When I say I live in Kansas City, people often ask me if I live on the Kansas side or the Missouri side. And when I tell them I live in Kansas but work in Missouri, their next question is usually, "So how long is your commute?" I guess a lot of folks must think it's a long way from Kansas to Missouri, but it's actually only 21 miles from my garage at home to the parking lot at my office. Unless, of course, it's snowing ... somehow the distance triples when it's snowing ... no, really, it triples because I take like a gazillion back roads because everyone in Kansas City (on both sides of the state line) forgets how to drive when it snows.
Even though there are two gas stations within walking distance of my house, I almost always buy gas for my car at the Quik Trip down the street from my office. I buy gas there because it's on the Missouri side, and that means the gas is usually about eight or nine cents cheaper per gallon. Hey ... eight or nine cents times 15 gallons times 52 weeks in the year adds up to at least a couple of bucks, right? While the store isn't what I would term inner city, it's close enough to the downtown area that sometimes the folks who shop there are ... ummm ... they are at times a rather interesting lot. Even though I've seen the police arrest people there and once I even saw them take a gun away from a guy, I've only gotten really scared a couple of times. You know ... the kind of scared when you feel like something really, really, really bad could happen and there's nothing you can do to stop it ... the kind of scared when you feel utterly and completely vulnerable and alone. One of those times happened yesterday, and try as I may, I cannot get it out of my mind.
I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing to have a gauge on my car that tells me how many miles I have left before I run out of gas. Normally, when I get down to 50 miles or so I fill up my tank, but by the time I went to Quik Trip over lunch yesterday, the gauge said 15 miles ... don't even say it ... I know, I know. I pulled into the only open pump and quickly jumped out of my car to fill my tank ... I had a ton of editing work yesterday, so I wanted to get back to the office as quickly as possible. I'm not sure what made me glance at the car at the pump in front of me, but when I did I was immediately scared ... and yep, I was that kind of scared. Tears filled my eyes as I saw the words of the sticker affixed to the rear bumper of the car ... "God hates fags and so do I."
I was beyond thankful that no one was in the car but absolutely terrified at the same time by the knowledge that the owner could return at any moment. My mind was instantly filled with possible scenarios of what the person might say or do to me should he or she return ... I mean ... I had on a bow tie, suspenders and saddle oxfords yesterday for gosh sake's and the sticker on the car wasn't exactly rainbow friendly. I contemplated whether I should get only $10 worth of gas and race out of there as fast as I could or jump in my car, lock the doors, duck my head and hope and pray the person didn't come back before the gas nozzle clicked off when my tank was full. I chose the latter of those two options ... I cowered in the seat of my car, my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror, my heart pounding with anxiety and my stomach churning with fear.
There's a ton of things I could say about the sticker on the car, not the least of which is how ironic it is that the trademark slogan of Westboro Baptist Church just happened to be plastered on a car right in front of me at the gas station at the same time I'm immersed in raising funds to complete the documentary about Nate Phelps. There's a ton of things I could say about that sticker and all the other stickers like it in the world. There's a ton of things I could say about people who preach and teach hate, and the far-reaching consequences of their words and actions. I could say a ton of things about how I felt as I hid in my car ... you bet I could. I choose, however, not to say any of those things and to leave you with a thought ... a thought that we all should stick on the bumpers of our hearts and minds.
God doesn't hate anyone. And neither should we. Period.
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