First Day On The Job

Chapter 3

I was at the subway station about an hour earlier than normal. But whereas I'm usually in a daze that came from waking up for work early in the morning, I was wide awake today. Nervousness will do that to you.

I've been hanging back in the corner, drinking my second bottle of soda and eating my third bag of potato chips as I stare at the exact spot where I will stand and deliver my sermons to my unwilling listeners. It's just a few yards away from a newsstand, itself strategically placed just ahead of where the different train platforms are. Everyone who enters the subway has to pass by that newsstand in order to get to the platforms, and so everyone who enters the subway gets to see and hear me. Oh joy of joys.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. I was absolutely terrified. I could see no possibly way of this going well. Standing in the middle of a subway platform and screaming at people about the wonders of God's love is not on a normal person's list of good ideas. If I was really lucky, people would just not notice me. But then again, I needed those converts, didn't I? Damn it. I couldn't wait for the hour to pass so I can jump on the train and go to work. I don't think I've ever wanted to push risky investments on people so much in my entire life. Anything to not be here.

I finished my soda, ate the last potato chip crumb I could find, straightened my tie, and walked over to my spot. I already felt like all eyes were on me as I put my backpack on the floor and took out the contents.

The other day I made fliers for people to take home, theoretically so they can be reminded to go and read more about God. In reality, I knew the hideously made advertisements would probably end up becoming New York's next great litter problem. I ran off fifty copies of them at the library (let's face it, I probably wouldn't even need five) on generic computer paper. Each copy had a generic picture of Jesus that I shamelessly stole from the Internet, and below it was the phrase:

                    “HE DIED FOR YOUR SINS! DON'T FORGET HIS SACRIFICE!

                      READ THE TORAH, BIBLE, AND KORAN FOR MORE INFO

                      ON THE WONDER AND MAJESTY OF THE LORD!!!!”

Realizing that the sermon wouldn't deliver itself and that I couldn't procrastinate forever, I held up a flier in my trembling right hand and began to preach:

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” I started. “I am not here to beg you all for money or to sell you anything. Instead, I want to talk to you all about the Lord, and about yourselves.”

I got no reaction from the crowd. A few people gave me quick looks, but everybody kept on walking. Some people were talking on their cellphones or listening to their music players and didn't even hear me.

Taking a deep breath, I continued preaching. “We believe that we don't need the Lord, that we don't need His love! But we all need His love, for without that love, none of us would be here today! God created the universe just for us, but when Eve ate the apple given to her by the evil talking snake, it was evident that we are all sinners and we need a set of laws to govern us!”

Now I really had no idea what I was talking about. I had tried to prepare my sermon the previous night, but I could never seem to get it right so I figured that I'd just try my luck and wing it. So instead of an actual message from the Almighty, my sermon had all the makings of a subway preacher's ramblings. Rather appropriate, actually, but not what I was going for. I was hoping my acting skills would make up for whatever my sermon was lacking in content, but suddenly I remembered that I never was able to get into any school productions despite being a theater major, mainly because I didn't actually have any acting skills.

“I'd like to take this time to briefly go over some of those laws. We can start with the Ten Commandments!” In preparation for my sermon, I took the time to actually look up the Ten Commandments. Turns out it's the Ninth Commandment that forbids lying, not the Sixth.

“The First Commandment states 'I am the Lord, your God, who brought you out of Egypt and the house of slavery. You shall have no other gods besides me'!” I began. I think I heard someone chuckle. That's about all the reaction I got. I felt my face go red, imagining some random guy sitting at a bar with his buddies telling them about some idiot on the subway screaming about God. But I continued my sermon, explaining the Commandments as well as listing them.

“That means that God did a lot of good things and the worst thing you can do is worship someone else. So worship God. The Second Commandment states--”

“Tell us how Cain and Abel populated the Earth if they were both dudes!” some smartass in the crowd yelled, chuckling to himself. I don't get was was so funny. Was that question supposed to be humorously witty? Was it funny because he used the word “dudes”? Lame.

“Humans came from offscreen,” I answered without even looking in the guy's general direction, countering one smartass comment with another. I continued without pause: “The Second Commandment states 'You will not make yourself an idol nor will you bow down and worship them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the inequity'--”

“Shut up!” interrupted someone else. It was a man who was talking on his cellphone.

