The name is an anagram
I went on vacation and when I got back my roommate told me a story. Our bathroom ceiling, the one that leaks, leaked all over the floor one night. The predictable uproar commenced, and Gloria called in the plumber. He did exactly what he did the last time she called him: he poked at our pipes and the pipes of our upstairs neighbor, and then he said he couldn't find a thing. My roommate suggested that maybe Gloria should get a new plumber.
"Oh no, miss," she said, her eyes shining in the dim light of the hallway. "There is something special about this plumber."
"She said it like she had a big trump card," explained my roommate later, "like there was something she was about to say that would change everything I felt about the plumber, something so obviously important that I couldn't possibly argue with it."
"This plumber," said Gloria, "he is also a priest!"
When we moved in, I made lots of Rosemary's Baby jokes. It's still the scariest movie I've ever seen (though perhaps because the last time I saw it was on a date with a guy who chose the "congress with the devil" scene as a good time to try to unzip my pants). If nothing else, comparing our place to the movie allowed me to romanticize New York; look at us in our Brooklyn Dakota! And Gloria does look a bit like Bea Arthur in the movie. But my roommate got creeped out and asked me to please stop, and then I managed to scare myself thinking about our long hallway in the middle of the night, and now I try to reference our apartment as the scene of a horror movie as rarely as possible.
So I guess it's good that the power of god is on our side. I'll try not to wonder about what sort of priest makes a living as a mediocre plumber, and next time the pipes break, I'll see if he can exorcise them.
As for my roommate, she wins the snappy response award. "The plumber is priest!" said Gloria.
"Yeah, well, I'm an atheist," said LP.