He does his best every day to keep the air conditioning running and the sinks flowing in your church. He’s a reliable and beautiful man who faithfully stocks the fridge with mustard and sings delightful, high-pitched melodies throughout the empty sanctuary on the Sabbath to prepare the pews for “The Big Day of Sitting Saints.”
Rick’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong. But he flushes all your pens down the toilet.
Rick smells of rich mahogany and has the hands of a British meat salesman. He removes and cleans each individual shingle once a month and places thousands of mouse traps inside the piano to “keep ‘Cheesy Ken’ from eating up all the piano parts.” For the most part, what you see is what you get with ol’ Rick.
He’s very “normal” and “down to earth.” He has that “Southern Charm.”
Well, except for the part where he sneaks into the office, stuffs a wad of pens into a plastic bag, walks into the men’s bathroom, and flushes six of those ink-sloppers down the John at a time while whistling delightful Irish melodies.
Really, Rick seems cool. But he’s a total thorn in your side.
