Oh yes, I see you, very-bald-soul-patched-perky guy. My BS detector went off instantly when I saw you and your compadres walk in. I’ve dealt with your kind before. You may as well wear a giant sign that says “I am a Christian, and I am here to save your machiatto-drinking hell-bound soul.”
The creepy, overdone smile plastered on your face doesn’t fool me, Mr. Evangelical. Some people are just naturally happy, but you are more like a bipolar caffieneophile in his manic phase. You wear trendy ripped jeans and a huge Fossil leather watch. And there was no way you were there to just buy coffee.
You see, I know exactly what you’re all about. Judging by the time and the look of the people you came in with, you just came from a church activity. And judging by the way you’re surveying the people sitting with me at the 21st St. Starbucks, you’ve got some witnessin’ to do. This hunch is strengthened when you spend a few awkward minutes trying to chat about God with the barista who is obviously attempting to help other customers. It is confirmed when you start walking to random tables, plopping down your slim-line leather-backed Bible within easy reach and intruding into their conversations, like an evangelical parasite.
You interrupt people, knowing that they’ll be too polite to tell you to go away, and then proceed to dominate their conversation with your witnessing. And then, horrors, I see you turn your Witness-Smile on me.
You see, I already know how this is going to go. I know that I won’t be able to find it in myself to be rude to you. Years of good parenting have made it extremely difficult for me to be anything but polite to strangers. I have my white headphones in, hoping that you will take the hint and not attempt to distract me from my 3D sketching.
It doesn’t work. You walk over and start talking to me, not caring that I have to pause my music and take out my ear buds so I can hear and respond to you. And what bugs me most about you is the fake friendship you try desperately to establish within thirty seconds so you can get to the real reason why you’re intruding on me: you’ve gotta save me from hell! You’re being rude (even though you’re speaking politely) but I can’t bring myself to say “I have no interest in what you’re selling.” Instead, I want to get this over with as fast as possible, so I lie through my teeth, say I’m already a Christian and very active in my church, good luck on your witnessing. You insist on giving me your card anyway, which will at least give me the opportunity to laugh at your awful website and videos.
And what annoys me most about myself is that I don’t have the stones to tell you to go the hell away. I’d rather just get rid of you than tell you what I really think of you and your false attempt at friendship for the purposes of Growing the Kingdom. Maybe next time I’ll attempt to convert you to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, but for now, I’ll settle for being a hypocrite to get you to leave me alone.
Exit, stage left.
Sparks
Oh, I hear you. I am a barista and have seen all of that and more. The worst is when they leave tracks as tips…seriously. They drive me crazy, but mostly because of the impact they have is so negative…
yes. totally.