my sordid past comes knocking
Just a moment ago, I heard a pounding on my door. I had been in the middle of writing a blog about how I haven't talked anymore to my neighbor across the street since the day we chatted for half-an-hour after my car was sideswiped. I was thinking about how weird and reclusive I can be and when the knock came I thought, "Wow, how ironic, that's probably my nieghbor popping in to say hi." She'd been ouside earlier, coming and going.
I answered the door expecting to see her there, or maybe my upstairs land people, or maybe... who might randomly show up? My friend Leo? Dreadlock moved away, so it couldn't be her. Maybe the weird mover-guy with the motobecane bicycle who dropped by right after he moved my stuff 6 months ago. I don't know. What I did *not* expect was an old, bald guy from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints with my name on a clipboard.
"Are you 'Prudent Poet'?" He asked, calling me by my middle name.
"*Reasonably* Prudent Poet," I corrected and glanced at his clipboard in puzzlement. That's when I saw, at the top of the page, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Beneath it, I noticed a host of personal information including my birthplace and date. Fucking unreal. I haven't been a mormon since the '80s. I haven't been to mormon church since I was 13 and lived in Smithfield North Carolina.
"We've got your name on our records here and we just wanted to know how you felt about the church and if you might be interested in getting involved again." I think my mouth was hanging open. I haven't been contacted by a member of the church since I was in college and once a year somebody from the campus mormon group would call me up and ask me if I wanted them to send the missionaries or visiting home teachers over to visit and teach me in my home. I always politely declined. Needless to say, I have moved around a *lot* since then but god bless those mormons, they keep good fucking track of every single one of the flock and they managed to track me down years later, here in my dark little Portland basement. Unreal.
I said, as nicely as I could, "No, I'm not interested in getting involved with the church again." Which he could probably guess by the coffee smell, wafting out my door. (Mormons don't let you drink coffee. What the hell is wrong with them???) Or maybe the heavy odor of EAU DE HOMO that rolls off me like bad perfume... I don't know. Either way, he didn't fight for me, he just said, "Ok, would you mind just writing at the bottom of the sheet here that you'd like to be removed from the records of the church, then sign and date." No I wouldn't mind. At least, I thought I wouldn't mind, but I have to admit, I felt a little pang of something as I did it. Nostalgia about something. Regret about something. Why didn't he even try to talk me into coming to church again?? Why didn't he offer to send me some cute, young, well-scrubbed missionary boys over to try and re-save my soul. I knew as I signed the paper that he was thinking "Oh well, there goes her eternal salvation." He sure didn't seem too broken up about it.
Oh well. I guess I'm not too broken up about it either.
I answered the door expecting to see her there, or maybe my upstairs land people, or maybe... who might randomly show up? My friend Leo? Dreadlock moved away, so it couldn't be her. Maybe the weird mover-guy with the motobecane bicycle who dropped by right after he moved my stuff 6 months ago. I don't know. What I did *not* expect was an old, bald guy from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints with my name on a clipboard.
"Are you 'Prudent Poet'?" He asked, calling me by my middle name.
"*Reasonably* Prudent Poet," I corrected and glanced at his clipboard in puzzlement. That's when I saw, at the top of the page, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Beneath it, I noticed a host of personal information including my birthplace and date. Fucking unreal. I haven't been a mormon since the '80s. I haven't been to mormon church since I was 13 and lived in Smithfield North Carolina.
"We've got your name on our records here and we just wanted to know how you felt about the church and if you might be interested in getting involved again." I think my mouth was hanging open. I haven't been contacted by a member of the church since I was in college and once a year somebody from the campus mormon group would call me up and ask me if I wanted them to send the missionaries or visiting home teachers over to visit and teach me in my home. I always politely declined. Needless to say, I have moved around a *lot* since then but god bless those mormons, they keep good fucking track of every single one of the flock and they managed to track me down years later, here in my dark little Portland basement. Unreal.
I said, as nicely as I could, "No, I'm not interested in getting involved with the church again." Which he could probably guess by the coffee smell, wafting out my door. (Mormons don't let you drink coffee. What the hell is wrong with them???) Or maybe the heavy odor of EAU DE HOMO that rolls off me like bad perfume... I don't know. Either way, he didn't fight for me, he just said, "Ok, would you mind just writing at the bottom of the sheet here that you'd like to be removed from the records of the church, then sign and date." No I wouldn't mind. At least, I thought I wouldn't mind, but I have to admit, I felt a little pang of something as I did it. Nostalgia about something. Regret about something. Why didn't he even try to talk me into coming to church again?? Why didn't he offer to send me some cute, young, well-scrubbed missionary boys over to try and re-save my soul. I knew as I signed the paper that he was thinking "Oh well, there goes her eternal salvation." He sure didn't seem too broken up about it.
Oh well. I guess I'm not too broken up about it either.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 11:13 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home