A man asked me the other day if he could use the internet in
my home. I asked him why he had to use the internet and he claimed he was
waiting on an important e-mail and that his internet had suddenly crashed and
he had no clue what was the cause. He was frantic like a heroin addict. Though,
usually, it would have been in good nature to let the man inside my home to use
my internet, I, instead decided to lie and tell the man that I was naïve to the
internet and the only mail I knew was delivered from the post office. I told
him I was old school, which the man had trouble processing because he was nearly
twenty years older than me in appearance. Either he was indeed older or life
had not been good to him. He asked me how I could not possibly know what the
internet was and I asked him why he could not possibly believe that there were
other possible ways to receive “important” messages besides the internet. He
became frustrated with me and told me that the internet was the quickest way to
receive information and I was like “Really?” I told him pulling his e-mail up
on his smartphone would be quicker then. He said he didn’t have a smartphone. I asked him, "Who’s smarter: the person without internet or the person without a smartphone?" Clearly, the answer to this question is the person without
internet, but if you haven’t caught on yet, because of his short attention span
I was able to distract this man from thinking the world was ending because he
could not have immediate access to the internet. For a few minutes I ended his
addiction. I doubt he will ever appreciate this, because, in the middle our
conversation his wife yelled that the internet was back on and he ran off.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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