Skip to main content

Are Your Cats Old Enough To Learn About Jesus?

So on Saturday morning, I was awakened by a knock on the door from two well-dressed male teens who wanted to rap to me about Jesus Christ. (I can only assume their parent or guardian was in the nearby idling car, taking their charges from door to door to spread the gospel like some bizarro trick-or-treat procedure.) I opened the door for a moment only to declare my lack of interest and send them to their next heretical confrontation/spiritual opportunity, but the whole quick and curt episode got me thinking.

I once heard that there are three types of Americans: Easterners (who are slighted and immediately generate a withering comeback), Westerners (who are slighted and immediately smile and say some variation of "no worries, dude"), and those of us in the middle of the country (who are slighted and immediately do nothing, only to think of a great comment ten to fifteen minutes after the slight). Obviously, as much as I would like to be a Easterner, I am a Midwest kid to the core, which means that after the requisite ten minute contemplative time period passed, I knew exactly what I should have said:

"Gosh, lil' Jesus dudes, but I'm sorry that I just woke up and can't listen to what you have to say. Why don't you give me your home address, and I'll stop by at a time that's more convenient for me...say, 1am on a random future date? Then you can feel free to preach until your clip-on ties pop right off."

(It has more creepy power if it's said with a fake smile and no eye blinking.)

And that got me thinking even more. As much as I despise door-to-door proselytizing, wouldn't it be funny to do one (or both) of the following:

OPTION A

(Walks up to house at 10pm) "Hi there, friend! Do you have a few moments for me to introduce you to the transcendent spiritual joys that Scientology has to offer? (Displays armful of Tom Cruise DVD's and Battlestar Galactica figurines) And do you have your checkbook handy?"

OPTION B

(Walks up to house at 7:16pm) "Good evening. Might I have some of your time to discuss with you to the basic religious tenants of atheism?" (Hands out a book of blank pages)

Which would give me a better chance at having the door slammed in my face? Or worse yet...which option would be most likely to get an invite inside? And would I have to wear a clip-on tie and plastered-on smile?

Comments

  1. First, I couldn't agree more about coming up with responses 10 minutes after you could possibly use the response. Happens to me all the time.

    Second, door to door people or any and all sorts are just annoying. It's not just inviting yourself over, but at a random time and with intent to "sell" something. How rude.

    And lastly, I think optino B would be the best, though I'm sure option A would be great too.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

NBC -- Never Believe Contracts

Whatever side you're falling on in the recent NBC late-night "deck chairs on the Titanic " shuffle, you have to admit it's been good comedy for all parties involved. While Letterman and Craig Ferguson have been sharp (especially Letterman, who has been gleeful in his "I told you so" vitriol), the best bits have come from Leno and O'Brien. Evidence: It's hard to follow all the angles here, but two things are clear: NBC violated Leno's contract (guaranteeing the 10pm slot), and NBC didn't violate O'Brien's contract (which made no time slot guarantees). So it's not hard to see who the loser here will be. O'Brien won't get the show he wants, Leno will step into a hollow echo of his past success, and tens of millions of dollars will be up in the air. Only Jimmy Fallon will continue to gestate his talent relatively unmolested, and his security is merely a function of the low expectations of his time slot. Meanwhile, CBS (a

"The Silver Gun" by Robert Palmer (1983)

I mean...Urdu? Seriously, Urdu . On an already eclectic and worldly album -- Pride , from 1983 -- "The Silver Gun" closes a chapter in Robert Palmer's career by singing a song about a horse in a language spoken daily by over 100 million people. The liquid bass line and propulsive electronics set out a bedrock for Palmer to ping phrasings rather out of place in Western music, askew astride even the peripatetic minimalism of the rest of the record. Somehow, in the middle of Michigan's Appalachia, I had this on vinyl a few years before the CD era officially commenced. It was an album of effort -- even the cover, a pointillism-and-bronze work, had Palmer's head barely above the water -- but the stitches didn't show to my pre-adolescent eyes and ears. In a career marked by zigs and zags, Pride and "The Silver Gun" were most certainly Other, and for a kid that felt like he didn't belong much of anywhere, it was nice to have those discrete feeling

"I'll Drive You Home"

Upon reflection, I’ve had a fortunate life in the area of work. As a freshly minted teenager, I would visit Evergreen Park Grocery and dream of someday working there like my father did, and at the age of 14, I got $2/hour to live out that dream, such as it was. From there, I yearned to try other occupations, from record stores to teaching, and I’d be chuffed to tell Young Erick that both of those things happened in due course. ( Oh, and Young Erick, one of them got you to meet David Bowie, and one of them got you to own houses and cars, so I’ll let you ponder on which one was better. ) I even got to DJ a bit here and there, and while it never hit the heights of a professional radio gig, it was certainly better than the summer I played preset cassettes on my boom box for a nerd camp dance while my unrequited crush stayed in her room. What I never crossed off my professional life list was acting, either regular or voice, but while I still yearn for that big breakthrough -- seriously, ask