(I’ve pulled up to the speaker to order my dinner from a fast food restaurant.)

Me: “Can I have a number three with a Coke, medium-sized?”

Employee: “Okay, so that’s a medium number three with a Coke, anything else?”

Me: “Nope, that’s it.”

Employee: “Okay, please pull ahead, your total will be… a bad number.”

(On the screen, it shows the total to be $6.66. I pull ahead to the window and give him my card.)

Employee: “I won’t say the number because it’s a bad one, but you know what it is. Do you want your receipt?”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Employee: “Good choice. Don’t want the devil chasing you down.”

(It is February vacation, which is a week-long break for public schools in New England. My brother and his family visit, since they also have February vacation and my brother has work in Boston. My wife, my brother’s new fiancee — he’s a widower — and our combined five children and I go to a local tourist attraction, a farm and wildlife sanctuary that is open to the public. We are near the chicken coop when my brother’s fiancee just starts yelling at some Indian family nearby.)

Brother’s Fiancee: “Don’t talk about God that way!”

Indian Man: “I was not talking about religion.”

Brother’s Fiancee: “I bet you’re not even Christian!”

Indian Man: “No, I’m not. I fail to see how–”

Brother’s Fiancee: “You’re condemning your kids to suffer in Hell.”

(At this point, my identical twin nieces are hugging me, scared.)

Indian Man: *calmly* “I will make a deal with you. I assume you are a Christian. I will live according to my Hindu virtues and you to your Christian ones, of which I believe intolerance of the beliefs of others seems to tragically be one such virtue. Then, when we die, we shall see who goes to Heaven and Hell, though the stakes are higher for you than for me, for neither Hell or Heaven are permanent to me. Should I make a mistake and end up in either, I shall be reborn with another chance to attain the divine.”

(My brother’s fiancee was speechless and walked to the car and waited there alone for a few hours while we finished our sightseeing. That evening, my brother called off the engagement. It appears she had been unpopular with her almost-stepdaughters for a while, making fun of the fact that they look the same, wear glasses, and are second graders, and also insinuating that their mother went to Hell because she was Jewish.)

(I am standing in line behind three Catholic priests at a fast food burger restaurant.)

Priest #1: “I think I’ll have a double cheeseburger combo.”

Priest #2: “That’s too much; I’ll just have the regular cheeseburger.”

Me: “Isn’t today Friday?”

Priest #1: *pauses, then sighs* “I’ll have the fish sandwich combo.”

Priest #2 & #3: “Me, too.”

(They step aside while their order is assembled. I then order.)

Me: “I’ll have the double cheeseburger combo.”

(All three priests look at me with a curious glare.)

Me: “I’m a Methodist.”

(I work at the customer service desk of a department store. Customers normally come to me if there’s damage to an item and they want a discount. Two gentlemen come up to my desk with a metal framed futon, which has been partially opened, but still has the plastic straps around it.)

Customer: “This is open, and I’m not sure if there’s anything wrong with it or missing from it, so I was wondering if I could get 10% off?”

(I proceed to check if the amount is low enough for me to authorize myself. He and his friend are chitchatting, and I catch bits and pieces, but I hear that they are going to ask for more off.)

Me: “All right, I can give you the discount.”

Customer: “Which one?”

Me: “10%.”

Customer: “Can I get the taxes off?”

(I do the math, and it’s more than I’m willing to authorize myself, so I go find a manager. I explain the situation, and she says absolutely not. She says she wouldn’t even give the 10% as there’s nothing wrong with the futon, but I’m free to if I want. I go back to the customer.)

Me: “Sorry, sir, she’s only giving the 10%.”

Customer: “I actually work with the Royal Canadian Legion; I’m a chaplain there. Do you want to ask again?” *slides a business card towards me*

Me: “She’s not going to change her answer; it was a hard no.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks for trying!”

(He was all smiles from then on, thanking me profusely for my help several times. Little did he know that I am in a type of reserves in the Canadian Forces, so was not one for this to be tried on, and using Jesus to try to get a discount on a futon is just tacky.)

Related:
What Would Jesus Discount?, Part 6
What Would Jesus Discount?, Part 5
What Would Jesus Discount?, Part 4

(A friend and fellow server have the honor of assisting a thirteen-year-old with his first taste of bacon.)

Guest: *slowly nibbles on a piece of bacon from his sandwich, his eyes grow wide* “I need two more orders of this. Now.”

Friend #1: *to the server* “He can’t have bacon! He’s Muslim…”

Friend #2: “You’re going to Hell, bro.”

Guest: “Too late. May as well go there happy.”