Illustration by Bob AulSend anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to “Hey, You!” c/o OC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at le*****@oc******.com.
I was minding my own business in Diedrich Coffee in Irvine when you asked me if I was a musician; it was my long hair, no doubt. We talked, and you told me you played, too. Though our tastes were different (you like Radiohead and Jeff Buckley; I like Tool and Deftones), we were both gearheads. We talked amiably about amps and the like. And that's when you invited me to church! Why, oh, why can't Christians leave me alone? I don't bother you, do I? I'm tired of this sneaky sales approach, of feigning interest in me and then hitting me with a car salesman's subtlety about the possibility of going to youth group. Please, just leave me alone. Stop trying to save me.
