Day 4
Jim had just settled into an independent living complex he dubbed “The Home”. On day 4, he sat near the entrance to the dining room for lunch when a man approached, asking to join him.
“Sure,” Jim said, unaware he was about to meet a character straight out of a comedy sketch.
The man, a dead ringer for Tim Walz with a grin to match, introduced himself. Jim did likewise, and as they talked, he discovered the man was a hellfire-and-damnation Christian who could have been plucked from one of his childhood nightmares. Back then, Jim’s neighborhood called people like him “Fundies”—short for fundamentalists—who’d preach at you until your ears bled.
The man was a “Fundie” on steroids. Between chomps of his turkey club sandwich, he launched into a sermon so loud it drowned out the clatter of dishes, declaring himself a Bible expert despite no credentials.
Jim felt an attempt to baptize him was imminent.
When the man claimed the Bible was literally God’s Word, Jim asked which version of it he meant. The man froze, his face blank as a wiped chalkboard, but not for long. Ignoring the question, he babbled on about Jesus as if they were best friends. Jim’s lips twitched with amusement, and when he interrupted the man and said his faith-based beliefs lacked supporting evidence that could stand up to scientific scrutiny, the man strongly disagreed, claiming he was a scientist, again, despite no credentials.
Jim considered the man’s claim laughable on two counts. When asked, the man couldn’t identify any supporting scientific evidence, and he didn’t seem to realize that if there were such evidence, there would be no need for faith.
The man’s performance only got wilder when he transformed into a social tornado, waving and glad-handing passersby like a politician at a barbecue. He joked with them and frequently played off a third person, namely Jim, by telling Jim to beware of each one for various reasons, mainly differences in their religious and political beliefs from his. Once, the man played off a woman, telling her to beware of Jim because he had been corrupted by a Jesuit education.
No one laughed.
The man introduced Jim to everyone as if they were long time best friends, despite their 15-minute acquaintance, leaving Jim embarrassed and the passersby visibly uncomfortable. Some scurried away. Others lingered out of politeness, their eyes screaming for escape.
Jim considered getting up and leaving. But he stayed, scribbling mental notes about the man’s sermonizing, fake expertise, and over-the-top schmoozing, which he considered comedy gold for a short story that was beginning to take shape in his mind.
The following day, Jim stayed in his apartment and wrote that short story. “The Home” had promised independent living. Nobody said anything about comedy club membership.
Copyright © 2025 Frank Zahn. Published in Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, Volume 19, Issue 4 Rasher, December 13, 2025, https://www.meatfortea.com/pdfs/meatforteav19i4.pdf