I felt really sorry for this JW bloke yesterday. There he stood in a Vienna U-Bahn station, silently holding his Watchtowers. No-one noticed him; those few who might have probably thought he was some cultish freak, a brainwashed dupe trying to sell us his silly Sekte.
I noticed him, and felt much Mitleid. He looked miserable, as if performing some pathetic duty, an ordeal endured in order to earn a place among the 144,000.
Eleven years ago I stood in the same spot, trying to bear witness of my religion. We were more animated than this guy, but still the end result was the same. We were mostly ignored, sometimes scorned. As I walked past him yesterday I wondered, “did anyone feel sorry for me?”
I’ve taken to wearing my MA shirt around town. Having walked the Viennese beat in my Mormon uniform for over a year, I have an irresistable masochistic urge to get the same stares I did with tie and nametag. Wearing “Mormon” on your body says, “I am a cultist with many wives.” Let ‘em think what they want. I don’t give a patootie. Nor should the JW man. Although I would prefer that he went home to watch TV with his wife, that’s his call, not mine.