Church of LDS: Loves Disinterested Students?

Max White

Dear Abby,

I should preface this by saying I’m not sure why strangers talk to me like they do. It’s not like I ask to hear people’s secrets on public transport. Something in my expression just says, please, tell me more about your father. And I don’t mind, really, except when the father in question is metaphysical.

It might not be as bad if it wasn’t always Mormons. Baptists, I can deal with—they’re just a little gloomy—and the Jehovah’s Witnesses that go door to door leave great pamphlets, but they never try with me. But the Mormons love me. They tried to convert me six times in the city last summer. Six times! I don’t think I’ve even spoken to my next-door neighbors six times.

I realize that this might sound odd. For context: the following is my best formula for how it usually happens.

The Mormons: Excuse me.

Me: Yes?

The Mormons: You look like you could use some help.

Not pictured: I assume they’re referring to whatever I’m carrying. I gesture to it.

Me: I’m fine, thank you.

The Mormons: Do you have a second to talk?

Not pictured: The Card (with the address of their church) is procured.

I realize, with an encroaching sense of dread, what’s happening.

Me: Oh, thanks, but I don’t need one.

The Mormons: Would you like to take one just in case?

Me: I have to go, but thank you.

The Mormons: That’s alright—

Me: Oh, that’s my ride.

Not pictured: me, getting on the nearest public transport as an escape route.

So my question, I guess, is: how do you tell a naval captain that you need him to turn the boat around? Obviously, I should have checked before I got on, but this pair was really adamant that I talk to them, so I just said, “I’ve got to catch this” and stepped on. I don’t want to bother him, but we’re headed for Ireland, and I can’t swim. Please respond quickly, as this is a time-sensitive issue.

Yours from international waters,

Apostate Afloat