Tits & Tobacco: an odd occurence

All day long I unscrewed pool fixtures and carried out my usual Friday duties.

Gin & I both celebrated birthdays in the same week earlier this month and her mother sent us a nice birthday check (Thanks, Alva). So, for our usual Friday night date, we splurged by cashing the welcomed check and going downtown to Donna Maria’s, an open air Mexican restaurant on the waterfront.

Scrumptious.

While there I saw a bird (actually it landed on the table next to us). I’d never seen one like it before. But Ginny calmly announced that it was a boatswain grackle The scope of the woman’s knowledge amazes me.

Anyhow, this Mexican place sits right next to a Hooters Restaurant which also has an open air section. The two places blend together, so while we dined, I watched a fascinating jiggle show as sweet young things bent over vigorously polishing tables .

An aside: We went to a different Hooters once years ago when Ginny’s new boss treated the office staff and spouses to dinner there. About 18 or 20 people attended. Four or five waitresses brought out huge mounded platters of chicken wings and everyone prepared to dig in. But the new boss tapped her glass for attention, stood up, and said, “Mr. Cowart, I understand you are religious. Would you say grace for us”.
At this, the four or five waitresses paused in their serving, lined up posing and jutting, and stood in an impressive, but respectful, line. Other noisy customers packed the place but the stance of the girls caused a hush to fall.
Normally I believe in praying in secret, i.e. in private, not public, prayer. But what do you do when asked to pray in public in a Hooters?
Stunned, I stood up at the table and prayed aloud saying something or another in thanks for food, jobs and beauty. Then the feasting began.
I’ve heard it said that a Christian needs to be ready to preach, pray or die at a moment’s notice -- but this really caught me off guard.
I have no idea what I said but afterwards several people commented about how appropriate the prayer was.

Anyhow back to tonight, I enjoyed my fried peppers stuffed with something and coated with the Mexican version of Velveeta And I enjoyed the scenery of boats, birds, and boobs galore.

Afterwards, Gin & I strolled holding hands along the Riverwalk. A guy came up with a cell phone pressed to his ear. He stopped us and launched into a long story about wife and kids in a broke down car, dead battery, expensive hotel room -- and could I give him $57 to make ends meet. Ha! Fat chance.

(The asking price of panhandlers has gone up. My Daddy told me that back during the Great Depression a running joke was:
Q: “Say, Buddy, you got a nickel for a cup of coffee”?
A: “No. But I’ll get along somehow”.)

I gave the man a bit of change and he pressed for more till I said that was all I’m willing to give. I suspect the cell phone was only a prop for his scam; panhandling is illegal on the Riverwalk and there is a strong police presence.

So much for that.

Now here’s where things get weird:

As Ginny & I drove home we stopped at a Walgreen’s drug store because they were having a sale, a dollar off, on my brand of pipe tobacco. I bought my tobacco and Gin picked up a couple of things she needed.

Now remember this is the sum total of my thinking all evening – tits, tobacco.

As we walked to the car, I saw a homeless man. No shirt. A ragged bundle of clothes. Thin as a rail. Not a hair on his head. Looked like an AIDS victim with a really bad T-Cell count. He foraged in a trashcan, found a plastic soda bottle with a little liquid left in the bottom, and he drank it ( heat index of 105 today).

Now without thinking I gave this man a tiny courtesy, nothing big, just the sort of normal kindness you’d extend to anybody you know.

He started crying.

He stepped close and threw his arms around me and lay his head on my shoulder and cried his heart out. I have a great aversion to being touched; it’s so strong in me that I cut my own hair rather than let a barber touch me. And here this stranger is embracing me and crying. I deliberately shelved my aversion, steeled myself to being touched, and put my arms around him. I cradled him in my arms. I patted his back and rocked him back and forth like a child.

All I said to him was, “It’s ok. It’s going to be alright. Don’t be afraid. It’s all going to be ok”.

I said this over and over.

I think we stood like that in the Walgreen’s parking lot for a good ten or 15 minutes. Ginny quietly got in our car and waited.

Now, here’s what’s odd.

This man sobbing in my arms said, “Forgive me. I’m just a sinner. Please forgive me. Forgive me”.

I had not said one word about religion. I quoted no Scripture. I gave no testimony. I didn’t read Four Things God Wants You To Know. I did not lead him in The Sinner’s Prayer. None of that standard Christian witnessing stuff – Tits & tobacco had been the only things on my mind. – And here I felt God was using me??? Why? Maybe He’s scraping the bottom of the barrel for witnesses here in Jacksonville.

Yet, nevertheless, this poor bastard was crying for forgiveness with tears streaming down his face and snot dripping from his nose.

Finally, he pulled himself together. Wiped his face with his forearm, picked up his bundle and walked down the street sniffling and saying, “Lord, forgive me. Lord forgive me.”.

I really don’t know what to make of this.

Don’t you have to be pious and prayerful and “on fire for the Lord” to be used by God?

Or, maybe I was not “used by God”
Maybe I just ran into an emotional AIDS patient.
Maybe the man is a kook who does this with everybody?
Or, was this some kind of scam? Cynical Christian that I am, after embracing, cradling, and rocking this guy, I immediately checked to see my wallet was still in place – it was.

I really don’t know what to make of this odd incident.

Was I on Candid Camera or something?

Puzzling.