This morning I walked to the back of the almost-full bus. In that section there was one open seat on the aisle; the woman in the window seat had her bags on it. I pointedly looked around the rest of the occupied seats, then back at her and her bags.

"Would you like to sit here?" she asked sweetly.

Why, yes I would like to fucking sit there. "Yes, please," I said.

As she gathered up her belongings I noticed that among them was a copy of the Watchtower. Rehearsing in my mind a polite yet firm smack down, I sat. And was pleasantly surprised when she didn't say anything to me.

In the seats directly in front were a very young woman and her infant daughter. I watched the antics for the next fifteen minutes. Then suddenly the woman next to me started asking the young woman about her baby. And she held up the magazine and asked, "Would you like to read a Christian journal?" The young woman shook her head and mumbled something about already having some.

I was grateful that my stop came up then, since I could feel the young woman dreading being asked questions about the existence or lack thereof of the baby's father, or whatever invasive queries the do-good instincts of the Watchtower woman were going to provoke.

And as I stepped off the bus I also had to come to terms with the staggering realization that this woman had deemed me beyond redemption. Or at least unapproachable for the purposes of salvation. Who is she to judge me? At least I don't take up two seats on a bus during the morning commute.