Do I Look Like I Need to be Saved?8 October, 2008
Seriously. Do I look like I need to be saved? I ask this because, on Monday, a Jehovah’s Witness attempted a post-piddle parking lot saving. As Chappie, Ex, and Spanqi have pointed out, this seems to happen to me quite often. In the past, this didn’t happen to me very often.
The first attempted saving I can remember was in a Zayre’s parking lot in Hagerstown, Maryland. You can read about it here. Then, nada. Zilch. Nil. Zero. Not a one. For 25 years, no one attempted to save me. It was like, well, heaven.
About this time last year (2007), I discovered the atheosphere (or faithfreeosphere). I realized that my naturalistic worldview really did not fit with agnosticism or universal deism. I realized (on my 42nd birthday) that I am (and have been for many years) an atheist.
I had twenty-five years of freedom from theistic idiots trying to save me. As I said, it was nice. I didn’t realize how nice until I admitted I am an atheist. Open the floodgates.
On 24 February, I had not one, but two people, at two different times, attempt to ‘save’ me. You can read about it in my post ‘A Nancy Kerrigan Moment.’
Then, on 2 April, while heading to a bathroom, I was accosted by a racist xenophobic born again. I posted about that one in ‘An Attempted Drive By Saving.’
On 28 May I got hit again. I managed to horrify this guy by telling him that I am an atheist. The whole story is in ‘Yet Another Attempted Saving.’
Then, just this past Monday, I got hit with a Jehovah’s Witness while walking across a McDonald’s parking lot.
(((Wife))), the one with the quick and ready comebacks, however, only gets ones in the mail. From a lucky Biblical prayer rug to an invitation to a Biblical Wealth and Last Days conference (why do they need wealth if it is the last days?), she just has to dump the shit in the trash and go her merry way. I actually have to interact with the predators.
So, as Chappie asks, “Wassup wid dat?” I wish I knew.
I don’t think they see me as an easy mark for a donation as I really don’t exude wealth (middle age man driving a four-year-old minivan or a nine-year-old Mitsubishi sedan with two-and-a-half hubcaps, rust on the hood, and a dent in the door). I have a teenager in college, a teenage girl with a shoe-fetish that is only slightly less impressive than Imelda’s, a beat-to-crap cowboy hat, a bathtub haircut ((((Wife))) has been cutting my hair for years) and a gen-x beard so, again, I don’t look like I can finance a new car for their preacher.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, as part of my job, I look people in the eye and consciously try to look welcoming. Telling visitors where to go and how to get there requires approachability on the part of the ranger. Maybe I look too damn approachable. But I’ve been approachable since I became a Park Ranger.
Neither one of those explanations, though, explains a 25 year drought, followed by five (5!!!) in nine months. And, coincidentally, all falling in the latter part of the same year I realized my atheism. Maybe I put out a high pitch whine which only born-agains can hear. Of course, dogs don’t react, so that probably ain’t it. (((Wife))) suggested that maybe God(s) has put a mark upon me which only theists can see. A non-existent being put an invisible mark on my forehead. Shit, that sounds like the Bible.
Anyway, ya’ll are right. I’ve been hit five times in one year (including one day with two!) and (((Wife))) has been hit twice (of course, with her I don’t think that they were trying too hard — they were just mailing it in). I guess (((Girl))) has it right: “WTF?”