Dude, I am trying to eat my kouign-amann.
There's a one-off character that exists in the world of the Peanuts comic strip. Technically, he has no name. He also has no face, as we see him only from behind. He's a kid Charlie Brown meets at summer camp, and his response to everyone who speaks to him is, "Shut up and leave me alone." Among the strip' s devoted following, that kid is now known as Shut Up And Leave Me Alone.
Related: here is a Saturday morning breakfast moment I had the other day.
We went to the Los Angeles Farmer's Market. It's in our part of the city. It's been around for a very long time, its history reaching back to the late 19th century. You can get produce there, you can buy a warm baguette, you can shop for unusual mineral waters from other lands, you can eat falafel, empanadas, breakfast burritos. There's a fish monger. I buy chicken feet and backs there when I want to make chicken stock. In 2008, Alonso and I had our wedding reception at Bob's Coffee & Doughnuts and our friends cleaned out the place.
There are dozens and dozens of tables and chairs, surrounded by food stalls. You meet your friends there, secure an empty table, then wander around to get the food of your choice. We met two friends there on Saturday morning, and I headed directly to Michelina, a nice bakery, where I enjoy the kouign-amann they make. If you've never eaten one, please stop reading and go find a bakery in your town that makes them. They are buttery and sugary and the dough is laminated and folded and puffed up, like a delicious little hat.
I see a man, more or less my age, waiting in line for coffee. The back of his t-shirt reads, "There is a God in Heaven who loves you." Somewhat less subtle than those "I FOUND IT" bumper stickers of the 1970s. Somewhat less histrionic than those Power Team-esque "HIS PAIN YOUR GAIN" t-shirts of the 80s. Fine. Enjoy your beverage. I'm gone from our table for about ten minutes. There was a short line for pastry.
When I return, I see the tiny tract on our table. It says the same thing as the man's t-shirt. I know what happened in my absence. I ask Alonso, who says, "He came up to the table, talking, but we didn't respond or acknowledge his presence. He left the little thing here and walked away. As you can see, we have not touched it."
This is reasonable behavior on the part of my husband and friends. I'm angry but not at them. I'm angry this stranger invaded our table in a place where the unwritten rule is don't bother people. They're eating. They're talking to their family and friends. They're reading a book, alone. Keep your bullshit to yourself.
Mostly, I'm angry that I missed out on the opportunity to speak to him in the language he and I share: Evangelical Code. I've got a response locked and loaded for just this sort of event and I'm annoyed that I was denied my chance.
It goes like this, spoken calmly, voice not raised, scene not caused: "My brother in Christ. I am not your mission field. None of these people here are your mission field. They all have food in front of them. Your job is to go feed a hungry family. Then you can come back here and see me and tell me nothing about it. Because if you do that, if you broadcast it, then you negated your scorecard. Zero points for you. Everyone here, at some point in their lives, has heard your sales pitch. Many of them, myself included, live here loving the fact that we aren't surrounded by irritating, pushy people like you, as we so often were when we lived in smaller towns in other places. And you'll leave this experience convinced that you've been 'persecuted for righteousness' sake.' But your choice to do this comes not from God but from your own ego. Stop it."
I've got this response memorized in my head. Rehearsed, really. And I'm ready. Of course, I might not get my chance. It's still pretty rare to encounter it here, especially in this part of the city, so close to still-quite-queer West Hollywood. But I see the videos online. They're doing it on airplanes and subways now. People shout them down but they keep going, certainty on top of certainty.
They do it because they are burdened with a very real kind of stress, imposed on them by their churches. It's the command to never shut up about Jesus. Because if they do shut up about Jesus, even one time, someone might not get saved. They might be the only person standing between that unsaved soul and an eternity in everlasting fire. So that's a problem for them. They're freaked out. Every day they pray for forgiveness for maybe missing some opportunity to "witness." They're not even all that interested in the object of their testimony. They're having an intense moment with their idea of God and it's got them in a state.
Their preacher told them to do it, and they thought he spoke for God. Their Sunday School teacher told them to do it. The youth group. The choir director. Their parents. Someone told all those Christian rock bands I saw way back in the 80s to stop their shows for an altar call. Someone told Stryper to throw tiny Bibles into their audience. If there had been t-shirt cannons that shot out little Bibles they'd have painted one with yellow and black stripes.
The Bible also said to do whatever it takes to win souls, or least you can say the Bible said to do it. That book is extraordinarily malleable, and you can imagine that it told you just about anything, and you'll be justified within yourself in doing exactly what you want to do, which is to be Annoying for Christ.
I'm sure I'll see that guy again. He chose the Farmer's Market for his missionary work. He will probably do it again some peaceful Saturday morning when I just want to eat my kouign-amann.
Maybe I'll give him that quiet dressing down. Maybe not. I mean, I do want him to know what I think about his behavior, knowing full well that it will accomplish nothing. I still want to register my opposition. And I want this especially because he started it. He made my pastry time less buttery. He deserves to know that he's being a serious bummer. Maybe I'll just say, "Shut up and leave me alone."
