"I'm
sorry that this is what I've become! I'm sorry that it's not good enough for
you now, or ever."
"That's
not true. Not true. But you did used to, you used to be different. You hadn't
given up yet. Now, now, you're just a..."
"What...a
bum? A piece of shit? What am I? I'm no different. This is the same man you
married ten years ago. I was nothing then...just younger, not as fat,
maybe...but just as talentless."
"You're
not talentless. You're depressed. And it's been for some time. That's the only
thing that's changed. You're not happy anymore."
"Yeah,
I'm not happy!" And with that pronouncement, Jim Zimmerman grabbed his car
keys and slammed the door.
She
was right, of course. Women are almost always right, which is why men like Jim
have to slam doors and drive away.
He
didn't have a destination. He considered driving to the seedy part of town
filled with strip clubs and disillusionment. He wondered if one of those
establishments was dark enough that nobody would notice him. He wanted
someplace dark and delusional so that he could continue feeling sorry for
himself.
It
wouldn't have mattered if somebody did notice him. He was no longer an Elder at
FaithSprings Evangelical Church; and he was no longer Head of Sales at Price
First Honda. Gas prices had dropped, and the market for hybrid vehicles,
the division that Jim headed, had fallen 24% in two years. Corporate didn't
care how similar this drop was to the national average, they needed fall-guys
instead of pragmatic answers, and cutting Jim's $55,000 salary made some fiscal
sense. Jim was offered to go back to the sales floor, a job he hadn't
done in seven years, and one with more daily stress and a variable income based
on sales numbers. In a fit of childishness, because the executive vice
president of sales of the company was always throwing thematic parties, he
chalked the windows of all his gas-freindly inventory with Harry Potter
insults: Mudblood, Half-blood Prince, and Muggle-Born, before tagging the VP’s
Land Rover with Voldemort.
It
was very un-Potterish.
He
resigned as an Elder (and the almost volunteer position of youth pastor)
because he refused to terminate the contract of their senior pastor. The
senior pastor's wife recently left him, and his sermons had taken a sour note.
The attendance dropped from a high of 650 in each Sunday service to just under
that number total for both services. The tithes obviously fell substantially,
and the church was worried if it could pay for renovations they had just
refinanced.
Jim
felt it wasn't Christian, to kick a guy, especially when he's down. Pastor
Steve hadn't broke any codes of morality, or preached anything sacrilegious.
Still, the other Elders pointed to his contract. The minister was
responsible for keeping the attendance numbers up, and he had failed. Jim's
parting words were, "Maybe you should rename the church FinancialSprings!"
and in typical Jim fashion, he slammed the door. Nobody chuckled. Elders,
unlike wives, are not always right, and usually have a worse sense of humor.
Both
events happened in one week, and played hell on Jim's psyche. He was a good
man. Never really drank. Didn't care for the few times he tried drugs. Was a
decent father. An okay husband. Never cheated on her, or any girl, for that
matter. But being unemployed in his early thirties, felt like a judgement
straight from the heavens.
Instead
of cursing the heavens, he started damning people to hell; or more exactly,
virtual hell, as he devoted his time to first-person-shooter video games. He
enjoyed online killing, he wasn't sure why, maybe it was an evolutionary thing;
although Jim didn't necessarily believe in evolution. At least not ape to man
evolution; but maybe like those birds on that one island that don't fly anymore
because they don't have predators, evolution. That made a little sense, in his
mind. He also started drinking cheap beer by the half-racks, as an outward sign
of youthful rebellion that he had never participated in. All these
changes felt good, at first. Like a vacation from his life. Life, up
until this point was all about responsibilities and making good decisions. Like
anyone who had been a something, once, though, he realized he was devolving. He
just didn't know how to return from this vacation. Every so often, his escape
into other-worldliness and indulgence manifest itself with disastrous results
with the actual spinning world. His wife and kids had even taken a vacation
without him, as they needed to escape his outbursts of illogicalness.
