Gay Methodists

 

(Sodomites have a lot of power these days.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. There’s a popular fast-food restaurant in Korea called Lotteria. Lots of people stop by for a hamburger and fries during the lunch and dinner shifts. All the locations in Seoul always seem crowded. In fact, I’m a big fan of the franchise’s fried chicken. I also like Lotteria’s coffee. Anyway, the company recently received a fine for being unsanitary. One of the workers dropped a bun on the ground and picked it up off the floor before giving it to a customer. But I don’t care. A little bit of dirt never hurt anybody.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. The Methodist Church has started to splinter over the issue of homosexuality. The liberals want to give gay people a pass whereas the conservatives still see sodomy as a sin. If my church was filled with perverts and witches, it wouldn’t bother me in the least. After all, where else can they go for guidance? But my pastor must be a straight male who isn’t a slave to superstition. I simply refuse to take religious instruction from Charles Nelson Reilly. Call me a bigot until you’re blue in the face. Yet that’s just the way I roll.

I got to work at 8 a.m. and was called into the principal’s office. This made me a little nervous. Most experienced teachers never see their boss.

He shook my hand, and I sat in front of his desk.

He said, “How was your weekend?”

“Not bad.”

“Did you do anything exciting?”

I shook my head from side to side. “It was kind of humdrum. Same old, same old. How about you?”

“My uncle died. So I was on the phone to my father for hours and hours. He’s very distraught. Dad was extremely close to his brother.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The boss took a sip of coffee and changed the subject. “I got a call from one of the local schools. The principal told me that you applied for a job.”

I smiled nervously. “I’m not taking the gig. It doesn’t pay enough money to justify moving.”

“Are you thinking about leaving us?”

“No. I plan on staying here until I die. However, I like to throw my line out in the water from time to time to see what the competition is paying.”

He didn’t say a single word. The silence was unnerving.

I said, “As a matter of fact, I applied for a position in Kurdistan about six months ago. I have no intentions of moving to the Middle East. I was simply curious.”

He nodded and took another sip from his mug. “I get it. You’re a man with a family, and you got bills to pay. I don’t hold it against you. But I need to know if I can count on you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here for the long haul. Shit. Nobody else will have me.”

We shared some uncomfortable laughter.

I left his office a little bit angry. I never listed the guy as a reference. There’s a certain etiquette that potential employers are supposed to follow. You don’t call the boss until a meeting of the minds has taken place. I’ve been put into an awkward situation due to no fault of my own. Oh well. Such is life.

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