I was out walking today. Once because there was a showing of my condo (please please please like it and buy it) and then there was the usual walking to work stuff. Although it wasn’t the usual walking to work stuff because today was the day for me to be stopped in the street for conversation.
The first chat was pretty pleasant, actually. A couple of Mormon guys with their suits and identification badges on their parkas crossed my path on Cumberland and they asked how my day was going. I always leave for work early so I decided I’d not be an asshole and chat with these Elders who were younger than me. They weren’t pushy, just asked about myself a bit. The shorter one was kind of amazed about working in a library. “When I was little I kind of said, ‘Books? Who needs them?’ But I guess it’s pretty important, huh?” He said “huh,” instead of “eh” because he was from Idaho. The other guy was from Salt Lake City and survived last winter. We talked about the importance of going new places and seeing new things (and how not all Mormons are lucky enough to do their proselytizing trips to France).
They weren’t pushy on the religion angle. It might have helped that I’d mentioned I know a couple of Mormons. They asked if these Mormons had ever explained their faith to me, and I told them I knew bits and pieces. I refrained from mentioning how the Mormons I know are both apostates, and didn’t explain exactly which bits and pieces I knew. They gave me a card and let me get on my way to work. All in all, a fine little small-talk chat.
Then a block fucking later I run into a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses.
No, I didn’t. I was actually waiting to cross Balmoral when I was asked for change from a drunk whose friend was leaving him behind. The guy looked at my army parka and asked if I’d served. “Not in the army,” I replied as he handled one of the buttons. He was looking at it pretty blearily. “You know you can make soup out of good buttons like those.” He’s got one of my buttons between his fingers at this point. His buddy is three houses down, yelling for him to hurry up. The light changes.
“Sorry, man. I have no cash.” I plucked his fingers from my button with my mittened hands and off I went. “Good luck!”apostate balmoral cumberland drunk france homeless idaho jehovah's witnesses mormon parka salt lake city walking winnipeg