Saving the heathen
So we have these regular callers at The Bee. There's a few mentally challenged individuals who'll call just to talk sports. There's Lonely Old Man, who'll call with four TVs going and read us Canadian Football League and college hockey scores. Then there's the Blind Prophet.
As far as I know, the Blind Prophet is this 63-year-old named Robert who lives out of town. A religious man, he ends every call with some variation of "Have a good Christian day." I've learned most of this in talking to him, but I could probably get a dossier from any of my fellow clerks and one of my editors. The Blind Prophet calls all the time.
I've personally had four conversations with him and each has somehow managed to be stranger than the last. The first time he called, he was just this guy wanting to know what games were on the radio. I told him to pick up his copy of The Bee, he told me he was blind and alone. I felt bad and tried to help the guy out. He then called Thursday evening, looking for one of my co-workers, whereupon I had a chat with him and I told him a little about myself, including my name and that I worked with kids. I also told him some baseball facts because I'm good with those.
Okay, that conversation may not have seemed weirder than the first call. The following calls, however, take us into the Twilight Zone.
As I said, the Blind Prophet had called Thursday evening. He called back a few hours later, this time looking for me. I was already off work when the phone rang but not knowing who it was, I picked up. Like a fool. Little did I know the Blind Prophet had this half-hour long monologue ready for me, something about being a Supreme Court attorney at 16 and wanting to write a song about John the Baptist. I just basically sat there for half an hour going, 'Yeah, uh huh, uh huh, no kidding, yeah..." But I also made the mistake at one point or another of telling him I was agnostic. He gave me an 800 number for the Billy Graham Crusade and asked me to call.
The Blind Prophet then called again Friday. He told me he'd been on the phone most of the day for varying reasons, among them that he'd called a local church to see if I could be baptized. He gave me the church's number and asked if I could call.
A little while later, I get this call.
"Hello, is this Graham?"
Oh fuck, not again I think.
"This is Bob (something or other), I'm the pastor at (some church) on Del Paso Boulevard. Hey, who's this Robert guy?"
Oh dear. Turns out the Blind Prophet had been calling and calling, clogging up the church's voicemail. The pastor then called the Blind Prophet back and told him to contact a church in the town he lives, whereupon the Blind Prophet said they would have nothing to do with him. Long and short of it, the pastor and I had a laugh for a few minutes, and I gave him a few words of caution about the Blind Prophet. He'll probably call again today.
As far as I know, the Blind Prophet is this 63-year-old named Robert who lives out of town. A religious man, he ends every call with some variation of "Have a good Christian day." I've learned most of this in talking to him, but I could probably get a dossier from any of my fellow clerks and one of my editors. The Blind Prophet calls all the time.
I've personally had four conversations with him and each has somehow managed to be stranger than the last. The first time he called, he was just this guy wanting to know what games were on the radio. I told him to pick up his copy of The Bee, he told me he was blind and alone. I felt bad and tried to help the guy out. He then called Thursday evening, looking for one of my co-workers, whereupon I had a chat with him and I told him a little about myself, including my name and that I worked with kids. I also told him some baseball facts because I'm good with those.
Okay, that conversation may not have seemed weirder than the first call. The following calls, however, take us into the Twilight Zone.
As I said, the Blind Prophet had called Thursday evening. He called back a few hours later, this time looking for me. I was already off work when the phone rang but not knowing who it was, I picked up. Like a fool. Little did I know the Blind Prophet had this half-hour long monologue ready for me, something about being a Supreme Court attorney at 16 and wanting to write a song about John the Baptist. I just basically sat there for half an hour going, 'Yeah, uh huh, uh huh, no kidding, yeah..." But I also made the mistake at one point or another of telling him I was agnostic. He gave me an 800 number for the Billy Graham Crusade and asked me to call.
The Blind Prophet then called again Friday. He told me he'd been on the phone most of the day for varying reasons, among them that he'd called a local church to see if I could be baptized. He gave me the church's number and asked if I could call.
A little while later, I get this call.
"Hello, is this Graham?"
Oh fuck, not again I think.
"This is Bob (something or other), I'm the pastor at (some church) on Del Paso Boulevard. Hey, who's this Robert guy?"
Oh dear. Turns out the Blind Prophet had been calling and calling, clogging up the church's voicemail. The pastor then called the Blind Prophet back and told him to contact a church in the town he lives, whereupon the Blind Prophet said they would have nothing to do with him. Long and short of it, the pastor and I had a laugh for a few minutes, and I gave him a few words of caution about the Blind Prophet. He'll probably call again today.