The
worst came when he confronted the guy who came to repossess his 2013 Accura ILX
Hybrid and ended up getting punched in the face. His wife found him
sleeping it off in the front lawn two hours later. Another notch in the belt of
awesomeness. If only he had been packing an RPG, he wouldn't have an empty spot
in his driveway, and a splitting headache. Okay, an RPG would be
really messy, maybe just a Heckler & Koch G36.
Jim
felt the same type headache setting in as he sat cramped in his wife's 2000
Honda Insight with a reconstructed title. Many salesmen and buyers on his
former lot wouldn't be caught dead driving one of these "gay" cars,
and yet, well, here he was.
The
normalcy of his own neighborhood faded the longer he drove. Some of these spots
he had visited while in college, a bar here, a supermarket he forgot existed,
and then, on the corner of a bunch of big-box restaurants, a new sign: Hooters.
He
laughed. His wife would never let him go to Hooters, at least he thought she
wouldn’t. He didn't even know a Hooters had opened in his town, not that they
would've gone there.
"What's
the harm," he thought. "It's not a strip club. It's just a
restaurant with sexist outfits."
He
wondered if they still served food at 10:45 at night. He was craving bar food.
French fries and fried stuff.
"Just
one, honey?" asked Shelly, the hostess who was probably too old to be
forced into her costume. "You wanna sit in the bar?"
"Yeah,
it's just me," Jim sighed. Even when he was working, he rarely ate out
alone. He wondered if divorced guys had to do this. He shivered.
She
threw down a cork coaster. "You want a menu shug?"
"Yeah..."
She
was already gone. He looked around. It didn't look much different than an
Applebee's late at night, except for the random orange butt-tight shorts. A few
people drinking alone, a few couples. Even a few families that didn't get
the memo that 10:45 at night was too late for kids to be eating on a school
night (AND AT HOOTERS!). It felt good to judge someone else, Jim thought. He
had been too hard on himself. Talentless. He was funny, kinda. And he
could facilitate and organize people really well. Or at least, he used to.
"Hey
stranger, you know what you want?"
Jim
looked straight into the young boobs of a girl he didn't know. He looked
up, and still, didn't remember her. "Oh, umm. No. I've never been
here. I haven't got a menu yet."
"No,
silly, you know what you want to drink?"
"Oh,
umm. Just bring me whatever is on tap, domestic."
She
sighed..."We have, like, ten different beers that..."
"Coors.
Coors is fine."
"You
still don't remember me, do you?"
"No.
I'm sorry, I'm..."
"It's
Krystal. You were my youth pastor a bunch of years ago..."
"Oh,
oh yeah, Krystal...wow..." He thought how bad he must've been at ministry
to lead a girl to Hooters in her early twenties.
"Don't
worry, I'm just doing this to earn my way through college. It's not like I'm
pole dancing or anything..." She must've seen the look of failure on
his face.
"No
judgement...I worked all kinds of odd jobs, I mean, they don't really have a
male-version of Hooters..."
"I'll
just bring you that Coors."
He
threw his head down into his folded arms on the bar top. He wanted to nuzzle
away into the beer stained wood grain. "Great. Just great. Can't even disappear at a Hooters." He
wished he was at home, holding his Playstation controller, shooting evil
terrorists.
"This
one's on me, Jim." Krystal said as she sat down his frothy beer. It was
mostly foam.
The
carelessness of the drink delivery guaranteed she wasn't hitting on him, even
though it was free.
"Oh,
thanks Krystal, but you don't have to do that..."
"I
know. So Whadda you want? Buffalo wings?
"I'm
not sure...I never got a menu...I don't know what's good."
"Well,
most people get wings, but I like the nachos and burgers."
"Hmm.
Well, I've never eaten owl before...are the thighs any good?" Jim joked.
