Back in the dark days, just after I'd gotten out of graduate school, I worked briefly behind the counter in a popular downtown cafe.
One day I took an order from a friendly, seemingly normal customer whose order number unfortunately came up as “666." I don’t know where my mind was in this moment. Needless to say, it didn't occur to me that I was about to bestow the dreaded Mark of the Beast upon this poor lady.
In my mind's eye, I envision myself sprouting horns and hooves, my voice dropping two octaves. Something gooey surely drips from my newly forked tongue as I ominously pronounce, "Your number is 666."
Only...none of that actually happened. Really and truly, all I said to her was that bit about the order number. For the movie version, there will be no need to hire Tom Savini.
From the front of a very long lunch line, the customer panicked, quickly crossed herself, and literally ran from the restaurant in tears.
When the manager came and asked me what I'd done to so offend the woman, the people who had been in line behind her defended me, likely saving my job.
Given a second chance at that moment, I'd like to think I'd have opted for a bit more sensitivity.
Still, I can't help but point out that while I can appreciate the "love thy neighbor" aspect of most religions, this whole “be terrified of everything" nonsense can be seriously off-putting.
