…I’m about to tel you…
So, I’ve been house sitting in North Hollywood for the last week and regardless of what you may think of NoHo, I actually enjoy myself here. I’m close to my Nerd Herd, I love all the little art houses and enjoy spending my time at the federal. My favorite thing to do in the morning is get up, well, actually, no, that’s not my favorite thing to do. However, Once I’ve had my shower and have woken up from my coma, I like to explore the neighborhood I’m in. I’m an LA Native. I love taking walks through the neighborhoods and discovering little gems that you otherwise may not see while driving. I walk for about a mile everyday even though there’s an amazing gym here, I just hate being cooped up. I’d rather get my heart rate up, have the sun on my pale, Irish face, listen to my music and go on auto pilot.
And Today was a beautiful day for just that. Taking a walk, clearing my head, listening to The Beatles. I gotta say it was a good day…that was, until, an older man of Indian heritage (dot not feather), came up to me and began preaching the word of god. I’m not religious by any means, but I don’t consider myself to be an atheist either. Being an atheist is the same as being Arnie Grape, much like religion.
So, being the polite, little miss sunshine that I am, I allow him to go on and on about Jesus, God, & how in his country he’s considered a medicine man by the name of Yogi. A Medicine man, eh? Part of me wanted to ask if he was holding, but I had chocolate milk getting warm by the minute and still had a block to go before I could reach my fridge. And as you know, hustlers come in all shapes, sizes and religions, so, he was not letting me leave so easily. He claimed to be psychic and that the last year for me has been hard. Meh, OK…I’ll agree with that. “There is a sadness in your eyes.” He must have had ex-ray vision as well considering I was wearing sunglasses. Whatever. I’m open minded.
I began to give the bat signal that I was in a rush and must go, backing away slowly, making not sure to make any sudden movements and this guy, Yogi, begins to follow me. At this point, I told him that I was late for work and had no more time (or the patience) to talk about God, but was thankful for his words of wisdom and how he absolutely knew that this year was going to be better for me. And I’m all for that. Bring on the fortune and half naked chicks. But just as I was beginning to walk away, he handed me his number and said, “I spoke the word of God to you and would appreciate a donation.” Um…Exsqueeze me??? Did you just say you were a man of god? I can’t imagine Jesus walking around, healing the sick, curing the blind and feeding the starving and then boldly asking for a money donation.
First off, this is NoHo. Not Las Vegas. Mr. Yogi, the medicine man, was dressed in a hoody and Dickies. It’s not like he was on the strip in Vegas dressed as Elvis or Hollywood Blvd dressed as Marilyn Monroe. I didn’t ask to take a picture with you and I certainly didn’t ask for your bullshit speech about God and this, that and the other. I just wanted to drink my chocolate milk in piece and avoid human contact. This is not to say that I’m so coldhearted bitch who had $100 on my pocket and was just outright refusing to give him a little something. Truth is, I didn’t have money on me, but I was chapped my ass the most, was having “a man of God” asking for a donation because as he so elegantly put it, “I saved you. I saved your soul, your soul which has been damned.” Yeah, that’s great, kid and I surely appreciate it, but I’m probably going to hell and just pumping that gas. I didn’t approach you. You approached me. If money is what you need, I hear Pastors/Preachers make great money speaking the word of God, as if we all knew Jesus/God personally.
The moral of the story is, if you’re going to approach complete strangers on the streets, tell them how hard their life is and how sad they are inside and all it would take is a donation and the word from God, perhaps you should put a wee bit more effort into it and put on an Elvis costume or dress up as Charlie Chaplin. Anyway, just a thought…