The Merciful Stripper
Several years ago, in my pre-Christian lifetime, a memorable experience occurred. I'd like to tell you about it and the story may remind you of something you've heard somewhere.
It was a Friday night and I went out with a friend to a bar - a standard beginning of weekend ritual. We met with friends, drank far too much, and at closing time carried on for about another hour at another location. Then, completely inebriated, we headed back to my apartment, and arrived home just after midnight. As we walked up the path to my front door I noticed the glass was smashed. I opened the door and turned on the light to find an almost completely empty room. I'd been burgled - practically everything I owned was gone except my bed and a sofa. My sound system, electrical goods, clothes (clean and dirty), photos, ornaments, all and sundry - everything gone. I wasn't insured.
I had been drunk when I first arrived home. I was sober in seconds and went into a state of shock that lasted three days. That kind of shock is quite strange. You know the world is continuing to turn but have somehow stopped within it and closed down somehow. After a few days I came out of that unusual mental and emotional buffer zone and headed into the city. I can't remember why I went there now, but I vividly remember coming across a Christian guy I knew a little bit as I walked up the street. I didn't know him well, he was some-one I'd met a few times through other friends. I knew he was a Christian. He knew I wasn't a Christian. We stopped to talk and I told him what had happened. He looked at me and said sternly, "God might be judging you". I just stared at him. Maybe he thought I'd missed it first time so he said it again, "God might be judging you". He gave me about four more sentences explaining why God was probably judging me. Then he went on his way. I returned home to my empty apartment.
Later that day I ran into a woman that I knew a bit. We weren't close friends and didn't know each other well, but lived near each other. We'd visited once or twice with each other. She had been a prostitute and heroin addict in the past. She had stopped doing a lot of that, but had told me she occasionally stripped at a club in the redlight district - the owner let her sort of "freelance" irregularly. She still used drugs sometimes. This woman wouldn't be described as soft. She'd experienced some tough circumstances and looked out for no.1. So anyway, we ran into each other and I told her about the burglary. I still had that horrible queasy feeling in my stomach over the whole thing, and was depressed about the fact that I owned nothing and had lost things that meant a lot to me in sentimental terms. I pretty much only had the clothes I'd worn to the bar on the Friday night too. She listened and expressed her sympathy.
The next morning she turned up on my doorstep. She'd brought me some clothes. A couple of pairs of jeans, some other long pants, a sweater, and a few other things. She listened some more and told me to come over and visit if I wanted to talk over coffee.
Which one was my neighbour?
It was a Friday night and I went out with a friend to a bar - a standard beginning of weekend ritual. We met with friends, drank far too much, and at closing time carried on for about another hour at another location. Then, completely inebriated, we headed back to my apartment, and arrived home just after midnight. As we walked up the path to my front door I noticed the glass was smashed. I opened the door and turned on the light to find an almost completely empty room. I'd been burgled - practically everything I owned was gone except my bed and a sofa. My sound system, electrical goods, clothes (clean and dirty), photos, ornaments, all and sundry - everything gone. I wasn't insured.
I had been drunk when I first arrived home. I was sober in seconds and went into a state of shock that lasted three days. That kind of shock is quite strange. You know the world is continuing to turn but have somehow stopped within it and closed down somehow. After a few days I came out of that unusual mental and emotional buffer zone and headed into the city. I can't remember why I went there now, but I vividly remember coming across a Christian guy I knew a little bit as I walked up the street. I didn't know him well, he was some-one I'd met a few times through other friends. I knew he was a Christian. He knew I wasn't a Christian. We stopped to talk and I told him what had happened. He looked at me and said sternly, "God might be judging you". I just stared at him. Maybe he thought I'd missed it first time so he said it again, "God might be judging you". He gave me about four more sentences explaining why God was probably judging me. Then he went on his way. I returned home to my empty apartment.
Later that day I ran into a woman that I knew a bit. We weren't close friends and didn't know each other well, but lived near each other. We'd visited once or twice with each other. She had been a prostitute and heroin addict in the past. She had stopped doing a lot of that, but had told me she occasionally stripped at a club in the redlight district - the owner let her sort of "freelance" irregularly. She still used drugs sometimes. This woman wouldn't be described as soft. She'd experienced some tough circumstances and looked out for no.1. So anyway, we ran into each other and I told her about the burglary. I still had that horrible queasy feeling in my stomach over the whole thing, and was depressed about the fact that I owned nothing and had lost things that meant a lot to me in sentimental terms. I pretty much only had the clothes I'd worn to the bar on the Friday night too. She listened and expressed her sympathy.
The next morning she turned up on my doorstep. She'd brought me some clothes. A couple of pairs of jeans, some other long pants, a sweater, and a few other things. She listened some more and told me to come over and visit if I wanted to talk over coffee.
posted by Catez at 6/07/2006
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