YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS...
I was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where I rent to live.
I'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when I hear the front doorknob rattling. Obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.
I hear the door as it opens. Then, strange voices! I jump to my feet bewildered, bewitched, and bothered (but not in that order.)
Suddenly, what to my wondering eyes appears? A very pregnant lady, her husband and a child of about 8.
I raised my eyebrows and opened my eyes as wide as nature allows as if to say, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOUR DOING IN HERE?"
4 1/2 of us just stood there silently as if we are in a
Quentin Tarantino stand off (but without pistols).
I felt it was not MY TURN to speak, after all, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be--which is more than the 3 1/2 of them can say!
I'd guess this family is from Samoa or Hawaii or...I dunno...Al Queda--your guess is as good as mine.
She looks at him. He looks at her. I look at her as she looks at him. Rinse and repeat. No progress.
I still haven't spoken. (Secretly, I'm beginning to enjoy the weirdness.)
The Lady is now on her cell phone.
The Man is embarrassed. But quietly.
My eyes are rolling.
A conversation between The Lady and the cell phone ensues. I don't recognize the language. Yep--probably Al Aqueda operatives!
"This is 4704." It is a statement of fact. A wrong fact.
"This is 4709."
The Lady looks at her husband as if to say, "Are you going to let this crazy old man contradict me like that?"
The man is fidgeting impotently. I can probably take him in a mixed battle. It's the Lady with the stowaway who's going to be the problem. I'm not too concerned about the 8-year-old boy--although they can bite pretty hard.
The Lady speaks.
"No--this is 4704."
"IF this is 4704, the clothes I'm wearing are stolen."
The Man and the Lady give me the hard stare. You know the one--the kind of stare people with no sense of humor give me every day of my life.
The cell phone voice pipes up and I can't make out a single word.
The Lady frowns and speaks to the cell phone voice.
She turns to me.
"This is not 4704." It is a statement of fact. A true fact.
I clap my hands and speak.
"Hot dog--we're making real progress here this morning! I agree with you completely. This is not 4704. As a matter of fact--it is STILL 4709. Oh, and by the way, these clothes aren't stolen."
The Man and the Lady and the 8-year-old boy and the stowaway turned and exited the front door. Just like that.
A few minutes ago...
As I was writing all the above down...
I heard the doorbell ring. My first thought, I confess, was something like, "Uh-oh, whoever lives at 4704 has convinced them I'm lying!"
I walk to the door and open it.
What to my wondering eyes appears but a neatly dressed gentleman and about an 11-year-old girl. He smiles and introduces himself and I interrupt him.
"Hi there, let me save you some time and trouble. This is 4909 Westlake and NOT 4904. I promise. I'm not kidding. What you want is on the opposite side of the street two houses to the right."
The nicely dressed gentleman is probably from Africa. Or possibly Al Queda. He speaks.
"My daughter and I are ministers in your neighborhood this morning bringing a message of Good News..."
(Holy Shit--Jehovah's Witnesses!)
This JW man has a good nature and sense of humor as I explain why I responded the way I did.
I like him immediately.
Internally I make a strange bargain with myself. In the past, I always give a small speech which sends the Dubs scrambling. NOT THIS TIME!
I'll tell you why. I like this man and his daughter so much--I decided to lay low and try and HELP THEM!
Eventually down the line, the bad news will emerge that I'm a mentally diseased Apostate.
But until that time, I'm going to use Theocratic Warfare methods and present myself as a civilian.
He offered me a "brochure." GOOD NEWS FROM GOD!
I'm going to read the brochure and decide what subject (14 are offered on the back) I wish to discuss with the Dub. He will return next week.
WHAT A WEIRD MORNING!