“The Third Commandment states thou shalt not talk on your cellphone in public,” I said, lowering my voice only a little bit so everyone but him would hear me. Hey, I didn't have time to be courteous to others. I had to make sure others knew that God was a jealous attention w***e who would curse your grandchildren if He didn't have your undivided attention at all times. Hey, that's His words, not mine. Second Commandment.

I eventually made it through all ten. It was right around the Seventh Commandment that it stopped being awkward and just became tedious instead. Not a single person stopped to actually listen to what I had to say, and frankly I couldn't blame them. People walked by me as if I weren't even there, and as I watched them do so I shook my head, amazed that Heaven actually expected people to “convert”. The Ten Commandments, predictably, failed to attract people's attention. Hopefully the heartwarming story of Adam and Eve would move them.

“As you all undoubtedly know, in the beginning, God said 'Let there be light', and thus light was created. And he created the Earth and everything in six days, and then he created Adam and Eve and put them in the Garden of Eden and everything was good, according to God,” I preached. I subconsciously folded and unfolded one of my fliers as I waited for a response. Naturally, I got nothing.

“Then Adam and Eve disobeyed God's commands, being tempted by the snake to eat the forbidden apple. And thus we see why it is important to obey God's commands. Because...........” I trailed off. I really couldn't think of anything to say other than that if we didn't follow His commands, we would face His punishments.

But that was how it went. It was me standing on the subway shouting to a group of people who didn't give a damn. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways, but I really wish I knew what all this was supposed to accomplish. How did He want me to get through to people? How was I supposed to open their eyes and make them see the truth, His truth? And did I even want to spread His message to people? Did I even want people following His archaic, barbaric ancient moral codes?

Either way, I was the Great Prophet, and that meant getting converts. But it didn't look like that was happening. As the minutes passed, each one feeling like hours, my sermon came and went without so much as a question from anybody in the subway. To them, I was just another crazy street preach, albeit better dressed. Fair enough, but it didn't make doing this any easier. I may as well have been in my apartment, preaching to the wall.

Thankfully, the train came and ended my sermon. It was refreshing to leave my divine career to go to my paying one.

“And so God told Abraham�"Oh thank f*****g God, finally!” I exclaimed as I saw the train, surely leaving at least one subway rider on that platform under the belief that God was a potty mouth who referred to himself in the third person. I grabbed my bag and ran onto the train before anyone else, exhibiting all the grace and subtlety one would expect from the Great Prophet.

I made sure to sit in a train car that didn't have too many people in it. My preaching time was over, and I didn't want to think about the supernatural until later. Not until I was back at the subway preaching again. Even with the bulk of the other riders in the other car, I felt like all eyes were on me. I pictured people in the other cars talking about me, laughing as they did impressions or speculated on exactly what level of crazy I was. Throughout most of the sermon, I kept my cool and tuned out the existence of other people, for the most part. I tried to forget they were there and, at certain points, I almost succeeded. But now that I had a moment to myself and a chance to reflect on the experience, I never felt so embarrassed in my life. I really felt like calling in sick just so I can go home, go to sleep, and shake this whole Great Prophet thing off like a bad dream, but I knew it wouldn't solve anything.

Work wasn't much better. Surprisingly though, I wasn't bothered by anything that happened for most of the day. I guess making a fool out of myself on the subway and the knowledge that I would have to do it again made me appreciate the mundane stresses and annoyances of the day. Or at least more able to tolerate them. Of course, that wouldn't last forever.

Samantha came into my cubicle I was filing some paperwork.

“Hey, Jack, I need to talk to you for a moment.”

“Sure, Samantha. What's up?” I asked, knowing that she was going to have some complaint. Let's see, either I wasn't making my numbers, she saw some minor error in a customer's records that probably wouldn't matter anyway, or I haven't been using the exact flowery phrases she wants me to use when speaking to clients regardless of the fact that I do my job properly and treat each client with respect. I'm going to bet on the first one.

“Well, I've been looking over the reports, and it seems that you are a little behind in your investment sales,” she said, looking at a report she had in her hand.

Do I win a prize for guessing right?

She placed the report on my desk and pointed to the part she highlighted which showed my sales goals and my actual numbers.

