Mr. Campbell's Brother Brothers

Registered library cards to two Mormon brothers who also happened to be biological brothers. But, wait, there's more. They came in wearing uniforms, but not the tie and white shirt--well, the white shirt, yeah, but with a large horizontal-diamond patch over the left breast emblazoned ORKIN. When they came in surveying the place I looked for the cannisters and hoses, but they just wanted to use the computers.

When I started on their registrations one asked me, "Have you lived here all your life?" It sounded as if he either already knew the answer or didn't really care. He didn't really care: I could see through his blank eyes that my words were only data feeding into a response generator.

The other one, who'd brought in an Og Mandino paperback with a duct tape spine, said, "What kind of books do you read?"

"Scottish fiction."

That led to a question about my heritage, which I answered more expansively than I wanted to, somehow going so far as to explain that I was descended from Campbells. The other one asked if I had any familiarity with the Mackays, and I told him no. Then he tells me about the Scotsman So-and-So Mackay and his role in forming the Mormon church. I thought, "Wow, way to work that in." He thought the same thing--I could tell by the raised eyebrow he flashed his brother.

But then they start asking about my religious background, like what church I go to, and what religion I was raised with--things that I had every right to tell them was none of their business. Instead, I answered monosyllabically and without elaboration. Except when Eyebrow Boy asked me what my ideal church would be like if I were to found one, when I said, "Well, since my brain has never been challenged with that supposition before, I couldn't really answer that, except to say that I wouldn't deign to form a church."

That got a little chuckle from him, a chuckle I've heard many times--it means, "You talk funny"--and then he said, "What God could do with a brain like that!"

I said, "Well, maybe, when I'm done with it, God can have it."

When I gave them their cards, Eyebrow Boy who'd done most of the talking thanked me ("Mr. Campbell, right?" I nodded--as close as I could come to not lying without telling the truth) and gave me one of those disingenuous diving, elbow-up handshakes before telling me to have a "blessed day." Duct Tape Boy slid a two-by-four card across the counter. On one side was a white-edged psuedo-classical picture of ancient multitudes hugging toppled columns and shielding their eyes from a brilliant radiance defined by a dusty orange sky. On the other side was a photograph of The Book of Mormon and two ways to get hold of a copy. I didn't throw it away before they couldn't see me. Why I cared about their feelings I don't know--as if I thought they gave a damn about me beyond another feather in their cap and robot for their army. I was pissed off at their arrogance and my politeness.