A bit of background for context.
I've always been remarkably observant. I'm extremely introverted. I'm an extroverted introvert, which means I have little to no problem interacting with large groups of people... but then I'll sleep for two days afterward.
For the most part, in groups of people I tend to hang back a little and observe. I don't mean some of what is known as "people watching" but rather really observing. I guess I've done it so much for so much of my life that it has become a blink. (Read the Malcolm Gladwell book.) A blink is when you can size up a situation in nano-seconds.
In the ministry, this was observed and commented upon by the then NY Metro District Executive, Rev. Howell Lind, and then by PNW District Exectutive, Janine Larson. In both cases after being in a room for about five minutes I could size up what was going on with everyone's ministry. Again, this ability had been commented upon more than once by two different District Execs.
There's no magic to it. It just comes by paying attention. It's one thing to observe, another to use the information you get.
I had one fight back in high school. Not a punch was thrown, but I won hands down. Here's how it happened:
One day a high school bully decided that I would be a good choice to pick on. I was a skinny kid. He walked up to me started to talk shit and push me. A small crowd was gathering. At that point my daemon's voice spoke to me: "Tell him the truth about his life."
So, I did.
I just began to talk, very, very calmly, and I told him what I saw, the observations, the inferences and asked him over and over, "Do you like your life?" As I did something happened that I had never expected. His lip began to quiver, "shut up." Not gonna happen. I continued to tell him about his home life (remember there's a crowd now), his failed relationships, his stupidity, all with examples. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. "Leave me alone."
"Why? You chose to pick on me." Oh, no, we're not done yet. I kept talking. I stopped when he was on the ground in a fetal position sobbing. The crowd's eyes were agog. What they witnessed was someone calmly talking, and someone else falling to the ground. People started to back away from me. It was over.
The fight was over. But I wanted to make sure this was over for good. As the crowd began to back away, I leaned over the bully and said, very calmly, "I held back. Next time I won't."
I never had a problem again, he left me alone. Those who witnessed this avoided me like the plague -- they were fucking spooked. There were rumors spread about me. I was okay with that.
That's the background.
Yesterday I ran into a former congregant outside a Starbucks, right here in Spokane.
[By the way, and this has nothing to do with anything, I find Starbucks coffee to be disgusting, it's severely over-roasted and because of that it tastes like shit. It's not as awful as UUSC Coffee Project coffee, but that will be a whole other post. (Hint: the coffee is terrible because of Unitarian Universalist racism and classism. No other reason, really.)]
This was a congregant who found my ministry threatening to her status quo and worked tirelessly to get me out of the church. She never thought I knew, so she was always super friendly to my face.
It was a weird conversation, she was overly, falsely friendly and seemed to want to pump me for info. "Tell me all about what's been going on for you..." She mostly seemed to focus on how I can afford to live in my house, since leaving the church. She wanted to know how I was earning my living.
Reality is I've been retired since 25. I made a lot of money early as a food photographer, invested well, and have basically spend my life from 25 on in a state of semi-retirement. Working when I wanted, for fun, or extra money for larger purchases, such as a top of the line electric car and real estate, but otherwise just hanging out. My congregations knew this. I made it clear that I was retired and the ministry was a second (hobby) career. No one believed me.
Since leaving the ministry I studied and became a private investigator (when I operate, I operate out of Idaho which has no licensing requirements), and I occasionally shoot porn professionally under the name Donnie Wishman (an homage to one of my favorite film makers: Doris Wishman). In both cases, I only do the stuff that interests me.
Several of my former congregants know I'm a private investigator because I was the one who turned them into the IRS. Most of the ones I turned in stopped going to church and left the area afterwards. Maybe it's too much to have your former minister turn you in to the IRS for tax-fraud. Good grief! Your own minister knows you're a fraud and a cheat and knew it the second you started to play with your pledge to manipulate the church. The rewards are lovely; the money a plus, and the emotional payoff is amazing.
So I said, "I have my own porn production company, it's been doing well." Her eyes began to spin in her head. I didn't initially have the heart to tell her that her own alienated slut daughter has appeared in several of my productions. (Yup, I'm an asshole.)
She was a pseudo-feminist and I just touched her trigger. "Pornography!" The floodgates opened. Verbal diarrhea started to spray everywhere. It went on and on with platitudes and talking points she read somewhere, or made up on the spot. I'm pretty sure that she even threw in the fish and bicycles thing.
As she went on and on she looked like a badly drawn cartoon character. It was funny. It was hilarious. I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing directly in her face.
"I don't see what's so funny."
"You are. You don't actually believe the shit you're saying, do you?"
She got redder, and the torrent became even more unhinged. And then my daemon said, "Tell her the truth."
So, I did.
I told her that having raised her own alienated daughter in such a piss-poor manner she turned to porn to supplement her student income at Evergreen State College. And as far as I was concerned, it was all on her.
I stopped when the tears began to gush. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she thought I was going to comfort her. Not today. "I held back. Next time I won't."
Your Old Pal,
Devilhead
No comments:
Post a Comment