“You can see for yourself, you've only made about three quarters of your goal for the current quarter. You're going to have to--”

“My goals increased,” I interrupted, not really caring to hear her nonsense today.

“What's that?”

“My goals increased,” I repeated. I reached into one of my file drawers, looking for a copy of the same report from about a month earlier. I should point out that this isn't the first time our required goals have been increased on us without notice, but I didn't say anything the last two times. “My quota for the quarter. It's higher than it was the last time you briefed us. I was actually under the impression that I was pacing for--”

“You can stop looking for the previous report. I know what it says and I know your goals increased,” interrupted Samantha. I stopped looking for the report and shut the drawer, annoyed that she was wasting my time with this when I could be planning my next sermon. Surprisingly, the fact that my sales goals were increased in secret didn't really phase me. I guess I'm not surprised by anything in this company anymore.

“It's not just you. Everyone's goals have been increased,” she continued. “The company needs more business and so all the employees need to sell more and get more clients. We all need to do more.”

I didn't know why she was saying “we” when she wouldn't be doing anything to contribute to our office's success, but that's really besides the point.

“I understand, but should the company really be increasing our goals without any prior notice?” I asked. “Until just a minute ago, I was under the impression that I was pacing.”

“That's not true, actually,” she countered. “Even under your previous quotas, your COP numbers were severely lacking.”

I think patience might actually be a tangible substance because I'm sure I felt a large chunk of it flow out of my body just now. COP stood for Customer Outreach Program, and that stood for cold calling people during dinnertime and pushing junk bonds and the like on them. I've never been too comfortable doing that and my numbers reflected it, but that was only one of my many sales numbers that I had to make every quarter. I had an overall sales quota and a number of smaller sales goals in order to ensure that I would be able to meet the larger quota, and I had already been exceeding in every other category.

Informing Samantha of this didn't have much of an effect. All I got out of her was: “Jack, you have to meet all you goals, not just the ones you feel like meeting. In most workplaces, only meeting one or two of your goals means that you won't have a job for long.”

She apparently didn't hear the part where I had been making my overall quotas, and she apparently missed the part where I pointed out how ridiculous it was that the company could just change our sales quotas without informing us. She missed the point entirely, and I wasn't about to try again because arguing with Samantha was about as effective as trying to teach a five year old how to find a tax write-off. I know now that stupidity wasn't a tangible substance because her head didn't explode from the excess buildup.

“Now you're not the only one who is behind, and I have others here to talk to,” continued Samantha, taking the report back. She looked across the office at one of our other representatives, one that she was quite friendly with. He was speaking to one of our biggest clients. For a brief instant she put on a pleasant smile and waved to the client, indicating that she would be with him in a moment before turning her attention back to me. Naturally, I got the sour puss instead of the friendly smile. “But it's your responsibility to make sure that you are meeting all your goals. The company is really looking at us to start performing, and if everybody doesn't start doing the job they were hired for, there are going be a lot of unpleasant changes around here. So let's get to work, alright?”

It was right around there that I officially confirmed that I didn't have the Force. I was trying to choke her using my mind, but unfortunately it was a no go.

“No problem, Samantha,” I answered. Not quite what I wanted to say, but keeping my job took priority over cursing out my boss.

“Great!” she answered, enthusiastically. “There's a client outside who needs help. I'm sure you can make your start there. Remember, sales sales sales.”

Samantha walked over to the client talking to the sales rep across the office as I heard three screaming children and a woman screaming at them in a foreign language. In walked the customer Samantha had mentioned. She was dressed in dumpy clothes and was pushing a stroller with two screaming little brats running around under her feet.

“Finally! It's about damn time,” she hissed, indicating that she had been made to wait and was not happy about it. Although she might have actually said, “Bially! Izzy suit em lime.” She had a really thick accent, so either was plausible.

I glanced over at Samantha as she chatted up the client who would surely be bringing a couple hundred thousand more dollars in investments to us today. The woman in front of me, however, was someone I doubt I could make a decent sales pitch to. But somehow, I had to not only deal with her complaint and her rudeness and her screaming kids and our inability to understand each other, but also get her to invest with us or buy our insurance. None of which was geared to her needs or her financial situation.

