I woke up on a Saturday morning hungover, but with good intentions. My head was throbbing, so was my urine erection. I rolled over on my right side to the sexy, soft body laying next to me. I slipped it in with ease. She had a post evening moist vagina. I cupped her tit with one hand and roughly pulled her head back with the other as I bit her neck. Unprotected sex first thing in the morning. I diligently tried to fuck away that hangover. It worked for the most part. The symptoms were subtle after that.
I haven’t woke up early in the morning since I dropped out of high school. Today was a special occasion. The winter season is about to begin, and they need help sorting and separating jackets at the Light Of Life donation center. I received the Gmail a week ago asking if I were interested. It sounded like a noble, worthwhile cause, so I signed up for assistance.
It must’ve been a hard night of drinking for the majority of people in Pittsburgh. I wasn’t the only one suffering from a hangover. The people who accompanied me onto the trolley looked like shit. For once in my life these assholes and I were in solidarity.
I sat in the back like usual with nothing but a hilarious book by Monica Drake called, “Clown Girl,” to keep me company. I was dealing with periodical bouts of nausea. Nothing I couldn’t handle, though. By the time I reached North Side I felt better and ready to go vigorous at the Light Of Life.
I stopped at Sunoco to get a pint of orange juice. My body desperately needed vitamin c. I was thinking fortification.
I was in a state of confusion by the time I reached my destination. All the doors were locked. Homeless people were congregating around the premises. I looked in the window and saw volunteers, so I knocked a few times to get their attention.
After that I was let in and greeted by the woman who sent me the Gmail. We made our introductions. Then I followed her back to where all the action was happening.
I’ve never volunteered at this building before, which happens to be an old dilapidated school. Usually I’m putting in time at the soup kitchen. This place had a creepy vibe to it. For some reason the notion of Satanists making human sacrifices in the dark abandoned room down the hall came to mind.
It’s ridiculous, I know. The mind thinks of absurdities when detaching itself from a hangover.
I was led to an old classroom with ten Christians and forty large trash bags filled with winter jackets. We separated them by size, making piles on the table. Our routine was efficient. There wasn’t much talking, but it wasn’t awkward either. I noticed the guy across of me pull out his star of David necklace after five minutes of sorting.
This was a first, I thought. I’ve never volunteered at a Christian organization with a Jew before. I kinda felt honored. I’m a huge Woody Allen fan.
The feeling of self gratification brought on by this act of philanthropy was phenomenal. I felt extremely beneficial to humanity. It was a beautiful thing until he showed up.
A man came into the room wearing conservative dress attire. By the way he walked I’d assume he had a stick up his ass. He was definitely a republican. In fact, if he’s not, I’ll let my girlfriend blow you.
I’m well aware of how judgmental I’m being. That’s fine. I don’t claim to be a Christian. Besides, you get what you give. Keep reading, I’ll explain.
I’m having a great time, minding my own business when I felt these judgmental eyes upon me. I looked over and saw the conservative prick giving me dirty looks. I was immediately irritated by this act of bullshit first thing in the morning.
It’s not like there’s thousands of people in Pittsburgh that give a shit about people they’ve never met before. This is a very small gathering of good hearted people in here right now. The last thing a philanthropist wants to deal with is persecution, especially by one of the people who claim to be on his side. I continued to sort the coats until he walked over to confront me.
“Excuse me,” said the conservative prick who had a personal problem with someone he never met before. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Mario.”
“Okay,” he said with blatant disdain in his voice. “What are you doing here?”
I’m trying at this point not to have an episode, but this prick was making it hard on me.
With a coat in my hand I said, “Is it not evident what I’m doing here, bro?”
The prick took it a step further by saying, “Who let you in here? What are you doing?”
Now approaching indignation.
I slammed down the coat I had in my hands on the pile and said, “It’s too early in the morning for stupid questions. Do you treat all the volunteers like shit, or am I special?”
I looked around at all the alleged Christians and the one single Jew. They were all minding their own business, sorting and separating as I dealt with an early morning asshole.
I raised my voice a notch and said, “Answer me! Am I special? What did you think, I was some kind of vagabond off the streets that snuck in here to help! This is fucking ridiculous! Who the fuck are you?”
He arrogantly stuck his chin up and said, “I’m the pastor around these parts.”
I grabbed him by his dress shirt, and threw him onto the table. All the Christians scattered. The lone Jew stayed put. I’m betting he’s dealt with plenty of these pseudo-Christian scumbags before. He wanted a close seat to the action.
I open hand smacked him right in the mouth. The sound of the impact reverberated throughout the room. Then I grabbed him by the hair and started yanking his God fearing head around as I said, “Be gone Satan! Be gone! Leave the spirit of this pseudo-Christian alone! I command you!”
I bitch slapped him a few more times and continued to yank his head around until his toupee ripped off. I screamed, “Kill it with fire!” as I reached in my pocket for a lighter. Then I set it to blaze. After that the pastor hysterically ran out the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve just witnessed my very first exorcism! What do you think?”
An older woman who reminded me of my grandma said, “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that, son. I’ve never seen him behave in that manner before. Maybe he was possessed.”
“Or maybe he was a pseudo-Christian,” I said.
“Well, don’t let his actions tarnish our Christian image. We’re not like that.”
“I would never think like that. It’s close minded.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that, dear. All we can do is pray for him.”
“Cool. Pray all you want. I’m not going to waste my time.”
“Why not, dear? It’s the Christian thing to do.”
“I’m not a Christian.”
“But Jesus saves. Don’t you want to be saved?”
“Exactly. He saves all the wrong people. Spending eternity amongst the company of pseudo-Christians, or my drunken mother sounds more like hell to me than heaven. I’d rather capitulate to Satan than endure that perpetual headache.”
They all just looked at me in a pitiful way. All except the Jewish guy.
He gave me a thumbs up.
I’ve accomplished everything I set out to do, and then some. I left the donation center feeling better than I had when I first started.
***
 
  Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he’s not writing, he’s volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man’s work, please check out his blog:www.thoughtsofapoeticmind.blogspot.com for his latest poetry and short stories.
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