God save the lunatics

Sometimes life affords these little moments of so much whathefuck that you get to spend the rest of the day falling back on the memory of them and cherishing those moments like a prized gem.

I just returned from a quick trip to Target for cleaning supplies, and because I like to lie to myself that I won’t go in there and get sucked into the clothing section for longer than would define a simple window shop.  Really, it’s a problem.  I should just admit that a “quick” trip to Target is going to equate to an additional 30 minutes at best of my original estimated time due to perusing through the multicolored wonderland of shirts, jackets, and dresses not skimping on quality of make or lacking in style and all while priced at extremely reasonable costs.

I broke out of my Calypso St. Barth-induced haze and worked my way over to the cleaning supplies.  Where I then noticed while working my way throughout the multitude of Kaboom!s, Foam-Tastics, Bowl-Blasters, and the like, a woman who appeared to be debating over vacuums.  There would be nothing else out of the ordinary for this situation, except the woman’s wardrobe personally lassoed my eyes and hog tied them into submission.  I became one of those portraits whose eyes follow you no matter which direction you move, only in reverse; no matter where I turned or moved, my eyes stayed glued to her outfit.

But it wasn’t my fault.  It really wasn’t. Because she was wearing an oversized white tee with a number of scribbles on it in what appeared to be sharpie medium.  I see self-inscribed clothing and I’m immediately hooked.  I mean, ultimately, that’s why the person wrote on their own clothing to begin with, right?  Making yourself a walking billboard is kind of a dead ringer that you want to be gawked at.  So whatever.  I didn’t care about my ogling.

It’s what her shirt said though, that sparked my sheer confounding thoughts that continue till now.  Her shirt, which covered her entire trunk of her body down to her lower thighs, professed nothing less than the hilarity of the drivel that comes out of an insane person’s mouth, only written down for all to read, re-read, and fully absorb, instead of being stuck asking themselves, “I didn’t just hear that, did I?”  No no no no- she had permanent-markered her vitriol for all to see.

The shirt was littered with big, bold letters that professed, “MAY 21- JUDGMENT DAY!  REPENT!! REPENT!!!  Are you ready for Christ’s return??!  Are you hell-bound??  ASK ME!!!!”

Well.  That’s just goddam adorable.

You guys, I tried.  I tried really hard to get a picture.  It just wasn’t in the stars homily.

Why, YES, Random-Lady-in-Target, I was just considering that fact myself, and I would like to know more about an event that will take place in the next week and how I can slam redemption of my 27 years of behavior that may or may not be considered damning and immoral based on your arbitrary judgment into one week.

Now, here’s where my brain starts spinning out of control on the subject matter- and it spun (span?  spat?)  into oblivion- because there are several things inherently wrong about what I was witnessing, apart from the obvious- that I had clearly wandered into the fucking-crazy-doomsday-sayers-aisle of Target.  I really only wanted a new box of detergent. …Maybe a new sweater.  That’s beside the point.

Let’s go back to where I found her- checking out vacuums.  She had been inspecting the machines for a while because I noticed her as I was approaching the area where she had been inspecting three different apparatus’ and had apparently narrowed it down to two by the time I got within eye view of her accoutrements.  She eventually chose the cheaper and lesser of the two she was debating over and moved along.

Sooooo… first of all… who are we purchasing such an item for?  Is it a gift?  Eh.  Unless it was something someone specifically requested, chances are good it wasn’t a gift.  Who gives a vacuum as a gift??  What kind of message does that send the recipient?  “Happy Birthday, baby.  We love you but we’d like it if you didn’t treat your home like a catbox.”

But wait, then if she’s not buying it for someone else, is she buying it for herself?  I don’t know, guys.  I would think that if I truly believed the end of days was imminent, I’d be blowing my cash on the highest quality of man-made bullshit; not opting for the cheaper, lesser quality stuff.  That’s just me, though.  I would also be purchasing a home installment of an adult-sized bouncy castle and eating like a death row inmate’s last meal every night.

But then why did she buy something as expensive as a brand new vacuum cleaner, only days before her vision of the apocalypse?  Someone, please, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I attended Catholic school for a good 6 years, which ultimately gives me interminable rights as to how to discuss such matters 🙂 But in most cases, depending upon who you ask, of course, doesn’t the rapture occur before the actual end of the world?  And I’m assuming this handsome woman expects herself to be a qualifying candidate for such an event.  Did she want a clean den for the ultimate arrival of the son of god to be impressed with her level of hygiene?  Like it would really make that amount of difference?  How would that actually go down?

_______

Faith:  JESUS!  Welcome!!

Son-of-God:  Hello, Faith.  I’m sure you’ve heard about the Rapture going on recently.

Faith:  YES. And I’ve tried to spread your word across Southern California for the past several months to save the blasphemers.

SOG:  I’ve noticed.  And I’ve been very pleased with your efforts.  Wait a sec…  What’s this? Is that… is that a wine stain?

Faith:  Oh… I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.

SOG:  Faith, I’m what some people refer to as omnipresent.  I see all.  And clearly you didn’t clean up well enough around here to accommodate company.

Faith.  I’m so sorry.

SOG:  NOPE!  Should’ve opted for the Dyson.  I’m afraid I need to be going.

Faith:  Would you like me to come too?

SOG:  No, no.  That won’t be necessary.

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