Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Miracle on Main Street, Pt. 1

     Recently I pulled my car into a local gas station, a wayward Delta Sonic on East Main St. near downtown Rochester. I was dumbfounded when I got to the pump and saw that $40 had been prepaid into the pump. I tried the "cancel" button and it told me to see the cashier. I have something of social anxiety, and not being in the best of neighborhoods, I decided to use the prepaid dollars and avoid this unique and awkward interaction. Watching over my shoulder for someone to come marching up demanding I return stolen money, I fervently filled up and fled furtively. Through the rest of my commute, and sporadically for days after, my thoughts were consumed with the mysteriously personal, enigmatic bounty.
     I went over every possibility in my head. Perhaps the money should have gone to another pump, and someone stormed into the gas station demanding to know where their money had gone, and the gas station would probably have to eat the loss created by a careless attendant, or a customer who misspoke. On the other hand, just maybe, in an act reminiscent of the coffee shop phenomena seen around the country, the previous gas purchaser had paid for my gas in advance. Maybe the attendant, in a fit of angelic inspiration, decided to give the company's gas away or even put his own money into the register for me. I don't know. It's an absolute secret to me. Additionally, the person who put up their 40$ likewise does not know what his money did.
     I told you that story to tell you this one. I have a decal on my car, that is mocking "Jesus" fish decals. It is a fish with feet that says "Darwin," advertising my choice of belief in evolution. The other day when I walked out to my vehicle after working an almost 11-hour shift, someone had stuck "Bread of Life/The gospel of John" under my wiper. This bit of scripture was obviously worn; corners were bent and it was permanently curved from time spent in a pocket. It wasn't a mass handout from a church to all the lost souls in the parking lot, it was someone's personal copy they told themself I needed. It made me seethe. Some self-righteous, holier-than-thou demigod decided that he or she couldn't let me live with my bumper sticker without reaching out to me. I'm sure they ran home, too, and bragged to their significant other, or their parent, or their church buddy about the soul they hoped to  save and the life they tried to affect. I admit, sometimes I feel like I see signs, little reminders that might, in the right interpretation have larger implications. Check back tomorrow, and I will share with you the signs I see in these two incidents.

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