Eskimos Might Have 35 Different Words for “Snow,” but They Still Only Have One for “Bloody Mess.”

“How are you doing today, Ma’am?”

“I’m doing great! How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright.”

Continue scanning items across the register.

“That’s good; are you going to heaven when you die?”

“What!?!”

“Heaven, are you going there when you die?”

Okay, I admit my history with religion isn’t exactly exemplary. I’ve gone on record disliking religious panhandlers (the only panhandlers I actively dislike), as well as my circular logic about the morality of lying to the church. Now we’ll have to add missionaries to the list.

Lying again plays a big part here. How could I answer this woman? I was at work, and my biggest responsibility there is to make sure our customers leave happy. So clearly, if I tell the truth, one of this lady’s precious Commandments, she’ll leave unhappy. If I lie… well, let’s just say that never works.

I knew I should’ve kept bugging Maintenance to install an ejector seat into Lane 8! Sure, they all laughed then, but who’s laughing now?

“Of course!,” I shout, perhaps just a bit too excited to sound completely believable. “Me and St. Peter are practically on a first name basis.”

She wasn’t buying what I was selling, besides the Tide detergent.

“Jesus loves you,” she adds meekly at the end; the final, passive, fuck you to my callous nonchalance.

They always throw that at you to keep the final word. How can you reply? No he doesn’t! How would I know? I know! But I hear he’s not so keen on you and your proselytizing; might be another possible reply.

We settled on me explaining that I have no problems with God’s almighty words, just the people who have (holy) ghostwritten those words into books.

“It’s God’s law,” she countered, “just through man’s words.”

“Exactly.”

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