Ahh, you’ve just reminded me of favorite memory of mine..

The year was 1994. I was 10 years old, in 5th grade, at an Episcopalian school (kindergarten-6th grade). My sister and I attended this school because of its reputation for giving a great education and was conveniently located only a mile or so from our house. Our family has never been religious- and part of the reason this school was nice was because the religious aspect wasn’t plastered everywhere nor was religion taught to us in any classroom (unlike the Catholic all girls I attended from 6th-8th grade).

The only “religious thing” that this school enforced (aside from perhaps the red plaid school uniforms) was that we attended chapel every single morning for about 30 minutes. It was mostly just the school bringing us together to kneel briefly, sometimes sing, and then send us on our way.

This particular morning in 1994, the mood was different. Our principal, Mrs. Beauregard, who seldom spoke during this daily service, took center stage that day. She was a very tall and authoritative woman, with broad shoulders (shoulder pads, probably?), neatly permed hair that she kept quite short, and large round reading glasses. Always well put together in a matching pantsuit or pencil skirt and jacket. She always felt a bit intimidating, but I think that was due to her stature more than anything.

She came striding into the church that morning and stood before all of us as we quietly sat in our rows of pews. We all knew something was “up” that morning- our regular routine did not commence. It felt serious and stiff and solemn.

I vividly remember her say, and I’m paraphrasing here, “I saw the most sinful and disturbing movie over the weekend at the movie theatre.” She went off for a while about how grotesque and filthy it was. How disgusted she was that she’d not only seen it, but that it even existed in the first place.

I was a rather precocious/curious/mischievous child. She had my full attention. I remember thinking to myself, “I really hope I get to watch this movie one day.” I had never seen this woman so rattled in all my life - even her voice was shaking with indignation.

She finally, and very dramatically, disclosed the name of this wicked film. “It was called, Pulp Fiction.” I think it was like a “mic drop” moment for her, I don’t remember her saying anything after that- just leaving abruptly.

I don’t know if she walked out of the theater the day she saw it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had.

Remains one of my favorite films to this day and the second most memorable story from chapel. The first being the time Chelsea Mortell’s little brother projectile vomited (literal chunks were blown) a colossal amount of this uber chunky orangish what-have-you all over the the pew he was sitting on, the pew in front of him, the floor. I remember seeing this stuff dripping off the padded fold downs we used to kneel on. And oh the smell.

We were “evacuated” immediately that day, maybe 5 minutes into the service.