me wandering the halls of the funeral home, raising the horn with an enthusiastic round of “Hail the dead! Hail the fallen!” My Mennonite boss would only roll his eyes and sigh.
I’ve been lucky in my life to work with and for people who accept my beliefs. I’ve never had any push back or negativity, people just accept it as who I am and how I live, even if I tend to be a little tongue-in-cheek with it.
This morning, however, I did have a little bit of push back, but it didn’t bother me none. Bothered Loki, though, just enough to prove a point. One of the managers came to me with “a mission from God.” My knee jerk response? “Which god?”
“Mmmmmm, Loki, since you seem to like him. He can be a god for today.”
“He’s always a god. What do you need done?”
He rolled his eyes, and gave me instructions. I followed them to a tee, but something borked up in the process.We got it resolved, and with a heavy sarcastic tone, he said, “Praise Loki.”
“Careful with that, dude,” I said.
Five minutes later, he comes slinking back to my desk. “I, uh, I have to leave for a bit. My son’s school is being evacuated for a gas leak.”
Thirty-odd minutes pass, and he returns with his tail between his legs, two children in tow. I grinned and shook my finger at him. “Told you to be careful. Can’t say you weren’t warned.”
“Yeah, I know.”
You don’t have to believe in someone/something in order for it to exist. You also don’t have to honor something just because it does exist. Just don’t be an ass about it. And for the love of all the gods, don’t mock the God of Mischief unless you don’t mind having your children hang around with you at work.
I don’t care if someone is flippant about the path I follow or the gods I honor. Doesn’t affect me one way or the other. But if you’re going to be sarcastic about a sarcastic god, just don’t be surprised when he pays attention. The twerp’s fluent in sarcasm, and he’ll respond in kind if the mood strikes.
I can safely deal with him in a sardonic tone because I keep him flush in coffee and donuts. My wry expression is one of adoration. Mock him because you think he’s a joke? Enjoy your spontaneous “Take Your Children to Work Day!”
And as I was writing, he just came back over to my desk all hangdog-like and said, “I didn’t mean to be sarcastic about Loki.” Peace be with you, man. Peace be with you.
One thought on “Sarcasm is His Language”
Great story. Yes indeed, a little respect goes a long way.