(We’re in the waiting room during our adult son’s brain surgery. A family sits near us and I hear:)
Family: “He’s in Jesus’s hands now.”
(I lean over to my son’s girlfriend and say:)
Me: “They sent a carpenter in to do a surgeon’s job.”
(I work in the reference department at my local library and we get all kinds of strange people. This particular patron is something of a local legend; nearly every native of my city knows her name, and not for the right reasons. This is my second time working with her after reading her file in public record and REALLY getting to know her… unique perspective.)
Legend: “Hello, [My Name]. Could you help me out?”
Me: “Of course. What can I do for you?”
Legend: “What?”
Me: *louder, this time* “I asked what I could do for you.”
Legend: “Can you get me the name of every owner of a major media source in the United States?”
Me: “I can certainly help you with that, ma’am. Give me one moment.”
(I begin to go through the web, finding and writing down corporations and CEOs until [Legend] looks reasonably satisfied. We don’t just stop at ABC and FOX; we go all the way down to local stations in major cities, and the rabbit holes those become. Regardless, it all seems innocent enough, until…)
Legend: “Okay, I need you to find me the names of every major politician and president of Israel.”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
Legend: “I want to know the names of every major politician and president of Israel. The Jews in charge. You know. Those Jews own us all, and our media. I need to know their names.”
(I pull up a Wikipedia page listing all acting head executives of the Israeli state and print it for her. She smiles, pays the fee for the pages, and then walks away with my notes and her new list of Israeli officials. She sits in the office section of reference for a long time. An hour or so later, I walk over to that area to clean up and organize our newspapers. She’s drawn pentagrams all over both pages. All over them. I cannot find the words to describe all the Cherokee letters — I researched their origin after the fact — and pentagrams all over these papers. I quickly finish my work and walk back to my desk, settling back into work. Suddenly, she returns to me, smiling like a sweet old lady. She hands me the pages, looking genuinely proud of her work.)
Legend: “Can I fax these, sweetie?”
Me: “Yes, ma’am. Write down the information on a cover sheet and come back to me.”
(She did so, we faxed the forms, she paid, and she left. I legitimately believe she was attempting to hex somebody. I never had the desire to research the fax number. I tried not to think too much about it afterward. Kind of funny in retrospect, though.)
(I am outside my university’s research lab building, by the parking deck. I am American, but ethnically I am half Chinese, which some people can spot right away. I’m also a scientist and an atheist. I am walking towards my lab and using the sidewalk next to the parking garage. There is a security guard standing on the sidewalk next to the garage, watching some birds in a patch of grass. I smile and say hi to her. She stops me.)
Guard: “Isn’t it amazing?”
Me: “…?”
Guard: “You can just throw anything in God’s dirt and it’ll grow!”
Me: “Uh… what?”
Guard: “Yeah, you can have any seeds at all, throw it into God’s dirt, and it’ll grow, just like that! Isn’t it amazing?”
Me: “Well, yes, life in general is pretty amazing. But I gotta tell you, not everything you throw in dirt is going to grow…”
(I launch into a very short explanation about plant needs, soil fertility, and crop rotation, which apparently is quite lost on the lady.)
Guard: *quickly changing the subject* “So, you work in that building over there?”
Me: “Yep, I’m a graduate student here at [University].”
Guard: “Are you Asian?”
Me: “I’m half Chinese.”
Guard: “Isn’t China a communist country?”
Me: “Yep.”
Guard: “Well, you have yourself a nice day.”
(She couldn’t get rid of me fast enough! Shun the non-believer!)
I live on a farm deep in a hollow or “holler” as the locals call it in Kentucky. My husband and I moved there after he retired from the military because of my husband’s post-traumatic stress disorder in hopes that being away from people would help him. We have put a number of signs on the fencing and gate to the property to let people know that a combat veteran lives here and that unannounced visitors are not welcome. Lately, we have been having problems with a certain religious group that has an organization called the Watchtower that likes to proselytize disregarding those signs and coming up to the house.
In this incident, my husband is recovering from hernia surgery. The religious group has decided to disregard the signs and open a closed gate to the property. I have had enough at this point so I decide to have a little fun.
My favorite movie franchise is “Police Academy” and my favorite character is Zed — played by Bobcat Goldthwaite — a former gang member who communicates through screaming. When I see the religious group coming up to the porch, I smear eyeliner all over my face and turn out all of the lights in the house to make the house really dark. My husband keeps a large flashlight by the door and I pick that up.
When I open the door for the religious group, I hold the flashlight under my face and start screaming incoherently. Apparently, I scared them because they immediately leave my porch and start babbling about Ozzy Osbourne as they leave the property!
We haven’t had problems with them since. In this area, I have the right to answer the door with a gun, but doing this was way more fun! I don’t understand why they picked this holler to do their proselytizing because the houses are about 1000 feet apart and no one welcomes their brand of religious message.
(I am ringing customers. A woman gets in the small line that is forming, followed by a gentleman who is spouting about seeing Jesus and being pure of heart and spirituality. He was in earlier in the day so I know who he is.)
Man: *mumbles about seeing Jesus*
Woman: “I don’t want to hear it.”
(They continue like this until the woman comes up to me to be rung up. The gentleman continues while the woman silently pleads for help. I decide to step in.)
Me: “Sir, I am sorry, but we are in the middle of a transaction here.”
Man: *mumbles about being rude*
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we are still in the middle of a transaction.”
Man: “I was talking to her.”
(The woman mouths, “Thank you,” to me, I nod, and we finish the transaction. The gentleman is next in line.)
Me: “I’m sorry about before, sir, it’s just that we were in the middle of a transaction.”
Man: “Oh, you must be a devil worshiper, then.”
(I am shocked, since I did NOT expect to be accused of being a devil worshiper. I barely know what to say. I see he has a skull cap on and decide to go the Jewish route, since I am Jewish, as well.)
Me: “Sir, I’m not a devil worshiper; I’m Jewish.”
Man: “You are?”
Me: “Yes, I am.”
Man: “Oh, well, that doesn’t make a difference; you could still be a devil worshiper.”
(After going back and forth on this subject for another minute, I gave up and just “yes”ed him to death while finishing the transaction.)