"Oh,
a “Hooters” joke…Haha...please, please don't ask for the largest breasts we
have to offer...it gets old."
"Oh
shit...I mean, jeez, I'm sorry...I wasn't going there...I...just bring me some
nachos and fries please...I know they don't go together but..."
"Okie-dokie"
He
downed the 6 drinkable ounces of beer in one drink, the froth slowly settled
back down into the cup. He watched it slowly coalesce into something like
beer. What am I doing with my life? Why am I at hooters drinking cheap beer and
sticking my foot in my mouth? I should just go home and put my resume on
Monster.com. No more feeling sorry for myself. Time to get on with
it. Time to get on with it.
He
pulled his cell phone out.
One
text from his wife: Please come home. The kids heard us...they're scared and sad.
They...we want you to come home.
His
eyes watered. She was a good woman. She let him slide into this
depression without guilt. She carried them financially and emotionally, while
he sat in self-pity. She shielded the kids from his fall. But a year of
nothingness will stretch anyone. He didn't know what to text back.
Krystal
brought out the fries. "The nachos will be out in a minute. You want
another drink?"
"Oh,
um. Better not, I need to get home."
"Okay,
but next one's free too... 'member Pastor Steve? The old pastor at our
church, he's at the other end of the bar. He offered to pay."
"What?"
The oddity of him, Jim, an aging man, getting two free drinks at Hooters. He felt like photographing his free beers on Instagram and tagging them with #sororitysisterprivilege.
"Pastor
Steve is here?" Jim grabbed his fries and started towards the other
side of the bar.
"Don't
call me pastor, please," said Steve, as he pulled his notebook, and Bible
reference book to the side to make room for Jim.
"Alright,
but it looks like you're still practicing, Father-Steve, " Jim joked.
"Well,
ready-to-be-used, is all. Ready to be used. Might has well use this time to
stockpile sermons."
"So...you
didn't give up?" Jim regretting saying it instantly. "I mean,
the church, it just gobbled you up..."
"Yeah,
it, the church, can do that," Steve said as he gulped down some blackish
brew. "Jim, you're blind. You live here, in the Pacific Northwest, in
the brewery capital of the world, and you're drinking Coors."
"Yeah,
well, hey, wait a minute, don't get all holier than thou with me, you're at a
Hooters..."
"I
am. I am. You forget I'm from Kansas City. This is as close to Southern food or
bbq I can get. The wings aren't bad, and I do live just down the
street."
"Oh,
maybe I should've order the wings, I let Krystal talk me into the nachos."
"They're
good enough."
Jim
gulped down a long drink from his mocked beer, and found the courage to move
beyond pleasantries. "So, did you ever think about going back to the
Midwest, after...you know after?"
"Not
really. Sarah ran back there anyway. I don't have much there but old seminary
guys and cousins in jail. And the idea of seeing any of them, especially Sarah,
seems more depressing than sticking it out here."
"Yeah,
sorry about that whole Sarah mess, I didn't really know her, but
nobody..."
"Yeah,
nobody deserves that. True. But I wasn't a great husband. I think I loved the
church more, well, not the church but the idea of a successful church more,
more than I loved her. I did love her once. But I got complacent in my
marriage. It takes work, as you probably know, to keep things
afire."
"Um,
yeah."
"Not
real convincing, Jim. Please don't tell me that your marriage is in
trouble?"
"It
isn't. Or maybe it is. I don't know. She would know. I just haven't been,
much...much of a man, much of anything, for some time, now. I guess if I could
pull it together, maybe..." "Gawd, look at us...consoling each
other like priests in a confessional. Is this your normal Hooter's small talk?
Haha..."
"Haha,
well, you've heard of the priesthood of believers. What if this is what we're
supposed to be like? Isn't this what Jesus wanted, his Disciples in some
sketchy area of town, speaking truth into each other's lives?"
