WWJD?

I have reason to believe that the answer to that question is “shout obscenities and wave a miniature baseball bat menacingly,” but I’m getting ahead of myself.

This past weekend I made the trip down to Birmingham to play ultimate. It was fun, although we didn’t win as many games as I’d have liked. I guess that’s life. I stayed with Abby and Matthew, who were re-doing their back yard over the weekend, which afforded me the opportunity of a lifetime: to lay a whole lot of sod¹.

By the time it was all said and done, I probably sodded a good 1,500 square feet over the course of two days, with a day of playing ultimate in between. How my limbs did not fall off, I am still not sure. In any event, the lawn looks great and it was good to be able to help them out.

I also got to visit with Kim and K-Co for a while on Sunday night, which was entertaining because it had been a while since I had been encouraged to be so overtly inappropriate.

The return trip, though, was when the magic happened.

I was cruising down the interstate in southern Illinois, minding my own business, when I came upon a pair of white utility vans. As I approached to pass, the one in the rear started to speed up to get out in front of me. He didn’t quite make it and had to slow down. As soon as I got past him, he swerved into my lane and held his big, meaty paw up in his windshield, offering me a universal gesture of good-will. Being the person that I am, I returned his well-wishes and continued on my way.

After I pulled over into the driving lane (which is what intelligent people do when they’re not passing), my friend pulled up beside me. I noticed that he was a heavy-set man, reminding me of a somewhat less intellectual and urbane Larry the Cable Guy.

Apparently he wanted to make very sure that I did not mistake the intent of his gesture. Along with repeated, frantic gesturing went a fair measure of yelling. What was he yelling? I have no idea, because we were both traveling down the interstate and his windows were rolled up. I can only imagine it was something like “Good afternoon, sir! I hope this message finds you happy and healthy! Please be save in your future travels!” That’s just a guess, though, because I’m not much for reading lips.

When he passed me I noticed that he had a number of bumper-stickers on the back of his child molester utility van. One was showing his support for the late Dale Earnhardt. Another proclaimed, simply and in bold letters, “JESUS”.

His friendliness suddenly made a lot of sense, and I wanted to thank him properly for spreading joy through the world as all good Christians do. I got out a notepad and a marker and wrote, in large, bold letters “WWJD, Asshole¹?” He eventually slowed back down and I caught up to him. When I passed by him I held up my sign, while keeping my eyes on the road, and continued on my way.

Surprisingly, this was not the last of our interactions.

In fact, he sped up to pass me again very shortly thereafter. As he passed by he appeared to be shouting at the top of his lungs, judging by the amount of effort he seemed to be exerting. He was also brandishing a miniature baseball bat.

I am not making this up. A miniature baseball bat.

He pulled in front of me and, for the better part of a mile, he occasionally waved the bat in the back window, gestured to the side of the road, and turned on his turn signal. Apparently my friend was looking to get to know me better.

Unfortunately, I was in a hurry to get home, so I couldn’t stop to chat.

It really makes me wonder: why are folks who put Jesus bumper-stickers on their cars so angry?

1. I have reason to believe that this is a term of endearment.