We (Emily & I) attended Destiny Church today in City Center, Dublin. This is the church where Bobo & Anka Jankovic are attending & serving (more on that later).
I have to tell you about an experience on the bus ride from Dublin to Finglas (where Bobo & Anka live).
We all 5 of us got on the bus to head out to Bobo & Anka’s apartment (where they share a 2-bedroom with a young, newly-wedded Polish couple - Peter & Natalia). It’s one of the classic double-decker busses that are all over the area and we headed upstairs and sat in the next-to-last row in the back.
I smelled a pungent, but familiar odor and commented about it to Bobo. He motioned with his eyes to the guys in the seat behind us.
I turned, noticed that he was rolling some kind of cigarette with some “funny” kinds of seeds and commented to him, “You’re not going to light that thing, are you?”
“I sure am,” he replied without even looking up. (I so wanted to flick the paper and send the tobacco and seeds flying off of his lap!) Where DO these fleshly impulses come from? :-)
I turned back to him and said,”Don’t light that thing. There are kids in here.”
“You can go sit at the front of bus,” again without any eye contact.
Shortly after, he moved to the seat across the aisle from me and handed his newly created wonder-stick to the fellow in the last seat in the corner of the back of the bus.
I turned and, noticing that he was also handing him a lighter, said, “Hey! Don’t light that thing!”
“Shut the f*** up!” the guy in the corner seat snapped.
“Why!?” I asked - obviously not expecting any sort of intelligent reply, nor did I receive any.
As I mulled my next step, I considered standing up, grabbing the doobie and grinding it onto the floor under my shoe.
In a matter of seconds, my non-spiritual side sized up the 3 men creating a stir in the back of this enclosed bus cabin. “The little guy is so blitzed from drugs, I could hold him down with one hand,” I thought. The mouthy guy in the corner is trapped by his choice of seat and the guy in the middle, hm, I’d probably have a little bit of trouble with him.
As I came to the conclusion that that would not be an appropriate response, the 3rd guy (in the middle) tapped me on the shoulder and blurted, “Hey, it’s out, okay. He put it out, all right?”
“Good,” I shot back, though unsatisfied.
Just then Bobo informed us that we needed to head down to get ready to get off of the bus. As we waited down below, we smelled the fresh scent of the lit cigarette. Anka informed the bus driver, who - through the bus’s PA system - promptly commanded the fellow to put out the doobie.
Ahh, the excitement of international travel.
Actually, I rather quite liked the accent of the one fellow who told me to shut up. I had thought to say to him, “Hey, I like your accent. It’s your attitude that stinks - like your cigarette!”
I have to tell you about an experience on the bus ride from Dublin to Finglas (where Bobo & Anka live).
We all 5 of us got on the bus to head out to Bobo & Anka’s apartment (where they share a 2-bedroom with a young, newly-wedded Polish couple - Peter & Natalia). It’s one of the classic double-decker busses that are all over the area and we headed upstairs and sat in the next-to-last row in the back.
I smelled a pungent, but familiar odor and commented about it to Bobo. He motioned with his eyes to the guys in the seat behind us.
I turned, noticed that he was rolling some kind of cigarette with some “funny” kinds of seeds and commented to him, “You’re not going to light that thing, are you?”
“I sure am,” he replied without even looking up. (I so wanted to flick the paper and send the tobacco and seeds flying off of his lap!) Where DO these fleshly impulses come from? :-)
I turned back to him and said,”Don’t light that thing. There are kids in here.”
“You can go sit at the front of bus,” again without any eye contact.
Shortly after, he moved to the seat across the aisle from me and handed his newly created wonder-stick to the fellow in the last seat in the corner of the back of the bus.
I turned and, noticing that he was also handing him a lighter, said, “Hey! Don’t light that thing!”
“Shut the f*** up!” the guy in the corner seat snapped.
“Why!?” I asked - obviously not expecting any sort of intelligent reply, nor did I receive any.
As I mulled my next step, I considered standing up, grabbing the doobie and grinding it onto the floor under my shoe.
In a matter of seconds, my non-spiritual side sized up the 3 men creating a stir in the back of this enclosed bus cabin. “The little guy is so blitzed from drugs, I could hold him down with one hand,” I thought. The mouthy guy in the corner is trapped by his choice of seat and the guy in the middle, hm, I’d probably have a little bit of trouble with him.
As I came to the conclusion that that would not be an appropriate response, the 3rd guy (in the middle) tapped me on the shoulder and blurted, “Hey, it’s out, okay. He put it out, all right?”
“Good,” I shot back, though unsatisfied.
Just then Bobo informed us that we needed to head down to get ready to get off of the bus. As we waited down below, we smelled the fresh scent of the lit cigarette. Anka informed the bus driver, who - through the bus’s PA system - promptly commanded the fellow to put out the doobie.
Ahh, the excitement of international travel.
Actually, I rather quite liked the accent of the one fellow who told me to shut up. I had thought to say to him, “Hey, I like your accent. It’s your attitude that stinks - like your cigarette!”
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