Respect all, fear nun - part five
By Diana the Valkyrie
Handling our cracks



Is it always like this? Crisis after crisis, and I'm supposed to
guide the orphanage through a sea of troubles that threaten to sink
our skiff?

Apparently it is. Because no sooner had I handled a visit from
Satan himself, another disaster developed.

It was the terce prayer hour. We were all three of us in the gym;
the kids wee outside playing with their dogs. I was lying on my back,
doing reps with 500, when I noticed a crack in the ceiling that
looked like a jagged bolt of stylised lightning. When I finished
my set, I showed it to Nora and Mandy. My eyes followed the crack,
and the wall was also cracked.

"That looks bad," said Mandy. "Is the building falling down?" asked
Nora.  "I think we should treat the building a lot more gently until
further notice," I suggested. "So no more dropping the weights to
the floor; lower them gently."

"And we should pray," said Nora. "Of course," I said, "but we
should also get a good surveyor, to tell us whether this is nothing,
or very bad.

I went into Borchester to talk to Brian, our bank manager. Yes,
even if you have a vow of poverty, you need a bank account. Because
an orphanage needs to pay utility bills, taxes and all the other
costs that we have. Brian knew me well - perhaps too well - and I
wanted his advice.

"Fiona," he greeted, "lovely to see you." "Me too," I said, pulling
up my habit a bit in order to sit down, and show a bit of calf. I
know how to throw a bit of distraction around. "I think we're a
bit cracked.  Can you recommend a good surveyor?"

He processed this, discarded a possible funny remark, and recommended
a nearby outfit. "Thanks," I said, swishing the skirt of my habit
as I left.

I found the offices of the surveyors, Rogers Surveys. As I went
into the shop front, a bell tinkled, and a short, balding man
appeared. "Hi, I'm Roger Rogers, how can I help you?" His parents
had a sense of humour, and no sense of concern for their baby boy.

So I explained about the cracked ceiling and the cracked wall. "I'll
have to take a look," he said, and started to talk about fees.

Now I do know that people need to earn a living - I was once
in that position myself, back when I worked in a brothel. But
we're the "Poor Sisters of St Hilda" because we've taken a vow of
poverty. I explained that to him. "But," he said, do you get free
electricity?" I admitted that we didn't. "We're an orphanage and
we have charitable status. Could we get a discount?"

We haggled for a few minutes, and agreed on a price for him to
come round and have a look at our cracks. Stop snickering at the
back there. "OK," I said, "walk this way." and I swished out of
his shop and led the way to our orphanage.

I took him to our gym, where we'd first seen the cracks. Nora was
lying on her back, doing reps with 600 pounds, pushing the iron up
with her 26 inch arms until her triceps bulged with the effort,
then lowering it until it was only just clear of her breasts.
600 pounds is three 100 pound disks on each side. Most men wouldn't
be able to lift even one of those.

Roger stood, transfixed. He'd never seen a nun doing bench presses
before, he's never seen a woman with 26 inch biceps before and he'd
never seen a St Hilda's nun except me, and I was covered head to
toe in my habit.

He just stood there, paralysed with a mixture of respect and fear. He
was imagining what Nora could do to a man once he was helpless in
those huge arms.  And I thought, Gotcha!  I prophesy a discount.

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped straight up about
six inches.  "So what do you think about our cracks?" I asked. He
blushed bright red as he misunderstood my question, until I pointed
at the ceiling. "Oh. Yes," he said. "Those cracks."

He got close to the wall, and frowned. "Bad news, Sister
Fiona. That's subsidence. You need substantial building work." "Have
you met Sister Nora," I asked. Nora got off the bench, and came over
to meed Roger. She held out her hand, Roger did the same, and she
gripped and squeezed very lightly. His erection became very obvious.

"Nora," I said, "make sure Roger gets back to his office safely. And
talk to him about the possibility of him managing the building
repairs, pro bono."

Nora knew what I was thinking, and she obviously saw Roger's obvious
reaction to her body. "Come with me," she said, "I need to get
dressed, then we'll go to your office."

We're insured, of course. So I phoned up Sure-a-nun, the insurance
company, to tell them the bad news, and to get them ready for a big
payout. The agent told me that their policies specifically exclude
subsidence. "Heck and drat," I said, "Are you sure?" "Certain,
he said, "We're always careful to exclude things that actually
happen. Now, if a tree fell on your building ..." "Then what?"
"Then it would be negligence on your part for having an unstable
tree too near the building." I started to wonder why we bothered
to insure.


Read the rest of the story on https://www.amysconquest.com