A woman, all bundled up so it takes her a few seconds to unwrap, enters the building. When she does, she smiles and takes in a few deep breaths before saying,
“I was outside for the longest time praying to Jesus you’d let me use your phone.”
I look at this woman, her beatific smile could use a few coats of polish, and respond,
“As you know, Jesus answers all prayers.” She is happy. “But sometimes he says no.”
Booyeah! Crushing Christians since the creation. That’s what it’s all about!
But, just like religion, comedy too is subjective. And she wasn’t putting pennies in my poor box any time soon.
“You are a very bad man.” She reaches into one of her voluminous pockets and pulls out a tract from her religion. So I reach into my desk, grab one from the CCI, and give it to her.
“You are not funny at all. It seems you have the Satan inside you. But, I will pray for you anyway.” Pray for me anyway? You mean there were choices?
But, as the woman was swathing herself against the bitter cold, still telling me what kind of person I am (as if I am unaware) I had a moment of compassion.
Ha! Got ya! I just figured she’d keep talking smack about me if I didn’t let her use the phone.
I asked her what the number was but she said she wanted to dial it. What’s that bible saying about giving a sows ear a foot and it puts a camel through the head of a needle a mile later? Oh yeah, I’m going old testament scripture on your ass!
So I let her into the office and she trundles to the phone. As she approaches she asks if you need to dial a number to get an outside line.
Now, we’re a very simple office so that’s not necessary, but, there something, sick, I know, in my head because, instead of getting closer to the conclusion of this adventure, it makes me say,
“Yes. Dial six six six.”
Oh sure, you’ll pray for my soul but not until after you use my phone.