Talking to Dennis again, I assure you, was not a difficult thing to accomplish. Every Wednesday, week after week, he came - usually bypassing the coffee altogether - (he preferred tea anyways - with two spoonfuls of sugar and the tea bag still in the cup) and went directly to me. One time I was even modestly chastised for talking to him too long(!). Needless to say, the first few weeks were a bit odd - always him letting me know how poorly educated I was, always him arguing that Christianity lived through politics and not through people, always me trying to convey to him that just because Christians themselves have failed time and again doesn't mean Christianity has failed, and always Dennis feeling triumphant. One week, though, we finally got passed all this and he opened up to tell me his story. I think I asked him why he so utterly rejected Christianity, and he decided to give the long answer. At the end of his story (which included his nearly dying from epilepsy as a young child, his son getting hit by a double-decker bus, and a multitude of Christians who treated him badly and acted overly pious), he said, "So you see why I'm not a Christian." "No," I said. "I can see you've had a very hard life, and quite a number of people have treated you in ways they shouldn't. But I don't see why you blame God. Don't you think the fact that you didn't die, and that your son didn't die, are a blessing?" That was all I got in, because he interrupted me (a move he uses quite frequently whenever the other party is trying to make some poignant comment) and started off on another rant against the faith. Progress, though, progress. We had now moved from his assaulting me to more personal things, and I no longer dreaded seeing the man, but really wanted to get to the bottom of why he was so hostile. A few weeks later, everything changed. Well, not everything, but his attitude did, at least.
I didn't see Dennis for a few weeks, but when he did show up next, he was not quite so volatile as before. "I walked out on my job today," he told me. "Why?" I started. And so we were at it again, talking non-stop for the greater part of two hours. Eventually, he showed me some numbers that he had looked up of other places that he might be employed. I went with him to the phones downstairs and we called several of them, who kindly agreed to send him an application. He showed me how much pension money he was making, how much he already had saved, and how much his job still owed him. "That's enough money to live on for a few months, don't you think? I mean, if you were in my situation, you wouldn't be worried, right?" "Right," I said, "not yet - hopefully those applications will work out and you'll have another job before long, anyways." "But I'm fine for now?" "I would think so, yes. Keep me updated on the applications, and if you find any more numbers next week, we'll call them, ok?" "This is how much money they owe me." He showed me again. He thanked me and shuffled off. I went back to the coffee bar trying to figure out if that was a good thing for Dennis or bad. He had hated his job, and he sure seemed less angry at the world now that he was somewhat broken. "Alan," I turned around. It was Dennis, who'd come back. "I wanted to thank you again, and I know I've said I appreciate you a lot today, but I wanted to make sure you know I'm on the straight side of the road. I'm not gay." This last bit he half-whispered. I laughed. "Oh, I know Dennis, don't you worry. Take care, and let me know how the job search goes!" It was a good day, no question.
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