meditatio at the water's edge

It was my first time back to this place in about five years. I had hoped things would have improved here, but I quickly learned that things got worse. As soon as I walked in the door, I was a marked man. They had me identified with an invisible branding iron. I imagined three men in a small booth lined with televisions, one on top of the other—twenty five monitors covering every square inch of the place. I imagined the three men speaking softly into microphones, “White male, 30, just walked in the doors. He’s all yours, Dave.”

Dave hears the call in his well-hidden earpiece and gives the hand signal to acknowledge. Dave waits for me to walk past his post near the door. He smiles. “Hi there, howya doin’?” A smile that is just a little too practiced and a handshake that is just a little too enthusiastic.

I have entered Art Van Furniture.


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I wonder if that is how some people feel when they walk into a church building?

I guess it's better than being completely ignored. Maybe not. Maybe it depends whether you want help or not.