This also comes from the same idiots who walk up to the deli I used to work at and ask me "HOW LONG IS A TWO FOOT HOAGIE?"
Huh, the "Heaven" thread is still going... like the energizer bunny... well, what the hell.
I'm not used to fanatics. I was not raised by them, never lived near them and have never been chased around by them. I've had a difficult time relating to people's pure vitriolic hatred of Christians for this reason but recently had an encounter that helped me understand a little better.
I was minding my business going for a walk extremely early one Sunday morning when this very young fella approached me.
Him: Excuse me, can I ask you a question?
Him: If you died today, do you think you would go to heaven?
Maybe it was the early morning hour or my own insularity but it doesn't immediately occur to me what is going on. My first thought is, gee whiz that's delightfully morbid. My second thought is, okay I'll bite. I mean, I thought he was just some harmless college kid having one of those weird random internal philosophical debates.
Him: What makes you think that?
Me: Because I'm a good liar.
Heh, oh I think I'm soooo
clever at this point and am grinning a big dumb grin. Young Mister Morbid either doesn't hear me or ignores me and immediately launches into a bonafide sermon about how god demands PERFECTION, about how lying is a SIN and all SINNERS will burn for eternity in the fiery lakes of HELL, and how jesus christ died for our SINS and we must accept him as our one true lord and SAVIOR. You all know what's coming don't you? Well, I didn't. So when Mister Morbid told me he was a born-again my eyes got wide and methinks, Ah, is that what it's called. .. as I surreptitiously check for a hospital band.
Normally I get kind of sarcastic with preachy people (No, I'm not familiar with religious sorts but preachy people come in all kinds of guises). However, this time, something about this kid made me stow my usual smart assery and keep my mouth shut. Then halfway through the diatribe I notice this kid's hand is badly injured, actively bleeding. It could've been a farm accident or something else benign but the sight of blood combined with the psycho-rant had an eerie effect. I was genuinely disturbed by the whole thing. I realized I was on a less-travelled road (literally) by myself with a religious zealot who might as well be a serial killer for all I knew.
So I stayed extremely polite. And when Young Mister Might-Kill-Me told me he'd pray for me I just thanked him kindly and smiled sweetly and got the fuck out of there as quickly as possible.
Lessons learned: They're fun to make fun of but I'd rather do so from a safe distance where the froth and spittle and bleeding hands can't reach me. Barring that, I'll be on my best behavior, eyes peeled, with full awareness of all available exits. Oh and don't talk to strangers.