I was heading into the men’s room when a middle-aged woman with a really bad haircut approached me, smiling broadly. “I’m Jan,” she said in a friendly manner, shaking my hand. I was immediately wary; I am generally distrustful of friendly strangers and tend to treat them as though fearful they may ask me for a loan. “Hello,” I said noncommittally, bracing myself for whatever was coming.
She got right to the point. “I saw you during the seminar,” she said, “and I could tell right away that you are spiritually deficient.”
I never saw that one coming. Stunned, I chose my words carefully. “Spiritually deficient?” I said. She nodded vigorously. “I’m here to help,” she said.
“To help?” I repeated. She nodded some more, her smile never wavering. “Jesus told me to come over and help you.”
I couldn’t help myself: “Jesus told you?” I said, thinking that I had entered some lower circle of hell where I was condemned to spend all eternity repeating the blatherings of an idiot.
She nodded again and explained that there were three voices in her head. The first one was the voice of her conscience. The second, the one she heeded now, was the voice of Jesus, and the third voice was “the Wicked One.”
I was confused. “The Wicked One?” I said. Jan nodded solemnly and put an index finger up at each side of her head, like horns. She gave me a significant look and I understood.
“Oh,” I said. “You mean Satan? Lucifer? Beelzebub? The Prince of Darkness?”
Jan looked around nervously, afraid that I had summoned someone from the nether world. “I don’t like to mention his name,” she whispered. I couldn’t help myself. “Voldemort?” I said and she scowled. “If you’re going to scoff I can leave,” said Jan.
“Buh-bye,” I said and I turned to go. Jan grabbed my arm. “Jesus wants you to know that he loves you and he wants to help,” she said.
“Listen,” I said, annoyed that this complete stranger felt comfortable discussing my deficiencies, spiritual or otherwise. “I’m sure that Jesus has better things to do than worry about me,” I said, “but tell him I’m fine, and thank him for his time.”
“You’re being insolent,” said Jan loudly. “Jesus told me to tell you that you can only find redemption through Christ.”
This had gone far enough so I played my trump card. “Tell Jesus I’m Jewish,” I lied, wondering if lying to Jesus about my religion was a mortal or venial sin.
“Jesus says he doesn’t care,” said Jan. “He loves you anyway, as if you were a normal person.”
I had had enough. “Listen,” I said. “I spent years in Catholic school and if the combined efforts of the nuns and the Jesuits did not resolve my ‘spiritual deficiencies’ I am not about to be swayed by a complete stranger who hears voices in her head. “
Jan tried again: “But Jesus says that he wants me to get your attention,” she began.
I held up my hand in a classic “Stop” gesture. “And since you have a direct connection to Jesus,” I said, “tell him if he really wants to send me a message he should eliminate the middleman and come talk to me himself. Now that would get my attention.”
“Careful,” said Jan , “you’re gonna burn.”
“Huh,” I said eloquently. A I walked into the restroom I felt her glaring at me but when I came out she was talking to an older gentleman. “I can see that you are spiritually deficient,” she was saying.