Suddenly, an image of Samantha sprouting angel wings and climbing out the window popped into my head. I don't know why.

Subway preaching got easier the more I did it. That is, it got easier in the way that if somebody shot me in the leg every morning on my way to work, taking that pain would get easier with each bullet in my knee.

But that's what I did. I stood on the subway on the way to and from work and preached to the masses. I handed them fliers as I told them of Abraham (who was actually the first to hold the title of Great Prophet, if my cursory Internet searches hold any merit), who had his wife pretend she was his sister so that the Egyptians wouldn't kill him because that's just how Egypt was. I made small talk with people just to bring up the fact that God couldn't find ten decent human beings in the entire city of Sodom, despite the fact that offering your virgin daughters to a sex-crazed mob counted as decent behavior to Him. And suddenly people had to check their voice mail when I told them that Sarah, Abraham's aforementioned pretend sister and real life wife and half-sister, managed to live to the age of 127 without the aid of modern medicine and health insurance.

I hate it. I always hated being approached by beggars and hobos on the subway and I really hate being the crazy guy that everybody wants to run away from. Though I'm pretty good at staying cool and not showing any signs of embarrassment, every sermon is like all my humiliating middle school years rolled into one forty five minute wait for a train. But I do it because I have to. I'm the Great Prophet, and when God commands you to do His work, you do it. I am not the first Great Prophet, and God demanded a greater sacrifice from my predecessors than he does from me. While I'm working on my public speaking skills, Jeremiah was beaten by his brothers and threatened with death numerous times, Moses had to face down the Egyptian Pharaoh and lead his people through the unforgiving desert, and Abraham was told to sacrifice his son. Which he would have done without question if an angel hadn't stopped him. What a scumbag.

As always, people ignored me. All well and good, but this former nonbeliever needed converts in order to appease the Angel of Repentance. But as I said, it was getting a little bit easier as I was doing it. Just as long as no one came to give me any trouble, there was a slim possibility that this task might be bearable.

I should have predicted that Murphy's Law would coming looking for me on the sixth day of preaching.

I had already dealt with about two thousand seven hundred thirty eight angry customers at work that day (give or take a couple) and was really not in the mood for anyone who wanted to complain, debate, or do anything that didn't involve converting to whatever religion I was supposed to be pushing on people. The forty-something year old woman with an angry puss on her face making a beeline towards me probably wouldn't have given a damn if I explained that to her though. I tensed as I saw her coming. I knew this was not going to be good.

“Excuse me, but I have something to say to you, sir,” she hissed at me. The cross around her neck told me she was none too thrilled with what she probably assumed was a mockery of the bible on my part.

“Good things I hope?” I asked tentatively.

“I don't think so,” she answered, the venom still saturating her voice.

“Oh, gotcha,” I said, handing her a flier. “In that case, take one of these. Have a great day, ma'am.”

She stared me down, her nostrils flaring as she took a deep breath. Somewhere in this city was a grocery store whose entire stock of milk spontaneously went sour.

I slowly retracted my hand, still grasping the flier. “Or not. Have any type of day you wish,” I squeaked out.

“You know, I'm a lifelong God-fearing Christian, and I've been listening to your ramblings for the last couple days, and I just wanted you to know that I find the nonsense you preach to be very offensive,” she scolded. “I don't know if you just really need to find Jesus, or if you're just screwing around, but either way you should be very ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, okay. I'm sorry you feel that way, ma'am,” I answered, eager to get this crazy woman away from me.

Instead of walking away, the woman put her hand on her hips, obviously not satisfied with my half-assed apology. I think she stared me down for either a very awkward thirty seconds or a very awkward three and a half hours. It sure felt like the latter.

I felt my face flush, knowing that this woman was going to give me a hard time and wasn't going to stop until she got what she wanted. I hated dealing with people who were angry with me. I was never a big fan of confrontation. Frankly, I didn't really care too much to deal with people I didn't know, let alone fight with them. It was one of the reasons I was so unhappy at Rafferty Financial.

“Um, is there anything else I can do for you today?” I asked, switching to customer service mode.

She shook her head. A frustrated head shake, not a “no” head shake. If only I could be so lucky. “A young, well dressed man like yourself shouldn't be preaching the things that you do. Why don't you spread the word of God's love rather than telling people lies about how God supports murder?”