"Well,
don't go calling me Mary Magdaline. I'm just a hostess," Krystal perfectly
chimed in from behind the counter, obviously she had heard part of their
conversation. "Although, if you want to wash my feet, I'm always
game for a pedicure."
Both
Jim and Steve looked at her in bewilderment. Where did this Biblical knowledge
come from?
"Don't
look at me so weird, guys, the story of Mary Magdaline isn't exactly obscure. I
can work here and read the Bible every once in a while, sheesh." She
slid Jim's nachos over to him.
"You
must've had a good youth pastor, once," Steve said knowingly.
"I
did," she smiled back, "You need anything else? Hot sauce? Sour
cream? I'm not offering another cold beer, because we know what the Lord says
about drunkenness…"
"…Oh
yeah, what's that?" Jim jokingly replied.
"He's
against it. I don't remember the exact verse, because my youth pastor
quit."
"Well
he can make it up to you," Steve said, "he doesn't have any oils to
wash your feet with, but he does have some Coors light...the alcohol might have
a similar effect."
"I've
been here,” she twirled her arms around at the ambiance, “for six months, pastor Steve, and that may be
the most disgusting comment I've ever heard," she said laughing, "but
I guess I walked into it, didn't I." She smiled and reluctantly
went on with her business on the other side of the bar.
"Wow.
Just wow, guys. Is this a set-up. Is there some camera hidden in the back, and
we are on Christian-Candid-Camera?" Jim asked.
"Haha.
No, although that'd be a fun show. Catch what the worship leader says under his
breath when his mic get turned off, or have some guy steal the money out of the
offering, and watch the usher's response..."
They
laughed and watched Krystal joyously serve another soul some spirits.
"That
girl is too, uh, old, now to be a part of any youth ministry, and much too
young to ever be in a conversation with guys our age talking about rubbing oils
or alcoholic drinks on any part of her body."
"Don't
I know," Steve replied with a hint of sorrow, "although if we were
priests..."
They
laughed again, and enjoyed a brief moment of silence. They had laughed well,
and it was good.
Steve
continued, "You know, I never got to thank you."
"For
what?"
"For
the moral stand you made on my behalf, for being the lone dissenter. I'm
sorry you lost a church in the process."
"Well,
it wasn't right. It's not right. You're a good pastor, a good man...numbers
shouldn't matter."
"No,
they shouldn't...but they have bills to pay, and I was running on fumes. I
should've taken a sabbatical. But I let pride keep me there. It wasn't
just the numbers, my intentions were wrong. I lost track of why I joined
the ministry. I allowed myself to be lonely. She left me, yet I had stopped
talking to her, and God for some time. I thought I was a superman. I thought I
could do it all on my own. I see all of this now. It's much clearer."
Steve's eyes strayed to a shapely waitress on the far side of the restaurant.
Jim
looked over, it was a good view, a small smile started to form on his mouth.
"Don't
you judge me, Jim. I'm a free man, and she's marginally closer to my
generation. Plus, I come here for the food. You, however, don't seem to know
the food, and are still married, even if there are sexual
problems..."
Pffft.
Jim slapped his hand over his lips to keep the rest of his beer in his mouth,
and swallowed quickly. "I never said we had problems with our sex
life," He said laughing.
"I
know. But there always is. Or usually something related to sex is the problem.
At least from the man's perspective. You already told me that you felt like
less than a man."
"I
was referring to my lack of job stuff. And becoming lazy and drinking."
"Oh, never
mind, those things do wonders to a guys libido."
"I
never realized how funny you were, Steve. Anyways, not working, not
making money, It just rips at me...I've always had a job."
"That
it does. That it does." "A little sleep, a little slumber, a
little folding of the hands to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a
robber, and want like an armed man..."
"I
love how you guys do that...just throw out some Bible verse for every season of
life."
