Missionary position

Maybe I just look like the kind of guy who needs saving from his life of sin, but the fresh-faced, blonde-haired young man with the Hollywood smile, homed straight in on me. He boarded the MRT at Petchburi station, took a quick scan of the carriage and decided that I was definitely his man. “How are you doing today?“ he chirped.
Dripping with sweat and wrestling with my tangled I-Pod cable, I somehow managed to muster a rather unfriendly “alright thanks”. Most people would have taken that as a signal to go forth and multiply but when there are souls to be rescued from the devil’s evil clutches, such brush-offs are minor almost insignificant obstacles at best. We both knew exactly what was coming next - the cluster of unbearable conversational gambits. “How long have you lived in Bangkok?“. “Where are you from?“. “What do you do here?“. “Are you on your way home?“ I hadn’t been asked these questions since I was last in Soi Cowboy but I played along and gave him the answers he wanted to hear. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the full impact of the inevitable segue way. “I’m from the Church of the Latter Day Saints, and we believe that…...“ The rest is just a blur. I wasn’t listening. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss my stop. He then apologized for not introducing himself. To be honest I forget the name. It was something like Brad or Chuck or something equally wholesome, clean-living and unmistakably American.
“Are you a religious person?“ he enquired. I answered yes without a moment’s hesitation. But it’s amazing how you can live here for eighteen years and not be able to think of one single church when pressed for a name.

“Do you have time to get together to talk about things?“
I’m not sure if he meant the political situation in the deep south, the chances of getting a multiple entry visa in Penang, or how Chelsea will fare without Jose Mourinho but I got the distinct impression we probably weren’t on the same wavelength as far as discussion topics were concerned. Thankfully the train pulled up at MRT Asoke and the whoosh of the opening doors was my signal to leg it. I would be up that escalator and through the ticket barrier before you could say ‘complimentary bible’. Somewhere on a distant cloud, a bearded man with a kindly face might start shaking his head in disbelief, but I had to get out of there. The best laid plans of mice and men aside, the missionary quickened his pace to follow me across the station concourse. “What will you do when you get home?“ he asked.
“Well I’ll probably get home at about six and then spend some time in front of the mirror wearing my wife’s clothes. She doesn’t get home until seven you see”

I didn’t say that of course. I’m far too nice a guy. I told him I would give God some very serious thought and implored him to keep up the good work. One powerful handshake later and he disappeared into the crowd of commuters to select another victim. However, I couldn’t resist the temptation to stand and hover from a safe distance. ‘Selling religion’ in Thailand must be a dream at least in terms of grabbing someone who’ll listen. I watched the missionary approach four or five Thais in the space of a few minutes and they all listened intently before telling him they couldn’t speak English. Now why didn’t I think of that? Still, I have nothing but respect for a man who will willingly travel around on a subway train - in a capital city - and make conversation with total strangers. As anyone who has seen Borat - The Movie will testify, it doesn’t always work out that well.