You're Not Jehovah

You're the guy dressed as a security guard who knocked on our door in Fullerton the other evening. White, 40s, receding light hair. White shirt, long sleeves. Black pants. Little diagonal belt across your chest with the microphone on it. Cop sunglasses. You sure looked official. Once you were gone, we looked outside and found there was a Jehovah's Witness pamphlet on our doorstep. I've had Witnesses come to my door before—nice folks and an enjoyable conversation if you have the time (which is usually never)—but all of them have taken the trouble of dressing nicely in suits and ties before making their rounds. Unless the Witnesses have suffered a drop in statistics and have suddenly adopted a crafty approach to getting more people to open their doors by dressing as law-enforcement personnel to enhance perceptions of trust before springing the tract on them, I'd say that either you had just gotten off your guard gig and were too lazy to change your clothes or pick up your partner (don't you usually come in pairs?) before hitting the sidewalks, or there's something really kind of fishy and lone-wolf sinister about you. We took the extra step of talking to the police. They noticed the incongruity, too.


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