A Sunday after a Saturday night

[Tyo]

I was on my back on the floor in the front bedroom streaming blues and thinking dark thoughts. It was late last Sunday morning and I was not well at all. This was Partner’s fault. He had dragged me out to the bars the night before and then stood over me with a whip and a cattle prod and forced me to drink 12 Mojitos, well six anyway, in three hours plus a Stinger for the road. It had been brutal.

Well okay, he didn’t really have a whip. We have talked about getting one, but that’s another story. He did have a cattle prod though. It was a little cattle prod cleverly disguised as a violet glow stick, but probably still pretty powerful. I had no way out. I knew he would use it if I didn’t obey.

And then on Sunday instead of letting me get the sleep I needed he insisted that I get up at 7:15 and go to the gym with him. I tried to stay as far away from other people as possible because I didn’t look good and I smelled like the Bacardi rum factory. I survived six weight machines and a few minutes on the stair stepper before drifting off to the showers.

When we got back home we found that one of the cats had barfed on the slip cover on the sofa. Partner took it off and hauled it away to the giant washing machine at the laundromat and I was finally able to suffer in peace on the bedroom floor. Fluffycat was on my chest. He was purring and doing that kneading trip with his front feet that cats do. His claws had just been clipped so it was feeling kind of nice. Then there was a knock on the door.

I almost didn’t bother, but I was curious. We don’t get many visitors showing up on our doorstep without notice except for God and he doesn’t knock. I opened the door. The kid was 11 or 12ish. At first I thought he was a miniature Mormon missionary what with the dark slacks and white shirt, but no. His shirt was pressed and tucked in all round and his tie was straight, and there was only one of him so he was obviously something else.

I don’t think that I was what he was expecting to see. And I was kind of a mess so it couldn’t have been pleasant for him, but he recovered nicely. “I’d like to leave these with you,” he said looking me right in the eye, “I think you’ll enjoy reading them.”

“Enjoy” is not the first adjective that comes to my mind in connection with “The Watchtower” and “Awake”, although some of the illustrations are pretty cool in a lurid, Book-of-Revelation sort of way. But when pushing these things what are you supposed to say, “Read and believe or roast on a spit in Hell?” Your options in the way of sales pitches are limited.

“I’m an atheist,” I replied. He tensed up a little, but kept smiling. “But I’ll take them and check them out." I almost continued with, “If I don’t read them maybe my boyfriend will.” Some people lose their inhibitions when they are drunk. I lose mine when I’m hung over and anyway it’s my feeling that if you are going door-to-door hawking religion you deserve whatever you encounter.

But the kid probably just wanted to get this over with so he could go back to being a kid. So instead of bringing the boyfriend into it I tried to empathize. “You’ve probably got a quota or something, right?” He didn’t say anything. “I mean I’ll bet the sooner you ditch these things the better.” “No,” he said, “it’s… I like to meet people…” Maybe, but didn’t look like he was liking meeting me all that much. I needed to shut up and take the fucking magazines so he could go on his way.

Then I noticed the woman at the end of the sidewalk partially hidden by the Eastern Redbud. Even at a distance I could see that she was too old to be his mother. His grandmother maybe? I was relieved that he wasn’t out all by himself. But 12-year-olds still shouldn’t be wandering around the neighborhood trying to spread the Gospel even with granny keeping an eye on things from the bushes.

“Well, thank you,” he said before I could give him any more grief, “I hope you have a nice day.” He was starting to back away. We’d gone off script and he was ready to wrap it up. I thanked him for stopping by, and resisted the urge to wave to the woman in the greenery. Whatever my point might have been I felt that I’d made it and then some. I went back and stretched out on the floor again. Fluffycat had wandered off so it was just me streaming blues.

[Skittles]

1. I'm thinking child abuse

I'm thinking these assholes know children will get a better reception for their shit so they use them to further their wackjob goals. You handled it right though, with honesty and compassion.

[Tyo]

9. I don't know how compassionate I was.

Guess I was more or less honest though. If the old lady had been right there on our doorstep with him I'd have felt more relaxed about being open about who I am and about getting into some of the issues I have with what they are doing and what they believe.

[Pab Sungenis]

2. I used to answer the door naked for Jehovah's Witnesses

...until they started sending the little old lady to my door instead. :)

I have a big gripe about the Jehovah's Witnesses in my old neighborhood. One went through our trash, found an old "Advocate" I had thrown out, and confronted my mother about it at the door. My mother didn't know I was gay at that time, so the JW had effectively outed me.

As for sending a kid to do the work: why do they feel the need to recruit innocent children into their deviant religious lifestyle? :)

[sui generis]

6. I still do, plus

there are so many more babtists and other people that come by that I rarely even need to wear clothes.

Mostly they're polite and turn tail, except for one Church Lady From Hell who was sure it was a cry for help.

That or I think she was strangely aroused.

[Creideiki]

3. I love Jehovah's Witnesses

They're fun to have religious debates with. The vast majority of them know far less about the Bible than I do, and that's even if we stay away from topics like homosexuality.

[mitchtv]

4. I feel so guilty now

The way I treated two strapping Mormon missioaries the last time I was cornered. I did have an interesting converation with two J W ladies in front of Stater bros. one Sunday. They were really husband hunting for one of them, a widow.

[Tyo]

7. Those Morman missionaries....

were famous for, ah, well let's just say they were famous. At least the ones in Japan were. I don't know about now. This was a few years ago. Back when I was still single :9

[NMMNG]

5. Using a child to spread their bile is a new low

They know that only a real cretin would yell at a child, plus it's helping to indoctrinate the child to become a mini-pusher and helping to mold him into a long-term (if not lifelong) slave to their religion. Every time I think I've heard it all I'm proven wrong, and it makes me sadder for the experience.

[Tyo]

8. I was thinking that this might be their usual approach

Our area doesn't attract many "missionaries", at least not the religious kind so we don't have much experience with them. But it sounds like maybe sending children to the door is a new tactic. I'm not sure whether it qualifies as child abuse but it's exploitive and kind of creepy. On the other hand it exposes these kids to different types of people at an early age before their brains have turned to concrete so maybe it could end up being beneficial. I'd like to hope so anyway