So there I was, walking down the street, listening to a great POI podcast on my Android phone. Chris Mooney was interviewing Greta Christina and they were discussing how religious people come to be atheists. I was thinking about what I might say to the next Christian or whatever who tried to convert me to his or her faith.
Then, out of nowhere, I see a young man approaching on a bicycle. He was wearing a dress shirt and tie, black slacks, and had a plastic smile permanently attached to his face. As he apporached me and stopped his bike, I realized—too late—what you the reader have already deduced. Yes, he was a Mormon and he was out prosletyzing. The conversation only lasted maybe 30 seconds, and then he was on his way. It only hit me after he left and I stood there dazed and confused, what had just happened.
The Flying Spaghetti Monster, praise his pasta, had provided this witnessing opportunity which I had let slip away. When the young Mormon handed me a card with information about his church, I had simply said “thank you” and went on my way. I didn’t utter a single word in protest. Didn’t bring up my own deity at all. Didn’t tell him about Pastafarianism or the gloriousness of His Noodly Appendeges. Woe is me!
What shall my pennance be?
And why am I suddenly craving Fazoli’s?