Sunday, October 3, 2010
So, after last week's bra-and-panty outburst, I got a little payback for being an immodest (but haaaaawwwwt) sinner.
Last Tuesday night, as I was working on a committee project, I heard a scratching noise that sounded like my cat sharpening her claws on one of the logs we've provided her with. I looked behind me to find that she was in the middle of the living room about to bolt in terror. And then I saw the knob of the front door wiggling. Alley hid; I went to tell The Hubs, newly returned from visiting his family in Denmark (the country, y'all), that someone was trying to get into the house.
He went to the door to answer. I went to the bedroom to be on standby with the *cough* "cell phone."
I listened as two men I had yet to see explained that they were our neighbors (living in the house from which the car stereo was blaring while I was trying to take a nap last week during my illness and, therefore, probably exposed to my mostly-naked body when I yelled at them through the wide-open window to "shut the eff up"). They then questioned my husband on when and where he worked, whether he was married, did his wife work, and did he have children. The Hubs can be a word ninja most of the time, but his evasion tactics weren't working too well with these two fellas, probably because he was still jet-lagged and exhausted from his second day back to work.
I smelled a rat, so my hackles were already raised. When the young "proselytizers" insisted that they needed to come into our house sometime to "visit" with us to help us understand why our atheism was a straight ticket to Hell (or more likely, as far as I was concerned, to find out if we had anything worth taking when the two of us were at work), my hackles transformed me into a giant sack of Cerberus. Me, my tail, four legs and three heads went to the door, and flung it open to see two very large and burly rednecks standing in our driveway. But I had transformed into Cerberus (even at 110 lbs. and 5 feet, 3.5 inches, way scarier than a giant redneck). So in a demonic, multi-chordal bass, I snarled, "Can we have your business card, please?" (The royal "we," of course). I looked down to see The Hubs had it in his hand, so I snatched it, said thank you, and slammed the door shut. The Hubs tells me that I had obviously confused and unnerved our fledgling ministers because they took off pretty quick. I didn't wait around to find out because I went to the phone and called the police. The dispatcher, Athena (and just what kind of awesome coincidence is that, Athena the Greek goddess of war and strategy talking to Cerberus, the guard dog who keeps the minions from escaping Hades), agreed with me that the questions were not the usual ones missionaries ask and sent an officer to the house. She asked me to call if they came back before the officer arrived.
I went back inside with the Hubs to take a closer look at the business card. Two corners of it had been whited out, so, we scratched the White-Out off. I couldn't make out the symbol, but the Hubs identified it as the Cadillac insignia, which is trademark (so they're in violation of copyright laws, among other crimes and misdemeanors) and their chosen but covered symbol doesn't exactly speak to the meek inheriting the Earth (but what I do I know; I've read the book, but I'm an atheist and, therefore, couldn't possibly understand it, right?). Then I e-mailed their landlord (didn't think I knew who your landlord was, did you, boys?).
Okay, so no more than three minutes later, these two show back up at their rent house (Did they actually knock on anyone else's door? Maybe they thought I was the only one in the neighborhood in desperate need of bra and panty salvation?). One of them started taking a video of the other talking as he stood in front of the the garage. So I called Athena back to tell her they had returned. She said the officer was en route and should be there any second. He got to our home quickly, but not quick enough for these guys. They had already taken off in the only car parked in their driveway.
So we explained the "sitch" to the officer, and he felt patrols were in order for at least a week. He asked if we wanted him to call or come by if he made contact with the individuals, and I responded that I wanted to know if they were legit and just idiotic or if they had a criminal record (though I really wanted to say, "Hell, yeah, are you kidding?").
I have since found them on Facebook (XII Ministries), and identified the two individuals whose names are given on the card as being those who knocked on our door. Their video hasn't shown up on YouTube yet, but I'll root it out if they ever post it. From the information I've gleaned, they're pretty enthusiastic about preaching "The Word," but not about living by it. I know from watching them a little more closely this past week that they speed, litter, and like to break noise ordinances. I also know that a minister is a teacher. And one of the first things you learn as a teacher is that you have to be a role model. They want to change the world but don't, for a second, see that they need to change, too. They're not even trying; they don't have to because they "know" they're right. I am remiss, sometimes, in my actions as a role model, but at least I try, and, at least, I recognize when I've failed and need to do better, especially when it means I can laugh at myself and my transgressions.