Bláskógar

My connections with Starbucks customers are typically heartwarming and encourage me to feel good about humanity. However, as I was on my lunch yesterday, a couple came in looking pretty downtrodden. While I hadn’t met their acquaintances, my coworker knew them as regular customers and immediately asked what was wrong. Needless to say, the holiday that should mark remembrance was met with grief, the sort of soul-shredding wounding and scarring that can only come from religion. Both men, like myself, will probably never fully recover from these ravages, but their soul-wounds had been ripped open again by their hate-mongering Christian families — telling from what they retold, this nonsense won’t stop with them, but will continue on to the next generation within their family.

There are only a few non-Christians where I work, and so far nothing of note has come up between myself and the religious there. I’m successfully  diplomatic when the situation calls for it, i.e., when I genuinely like the people I work with and their religion, so far, is nothing but a distasteful fashion accessory. I go out of my way to avoid conversations that have to do with morals and could go down ‘that’ path.