"I don't want to hurry, I just don't want to be late. I don't want to worry, I just don't want to be hurt."
With those words I race towards the facade of the building. I'm literally running late. This is the first time I've been almost-late for work. The bus went past the building so fast it supported Einstein's theory of relativity. Yes, time slowed down within the bus, but sped up once I got off and started running back. The Apostle Paul once said that we are runners working toward a finish line. This, then, is my warm-up exercise for the preliminary event.
"Is your barber dead?" Gene poses a Zen-like question, pointing and looking as if something is eating my head. "I'll have to kill my barber, then," I respond. "I'm joking," says Gene. "No, you're not," I correctly state. Yes, today I display my newly trimmed head. True to form, Gene doesn't waste time in making me face facts. "You don't look like a priest. You look like a boy." I have a feeling Gene wrote the Book of Revelations. No wonder I don't have a girlfriend! I have my boyish looks to blame! (Kidding.) If honesty is the best policy, then Gene is the best policyholder ever. Thank you for offering the homemade burger and pack of pork rinds, Gene, but I already swallowed my pride for lunch.
Charades! No other game can turn a class of professionals into a devolved pack of animals faster. As I figure out how to show "Wicker Park" using hand gestures, the girls symbolically kick me in the gonads by reminding me of my virginity. Trainer Dyan jokes encouragingly by saying, "At the end of the training, I'm sure he won't be a virgin anymore." Nice. It's like virginity is a disease, and they're waiting for me to be cured. I don't get the point of fornication- either I'll be trapped in a premature relationship, or I'll leave a poor girl unsatisfied. I still don't want to have sex for the sake of sex. The Apostle Paul says in 1 Corinthians 7 that God gives the gift of singleness to some and marriage to others. Bummer. But then again, people always feel unease when they can't understand something or someone.
The day ends with me counting my money, making a budget for the rest of the week. I remember my college friend Sandy (another straight-shooter like Gene) who said to me, "No one wants to marry a janitor." No offense to the custodial team, but if I had all my ducks in a row, OF COURSE I WOULD START DATING AGAIN! I would love and hold and cherish and provide for that special young lady (who, I'm sure, has a boyfriend or husband or illegitimate children by now, for being wan for waiting for me) forever and ever, and we would map out our relationship - from dating to marriage til death do us part - and live in a nice house and plan our children's tuition fees and our retirement fund.
But as the Good Book says, "Faith without works is dead" (James 2:17).
As I walk home (to save some money), I say:
"I don't want to hurry, I just don't want to be late. I don't want to worry, I just don't want to be hurt."
