Rapture in the Aisle

I was accosted recently in the grocery store by a gentleman intent on "saving my soul." Right there in the frozen food aisle.

He was a mild-mannered gentleman and a vague acquaintance, so I tried to be patient. Really, I did. But my mind kept wandering.

Why in the frozen foods? It was, after all, the least comfortable part of the store to spend extended periods of time. If you really want to have a good religious conversation, shouldn't it be in the baking aisle? Near the Angelfood cake mix, perhaps?

Or possibly by the coffee. People are pretty religious about coffee. And the smell of it might perk one up, so to speak. As it was, I was getting very sleepy. It was so very cold, you see. I think sleepiness is a symptom of hypothermia. Soon my sandals would be frozen to the terrazzo.

Oh yes, it would be much nicer in the toilet-paper aisle. Warmer, by far. And all those pictures of cherubic babies and angels couldn't hurt his argument.

Or, wait! The best place would certainly be next to the household cleaning products. After all, cleanliness is . . . well, you know. Plus, I could use some noxious fumes about now. To either wake me up or kill me. Whichever.

The gentleman in question clearly believed in his argument. His god should be my god - no question about it. But I hesitated to sign up, based on his god's apparent need for a public relations department that goes around grocery stores trying to convert lost souls. As if people like me are wandering around by the pizzas and pot pies looking for the meaning of life. prime targets for picking off by one religion or another.

And what about attrition? Assuming it was his lucky day and I smacked my forehead in a frozen V-8 epiphany, agreed that YES, this was EXACTLY what I needed! To get some of that god stuff. And RIGHT NOW by golly; Should that really give my zealous converter a warm fuzzy? If I can be swayed by a few impassioned words whilst reaching for a ready-made spinach casserole, could I ever really be counted on as a reliable long-term worshipper? Or would the next doorbell-ringing sect be able to scoop me up with the likes of a free brochure?

I happen to consider religion is a private issue. Very personal. Something I would choose to discuss, perhaps, next to the nasal sprays or feminine hygiene products.

It's not something I go around discussing with acquaintances. Whenever possible, I avoid attending pious pep-rallies and holy wars. I just go about my business using my faith for it's general-purpose calming influence and as a handy decision-maker in tricky moral dilemmas. Such as whether to politely endure this gentleman's lecture, or run screaming into the streets.

In the end I said little. I certainly didn't voice any of the seven million sarcastic remarks that played through my mind in the thirty minutes or so I'd been held hostage. And that first time he paused for breath, I calmly bid him good day and wheeled off to load up on beer and box-wine.

It was only when I was loading the bags into my trunk that I realized I'd forgotten the ice cream. And thus concluded that the gentleman had, in fact, been truly evil.