Imagine a busy restaurant on a Sunday afternoon, full of patrons and a busy kitchen that is running at breakneck speed. Now for the “Church Crowd”: twenty-five pious rollers who show up without a reservation and demand to be served right now. Warning: things don’t work out well.
In a fit of annoyance, our main character Kellie, also known online as @ambryrae, turned to TikTok to narrate this heavenly comedy.
Kellie depicts the mayhem in the dining hall in a graphic way in what has now gone viral. They reluctantly accept after warning the Church Crowd that there will be a one-hour delay. But this patience is about as durable as a police convention donut. Channeling the persistent energy of a boomerang that just won’t stay gone, one of the guests badgered her for updates.
When their ridiculously enormous table was finally ready, one of the self-styled saints mustered the courage to lament the absence of a private space. Because, you know, in case the church bus shows up unexpectedly, everyone carries an extra banquet hall. Huffy dissatisfaction greeted Kellie’s explanation that their modest restaurant didn’t accommodate to such big wishes.
However, there’s more. “How long is this going to take?” questioned one obstinate parishioner before their salads had even arrived at the table. Oh my goodness, perhaps not till you settle your hallowed seater and make your haloed order?
It’s not a joke that when their lunch eventually arrived, Kellie walked into a real-life game of musical chairs. If this group looked for a better metaphor, they were unable to come up with one. A man ordered collard greens as they traded seats. in an Italian eatery. Maybe they thought it was a multicultural food court?
As if things could get any crazier, Kellie heard a clamorous buildup from their table, complete with tambourines. It seemed that other tables were “in worship,” so they insisted on keeping it down during their spontaneous, instrument-filled worship session. Imagine that: a restaurant open to the public that uninvitedly becomes a church.
The cheque, a whopping $350 to be divided 25 ways, was the climax. Not surprisingly, a young member of the congregation was unable to pay his fair part. With a smile sweeter than sugarcoated pie, the pious squad leader requested Kellie to “bless” the young man by covering his dinner. Really? Financial exploitation meets supernatural intervention.
Kellie retorted with the outrageous notion that 25 people could all spare a few bucks—amazing, huh? The leader reluctantly paid, leaving a $50 gratuity along with a farewell shot. “Well, I would have left a larger tip if you hadn’t been charging us for his food.” Because there’s nothing that says Christian kindness like extorting hotel employees.
After the experience, Kellie began to doubt the church’s doctrine. You guys are some of the meanest, most cruel people we have ever had to serve, so I just wanted to know what you guys are learning in church, she thought to herself. A somber illustration of the hypocrisy that frequently hides behind the happy exteriors of the pious.
The worst part is that Kellie’s fix? Consider reporting members of the congregation who exhibit unholy behavior to their pastors. We may all now enjoy some drama surrounding the Sunday service.
How do you feel? Do the crowds in churches really get that bad? Share your ideas with us; we’d love to hear them!
