"Are you Christian?..." Part One

So I'm outside having a smoke during work Saturday and a small Asian woman walks up to me and asks "Are you Christian?".

Anyone who's had this experience before knows what's coming next. For one, I'm sitting on a wall with my feet on the bench under me in the middle of the afternoon having a cig, chances are that no, I'm not Christian. I guess this makes me a 'potential save-ee'.

I politely but firmly reply that no, I am not a Christian. She asks me if I listen to Christian Radio--specifically pointing out 107.9 FM from a list that, judging by the fluency with which it was written, was given to her as a sort of fundamentalist 'Talking Points' memo. Well, not being a Christian, no I don't listen to Christian Radio. I listen to godless heathen music or sports-talk or really it's none of your business.

Actually I just say no I listen to music thank you as she continues to blabber on about how nice the radio station is and salvation and all that as I continue to just say "Stop"and "No". She says ok but she's going to pray for me. Well, on some humanistic Thinking of Others level I can appreciate that and I say so.

I guess since we've shared this moment of polite disagreement and recognition of other ideas, she has to turn around and ruin it by pointing out that smoking is a sin (? News to me...) and the long-term harmful sexual side-effects of it. Wow. That's exactly where she went.

I am proud to say I didn't fully lose my temper ( what is it with the little Asian women anyway?) but that was the point at which I did say something about that being quite enough, that I simply stepped outside while working--which is something you're not doing today I should point out--to catch a few minutes of not busting my ass in a vain attempt to get by in this horrible world, and I appreciate not being bothered by idiot fascist fundamentaldefectives who, unless they can provide some proof that they in fact OWN the bench I'm resting on, have no right to say dick to me beyond a polite "Hello" and "How are you?". I mean really, even panhandlers have a reason to be outside accosting people. Christ.

So basically the conversation ends with me telling her to piss off and her warbling on about salvation and some such bullshit. I go back inside pissed off from my break and go about my business. At some point I look up our WFSI 107.9 FM, based out of Annapolis, which is part of the Family Radio network. Family Radio. God, I don't even want to get started on the whole 'Family' thing. Such fucking buzzword and shield-to-hide-behind bullshit.

Here is some interesting info on Family Radio, it's founder and supporters. Yes, this is what I do when I'm not selling beer and wine to people. I'm almost sorry she took off so soon; when I told my co-worker The Cajun what had happened he was heading outside to cuss her out. But that never gets us anywhere does it? They can go back to their ignorant fearful 'congregation' (if you read the Wiki article you'll get what I mean by that) and talk about turning the other cheek and the yelling barbaric heathens they ran into today. I saw no point in that. I was strong with her, but only after she trashed our peaceful resolution. I saw it in her eyes; she knew we at least had a decent ending and she fucked it up. She gave me reason to tee off on her. Oh well.

Tomorrow, Part Two: I call Family Stations Inc. (corporate name of Family Radio) to do some harassing and 'saving' of my own.

Until then.....

The Good Samaritan

Ok, so I'm going to 7-11 for a pack of smokes. In, out, back home to catch the rest of Brazil/Japan, easy enough.

Of course not easy enough, because this is my life and these are the things that happen to me:
I make my way to the counter to get my cigs and there's an elderly woman asking the gentleman manning the register where 395 goes. Not where it is, mind you, just where it goes. Now I'm not one to say we should take licenses away from people who reach a certain age, but if you live in Virginia and don't know where 395 goes you need to just clock out of the whole driving thing. So she's asking where it goes and our Hindi friends behind the counter keep telling her where it is, and the whole thing is kind of a clusterfuck so I let her know that 395 north goes to DC and south will take you around to 495. This is my first mistake, and I know that going in, but I figure I can help her out and end this whole thing which, even though I'm paid up and on my way out the door, is painful to listen to. Enter Mr. Helpy-Helper. The next dick in line behind me walks up and says "Hey man, why don't you just have her follow you to 395?"

Really. I'm not joking about this. This asshat wants to help her out so much he's asking me to do the work for him. Thanks. Well, what can I do? Say "No, I have to get back to my apartment directly across the street to watch a soccer game that's already over anyway (Brazil was up 3-1 at the time)"? So off I go to lead a little old lady with no business being on the road to the fucking HIGHWAY during fucking RUSH HOUR.

Now I'm on the road, and all's well to this point. Then we get to the 395 ramp, and I point out the window for her to take the ramp, and she just keeps following me, like a lost puppy or the guy at the party who only knows one person so they stay within range of them all night. I pull into a left turn lane to, well, turn around and go home. Or at least let her know "Hey, here's the exit. There are signs. One goes north, the other south. Good luck." But instead of following me into the lane, the woman STOPS IN TRAFFIC TRYING TO DECIDE WHAT SHE'S GOING TO DO. Or maybe where she is. I don't know, but I'm frantically waving her over into the lane. What does she do? She waits there for someone to honk at her (which does not take long) and then simply drives on. In the meantime, I make the left turn as I had an arrow and not being 500 years old I follow street signs logically and as they are presented. I cut through a neighborhood to get back on Glebe to get home and to find this woman, but she's long gone.

I just want to say before I wrap this up that while I found it an inconvenience, I wanted to help this woman out because I feel for the elderly who seem to have been passed by by a world that doesn't need them anymore. Truly. My problem is not with the woman, or the fact that I helped her. My issue is with the cock that threw me into this mess.

So here's to you Mr. Nice Guy Hey-I'm-Your-Buddy: Take your fucking gym shorts, your sleeveless T-shirt, your 'I have enough time to work out a lot' body, your big stupid smiling fucking face, your whole fucking I'm-a-jock-but-I'm-a-nice-guy-even-though-I'm-better-than-you-which-
makes-me-even-better-than-you attitude thing (which is really easy to have when you got to bang every girl in high school who's crappy stories and bullshit I had to listen to for a fucking semester just to get to the point where they'd turn me down) and skip the gym tomorrow. You've earned it. Instead, I want you to go fuck yourself. Hard, long and slow. Just fuck the pissing fuck off. You wanna help out? Help out. Don't throw it on someone you assume has nothing better to do or anywhere to go (which I didn't admittedly, but that's not the point). Find something large, sit on it, and sink until you're all full of it and think about what kind of human being you are.
When you're done, then you can go to Five or Love or what the fuck ever and pick up some chicks and tell them how you helped out an old woman yesterday. I'm sure they'll think you're so sweet and nice. Fucker.