It’s a miracle!

June 21, 2007 at 1:00 am (Cussed Dumbers)

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Just when I think I’ve seen it all, something new comes along. Today I had a near-religious experience.

I’d been to work just a few minutes when the grocer from across the street came into our store and said, “There’s a guy outside that just stole a bottle of wine from you.”

If this sounds familiar, the same thing happened a month or two ago. Different clerk, same story.

I followed him to the street. He pointed north. “He went that way. He was wearing, how you say, desert outfit? Like camel jockey.”

“What?” It was weird to hear a middle-Eastern man use that phrase.

“You know, long white thing on the head.”

“White guy?”

“Yes. Big. Not big like you, but high.” I think he meant tall. “There he is!” The grocer pointed, “See! There is your wine.”

Across the street, in white flowing robes and a shroud, was Jesus. Okay, not *the* Jesus, but a reasonable facsimile. He was dressed in white from head to toe, with only a dark beard and a brown bottle of wine to add contrast. I recognized his stagger; it was the same wine thief from last month.

I called Clean and Safe, the downtown security company, and told the officer on duty. “And what would you like us to do when we find Jesus?” was her rather witty retort.

“Well, if he hasn’t opened it yet, we’d like our wine back.”

I told her the thief’s name; he’s well known among all the officers. They had made contact earlier. His robes were a bed sheet, and the shroud was a towel.

The officer signed off, sarcastically saying, “When we find Jesus, we’ll be sure to get him back into your life ASAP.”

“Gee thanks, I think…”

No less than six officers came by over the next couple of hours. Their presence had a calming effect, I had no trouble the rest of the night, other than figuring out how a six-foot tall man in flowing white robes managed to walk past me twice, in the process stealing a jug of vino, without my noticing.

I got a kick out of the transit security guard’s nickname for him- Ali Bubba. Had he stolen a big bottle of beer, would that make him one of the forty thieves? Hardy har har.

I preferred to call him Jesus. There was a celestial air about him, as he floated drunkenly down the sidewalk.

If it was the same thief as last month, one bottle wouldn’t be enough. I waited, and waited, but he didn’t come back.

Will miracles never cease? Apparently for one night.


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