Getting Ready

Stopped at a pizza joint for a slice for lunch. I was on Elmwood Avenue in Buffalo and the 40-degree weather brought everyone out.

There were people riding bikes!

As I entered the place a disheveled black man with a “Jesus Saves” sign wandered over to the door.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

“Can I speak with you a minute?” He asked.

“I’m grabbing lunch,” I said.

I didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t giving me the best sort of feeling, and I smelled booze.

“I’m gonna’ get you ready,” he said.

I ducked into the store and waited on line before getting a slice and a root beer.

It took me a minute and I was hoping that my new friend was on his way.

No such luck.

“Gonna’ get you ready,” he said, as I stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Truth be told, I hadn’t seen him coming so I nearly jumped clear of my skin.

“Ready for what?” I asked.

He stepped closer. He was definitely plastered.

“He’s coming back! Have you been born again?”

“Just the once,” I said. I was backpedaling.

“You NEED to be born again,” he shouted.

“Don’t tell my Mom that,” I said. “I’m much bigger now.”

He missed the joke.

“You a busy man,” he said. “But you need to get ready.”

“I’m ready,” I said. I was gaining ground because he wasn’t moving really fast.

“You ain’t ready.”

Those were the final three words that he said to me, and it sort of gave me the creeps.

Perhaps some may have taken it as a sign that big changes needed to be made, but man, he was just a mixed-up, hard-drinking dude who may have gotten around to asking me for a couple of bucks.

But it stuck in my head the rest of the afternoon.

I’m ready.