Weeds

September 8

I hate Mondays. “It’s a horrible way to spend one seventh of your life.” I suppose, in a way, I should be grateful for Mondays because they get me out of the house. I know, how twisted, right?

But I still hate getting up early.

Bleh...

Oh, well.

The fact that it’s Monday isn’t the reason I wanted to write. School. That was the reason. Or, really, what happened at school today.

I was just minding my own sweet business at lunch today, I swear. I had my eyes on my plate, my earbuds in my ears, my hands on my sandwich. Minding. My. Own. Freaking. Business. Like I do every freaking day. So tell me why I deserved this??

Because the fact that I was totally in another world didn’t stop her. Miss Missionary. Miss Follow-My-Religion-Or-Oh!-But-You-Don’t-Deserve-The-Fires-Of-Hell-So-Listen-To-Me-Or-I’ll-Keep-Annoying-The-Shit-Out-Of-You!

Yeah. You can see where this is going, can’t you.

I hate people like that! I can’t even begin to tell you!

“Please, Lord, save me from your followers.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

“Ahem.”

I’d thought I was hearing things. I had thought the sound had come from my earphones; the music I was listening to had room for such sounds.

“AHEM.”

Sharp. Pain. In. Ear! The bitch yanked my earbud out!

My mouth fell open and I looked up. Confused is a good word to describe how I was feeling. Pissed, too.

“What,” I said flatly, daring her to tell me the art room was up in flames… or the government had banned all publishing of sci-fi/fantasy books.

No. What she said was even worse.

She put on a simpering smile. “Have you ever wondered about the meaning of life? Or what is out there after death?”

Murderisnottheanswer. Murderisnottheanswer.

I just stared, I think. I don’t know what expression was on my face. Hell, I didn’t know what expression was on her face. I saw red. And yellow. And white.

“The Lord forgives,” The squeaky little voice went on. “You don’t need to hide in shame any longer. There is enough love for all of God’s children.”

I wondered absently if she knew how stupid she sounded. Obviously not, because she continued. “You don’t need to be afraid of the pure light, anymore. Confess your sins and you, too, will be saved.” She pulled something out of her purse and laid it in front of me. A pamphlet. People still handed out pamphlets?

Hah. Pamphlet. That’s a funny word. Pamphlet. Pam-ffffffflet. Oooo… SPAM-fffflets!!! Ahah!

Only it wasn’t funny at the time. The cover of the thing had Jesus floating in a pool of golden light above a field of sheep, with a group of shepherds ducking down in awe and fear.

As if someone as all-important as Jesus would be caught dead in a pasture full of sheep. He couldn’t have visited these shepherds while they were in church, could he? I know, I know, the fact that he visited the poor and lowly is part of his charm. I get it, alright? But still, if I was that powerful, I would not pick a field of sheep.

You know what I think is weird? I know the name of this god, this prophet, this dude, and all that he did that was so amazing. I know his whole story. Everyone does. I don’t think there’s anyone left in this world, short of the untouched tribes in South America, who hasn’t heard of Jesus. And yet, I wonder if that girl knows what Muslims call their god. Or what the main god or goddess of any pagan religion is. Look, I know that that’s just because Christianity is huge, but…I dunno what I’m trying to say here. It just ticks me off.

“You are not a bad person. You don’t deserve to suffer. I can help you make yourself a better person.” Her smile grew broader.

“Sooo…” I started slowly. She squirmed a bit, but didn’t lose the perky. “I’m not a good person unless I follow your religion?”

“Oh, but you are! I know you are, deep down. But this can help you reach your full potential. You will be saved.”

“’Saved’ as defined by who?” I asked, curious.

She blinked. “By…the Lord… Us… You will be saved.”

She was like a scratched album. Gah.

“No thanks,” I told her, starting to put my earbud back in.

“But you need this!” She blurted before I could get to the volume control. “If you don’t, the fires of hell will be waiting for you!”

Coming on a little strong, here, are we? Hmm?

I blinked at her and quoted one of my favorite lines: “Your god, your rules, YOU go to hell.”

I don’t understand what drives people like her to annoy the hell out of people like me. Don’t they realize that we hate it? It only gives us one more reason to make fun of them…and hate them. How does everyone hating them help their recruiting rates?

Hm. Something to think about.

It reminds me of a crack I heard somewhere. “How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb? One, but the light bulb has to want to change.”

So…doesn’t this apply here? These people will get recruits only when the recruits want to devote their lives to that cause. Not before. No amount of spam-fffflets is going to change that.

Anyway, I think the girl left. Or she might have stood there all day with her mouth hanging open. I don’t know. I turned up the volume of my iPod, picked up my sandwich, and didn’t look around the rest of the hour.