I should point out that today was Leviticus Day.

“Ma'am, I'm just quoting the Bible. No one's forcing you to�"”

“Don't lie to me, young man!” she interrupted, really taking this whole thing too seriously. I guess I really couldn't blame her, what with religion apparently having been a major part of her life. I never got too into it until the angel appeared to me, so I have no real emotional attachment to God.

“God created each and every one of us in His own image! He loves you as He does everybody else, and He would never want people to murder each other,” she continued. “I don't know where you went wrong in life that you have so much hate, but maybe you should go open your heart to Jesus and see that none of what you say is true. Go read your scriptures and understand.”

“Ma'am, I don't support murder and I didn't say that God said for everyone to kill everyone,” I responded. “But I'm just reading for everybody the laws from the Book of Leviticus, and these are God's laws. Whether or not you follow them is your business.”

“I follow the will of God everyday of my life. He is the source of all that is good and kind in this universe,” she said, putting her hand on her chest. “I always keep God close to my heart, and it pains me to see someone like you trying to spread such nonsense.”

Speaking of goodness and kindness, when will the train be so kind and arrive already? That would be good.

“Everything He does is for the benefit of man,” she rambled on. Seriously, where was that goddamned train!? “God is good, and God is the source of all our morals. Without God, how could--”

Okay, I think we all pretty much get the picture, so while her mouth is on autopilot, let me just point out that I don't know which God she was talking about but it certainly wasn't the God I was working for. According to the laws put in the Book of Leviticus, God wasn't the morally superior merciful caretaker she was saying He was. If she was following His laws as closely as she believed she was, then she was burning to death any priest's daughters who went into prostitution, as per Leviticus 21:9. According to the bulk of Leviticus 20, having sex with practically anyone at any time also merits a death penalty. Actually, if she truly believed me to be mocking and blaspheming God, then she's supposed to stone me to death right now according to Leviticus 24:16. So either she doesn't follow God's laws as much as she believes, or I have America's worst serial killer standing in front of me. Actually, I don't think I really want converts anymore.

I wasn't going to interrupt the biblical scholar standing in front of me though. I wasn't even going to offer up my counterarguments when she was done talking. That would just encourage her to fight with me more, and fighting with this woman was the last thing I wanted to do. Unless she was going to be my first convert, I really didn't feel like speaking to her at all.

Over to my right, I saw a person smirking and shaking his head. He obviously thought one of us was a nutcase, though I had no idea whether it was the woman or me. When you consider my preaching and her ranting, he probably thought we were both in need of a straightjacket.

“I'll keep you in my prayers,” she told me when she was done. “Jesus will forgive your sins, but only if you allow him to.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” I said politely. Like I said, religion must have been a major part of her life because she was making a really big deal about this. Or perhaps maybe she did genuinely care about my soul. It could be both. “I see what you're saying, and I'll look up Leviticus again to see what the Lord really was trying to tell us.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, the miserable scowl still plastered over her face. I really can't win, can I?

“And I apologize for offending you,” I added.

She nodded slightly, her expression not softening up in the slightest. “Just remember, the Lord has a plan for each and everyone of us. We all do His will, and that means you too.”

Tell me about it. Some of us more than others. “I understand, ma'am. Thank you.”

She turned and left, thankfully walking down the platform presumably so she wouldn't have to sit in the same train car as me. A homeless man was sitting on a bench, not two feet from her path, and yet her eyes did not meet his as he glanced up at her briefly, probably hoping that she, anybody, would give him a little bit of money. It's strange how people view the concept of helping others. She spent God knows how long trying to “help” me, yet didn't even see a man who was truly in need. She was willing to give a lecture, but not a dollar. She helped the person that didn't need her and ignored the one that did. If people have one thing in common, it's that we all love to whine and complain when we see something we don't like, but duck our heads when the time to take meaningful action comes. Say what you will about God's laws and all, but Uriel was right about us all living a life of shallow self-love.

Maybe that was my purpose? To show people a better way to live? For a brief moment, I considered that possibility. Then I remembered everything I had been preaching today. If God wants me to spread the word that the penalty for cursing his name is death, then I doubt that my purpose had anything to do with compassion for my fellow man.