The previous entry about cocaine reminded me of a story from my earlier blog. Here it is:
It’s with a frightening regularity that my wife accuses me of being evil: being able to boil holy water, angering god, no heart, etc. It has caused me to be more cognizant of situations where I might be fitting this accusation all too well.
This morning, at the Mobil on the Parkway (have to fill up today, prices change on Fridays), I’m parked next to a passenger van. The driver is wearing a yarmulke. So is the passenger. So are all the passengers. A few in the window were reading what I can only assume to be the Torah, since I don’t read hebrew up close, let alone from fifteen feet. They might have been reading erotic bondage stories written in hebrew for all I know; I’m just the goyem. Regardless, it was something solemn.
Where does this involve me? Seeing these people using their commute time to read, pray, and reflect made me take a look at myself. After all, the driver and a few others were looking at me. I had the windows open, eating my frosted strawberry pop-tarts (now with more heathen), sunglasses on, shirt wrinkled and untucked, and the stereo pumping out Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine” at 7:45 in the morning. I’m a grade-A cultural ambassador. Does anyone know the hebrew word for godless sinner?