He had the fake plastic smile of a real bogus mother fucker. That sort of ‘I’m bat shit’ or maybe even ‘I’m a total sociopath’ look about his ultra blue eyes and too blonde hair. When he said he was a youth pastor I knew I was on the money.
He gave the name of some mega church I had to google in the shitter when I got up to take a piss. He’d invited himself to my table in the coffee shop and decided it was my soul that needed saving that day. I don’t know why, I’ve always attracted weirdos like him. Call it a talent, call it a curse.
After combatting his ideas with the knowledge far too many years in Catholic schools taught me, I sighed exasperated. He smiled with energy I would otherwise attribute to cocaine, but without the haze and almost too much of the self assuredness. “I’m not getting up until I put you on the path to salvation my friend.” He said to my great annoyance.
I responded with a “Cool beans” stood up and headed for the door. He followed me out and began to walk with me down the street. I’ve never been the confrontational type, but this guy was pushing my buttons. He kept up his lines of bullshit about this and that Jesus crap.
I turned, looked him dead in his freaky eyes, and positioned myself six inches from his face. “Why did you fuck my wife?”
“You heard me mother fucker. Why did you fuck my wife?” I upped the volume this time and a passerby turned to look.
He looked around as terror washed over his goody goody face.
“You must be confused.”
“Oh so you fuck my wife and talk shit, how fucking dumb do you think I am?”
“I really, I don’t know. I didn’t know you had a wife and I’d never,”
“Oh so you think that bullshit excuse would work? I have no problem fucking her, the only qualm you have is that she’s my wife. You’re a real piece of shit, man. And to think you claim to be a man of God.”
“I am a man of God.”
“Yeah, sure, a man of Oh! God! Harder!”
“No, no.” He murmured panicking. I’d guessed he’d never had this level of public embarrassment. He turned and fled, like the coward he is.
I smiled seeing his form recede into the crowd, looking back to see if I was following him.
I guess it was crazy to make up such a story, but not half as crazy as the shit he was spouting. He followed me out of the cafe anyways, crazy asshole.
I wonder what his version of events will be, if he’ll even admit it happened. I’d guess I’d be in his bullshit prayers either way. Fucker.