One night I was taking the 72 bus home. It was pretty late and only about 1/3 full, mostly of weary black men going home to a later dinner and bed. Except one fellow who sat close to my bench and was gleefully proclaiming the words of God and the accuracy of the Bible, brandishing the raggedy tome about. It was clear that most of us were simply trying to ignore the rant, more eager to get home than engage with a zealot.
The devotee was unmoved by being ignored. Then he mentioned how (then) President Clinton was a fornicator. A man just in front of the Bible thumper turned around and said, “You leave President Clinton out of this. I got a job ‘cuz of him.”
Well, Mr. Zealot now had a target and he started going off on Clinton the fornicator, we were all doomed and damned fornicators with minds in the sewers that needed to be cleaned by the Bible. Most of the men on the bus started stirring and shifting around, obviously irritated now. Then I spoke. I raised my voice louder than the would-be preacher.
“OK,” I said, “Let’s take a vote. Who here would rather be reading the Bible than getting some pussy?”
At which the entire bus exploded with laughter that did not silence soon. The only silence came from the devotee who scrunched down in his seat pouting.
I just figured it was my good deed for the day, squeaked in nearly at closing time, and was content.