Do I look like heathen? Does the goatee make it appear as if my soul is in peril? Maybe it's the devilishness glint in my eye? Or my substantial belly. I guess it does speak of my gluttonous tendencies, but all in all I like to think I'm a decent enough fellow.
But apparently I look in need of salvation. I shall explain.
There I was this morning. Watching my money disappear as I gassed up at the Pak-N-Sak. Made me feel like I was back in Vegas for a few minutes.
Anyway, there were half a dozen other people doing the same as well as a handful of people trudging inside for their morning coffee or 32. oz carbonated wake up drink of choice. A rattle trap green car pulls right up next to me in the middle of the gas pumps. Inside is five young guys all dressed in suits. One pops out of the back seat and hands me magazine. "The Lord's word," he said.
I glanced at the magazine as he handed it to me. WATCHTOWER, the literature of choice from the Jehovah Witness religion.
As I see what it is I say, "No thanks, I'm Catholic." Not a complete lie since at this point I'm as close to Catholic as anything. My wife and boys are Catholic and it is the only church service I've attended for years, and should I ever feel the calling, it will be the religion I reach out for.
The young solicitor gave me a hard look at my reply, snatched the Lord's word from my hand. He got back in the car and the whole crew exited the convenience store lot and left. They didn't approach another person. Not before, during or after their failed attempt to douse my fiery soul.
Did I appear to be the only sinner in the lot? Were they going to try and convert others but my answer drove them away? Did they fear they had wandered into a hot bed of Catholicism? Maybe they thought I was going to offer them a beer, invite them to next months sausage and bingo fest? Who knows? But I sure know what my standard line will be next time they approach.
Maybe being in Vegas for a week stained me with sin somehow only the righteous can detect? Now there is a scary thought. I'd hate to think there is some kind of anti-halo hovering above my noggin. I suppose it would glow red and flash like those three X's above those truck stop adult bookstores along the interstate.
Or maybe it's more blunt and gives a direct indicator to the owners recent sins? Maybe I have a glowing red dollar sign for the gambling I did, or perhaps a hazy, three-quarters full rum bottle spins lazily above my head visible only to the pure of heart, body and soul.
Who knows what that car load of guys saw that propelled them to stop and single me out. I just hope there's room above me for all those wicked shapes. Must look like a card table at a yard sale by this point.