"Yeah,
well, it's all I know. The word. I spent years in seminary, studying
Greek, Hebrew...The King James version. I didn't learn know how to keep a wife
happy. They didn't teach me about church politics. But I know the Word, and I
occasionally speak with God, and that keeps me going."
"Again,
sorry Steve...she was...she didn't..."
"She
was human, Jim. Just like your wife. We men tend to get caught up in things.
stuff. Sales numbers...attendance...bull shit. Stuff that doesn't matter.
I know I did. You better stay diligent, Jim. Good women don't hang out in
Hooters, looking for broken down men like us. Let me guess...she doesn't know
you're here, does she?"
"No,
not exactly."
"Well,
good thing there's hardly any alcohol in that Coors, because I think you should
head home, kiss your woman, and apologize."
"Yeah,
but I'd hardly know where to start."
"Well,
obviously I'm no expert, but I think "I'm sorry," said authentically,
means a lot." "That's what I'm looking for: authenticity. In my
walk with God, in my next church, in my friends. Perhaps, someday, in a woman.
And you have it." "It's early, way too early to be
talking about, really, but
I
want you to work with me. I'm starting a new church. The Evangelical church is
looking for another location on this side of town. FaithSprings recommended
me."
"They
did? I mean...what? You want me?"
“Because
they knew I just needed a break. I was good at what I did, once.
Just like you were, are. And being broken has made me stronger. I trust you
Jim. I like you being in my corner. You defended me, like a good
Samaritan,” he took another sip of his dark beer. “They should make a beer called the Good
Samaritan.”
“Yeah,” “Well, maybe not. Beer doesn’t exactly do
good things for most people.”
“Good point. Moderation. Anyway, I can’t
offer you much money, now, obviously, as the church isn’t even off the ground
yet, but there is a little planting money, and I’d like you to preach…”
“But
I never went to seminary, I only know the basics…”
“The
people need the basics, Jim. They need a leader, one who won’t make mistakes,
and one who has a true heart, like you do, for authenticity. We won’t be
phonies, Jim. I want this to be real,
and I don’t care about numbers, or programs, or what the building looks like.
The youth, our nation, is looking past these status symbols. People want the real deal. I want the real
deal. I want it to be about Jesus!”
Jim
felt a shiver go down his back. This was everything he wanted as well, and it frightened
him. Could he develop a sermon and preach? Could he do it authentically? Could
he be used, by God? And if he was good
at it…what does that mean, at best a salary of $32,000 dollars? Shut up mind, it’s not about money.
“Look, I’ve given you a lot to think about. I want to you to go home and talk
to your wife. Well, do other stuff first, then talk to your wife…here’s my cell
number…”
“Geez, I don’t know,” Jim said smiling, “I don’t think I could work for a
pervert.”
“Weren’t
you a car dealer before? You can work
with anyone.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jim quietly drove home. He
missed the sound of a gas engine. He intended to buy a real car again,
soon. Although if he became a pastor, it
might be a long time.
He opened the door to his house and saw his wife crying on the loveseat. “Why didn’t you call or text me back?”
“I’m sorry. I ran into an old friend.”
“Really, where at? We’ve been worried sick. The kids are
probably listening at their doors, pretending to be asleep.”
“Well, this is going to sound weird, but I had a spiritual encounter at
Hooters.”
“A what? At Hooters? I’m sure you did…” her whole expression
changed. Jim knew this look from the few
times he was genuinely in trouble.
“I’m serious. I got offered a job. It had to be God. It was too weird not to be
God. I had a spiritual encounter at
Hooters.”
She knew her husband too well. He wasn’t lying, she could see something
different about him as well. She saw the old Jim.
“Well, this, I gotta hear.
But you better go hug your kids first.”
As he galloped up the stairs by twos, the noise of little feet sprinting back
to their beds, with giggles giving away their former positions, before he
ambushed them with hugs, she smiled. She wiped the last tear away, before
another trickled down her cheek. This one started from a different place, a
better place, and she let it travel her whole face.