Strangling Jesus

Before I start this story, I feel the need to explain something; I am a clutz. I am a huge clutz. I am a clutz to a degree of physical retardation, and there's a reason for that--a long time ago, there was an accident that caused me to lose most of the function in both my hands. Several years of intensive physical therapy later, I was able to do perform advanced tasks like handling cutlery, writing legibly, and typing for short periods. I'm better now (and type ridiculously fast, all things considered) but I still have some issues.

The primary problem seems to be that, while my hands are very strong from exercising them in therapy and from various parts of my jobs, I have absolutely no sense of the pressure I am exerting. This can cause various difficulties--for example, gripping the wheel too tight while I'm driving, causing me to veer sharply to one side whenever I do something like shoulder checking or changing gears. I also tend to break cheap pencils and biros very easily. The reverse is true, too--I have never met anyone who drops things as frequently as I do, because I simply can't tell when my grip is too loose.

For this reason, I tend to gravitate towards jobs where I don't need to handle anything delicate--working in a china shop, for instance, would be right out for me. Way back on the first post in this blog when I listed my previous employers, you may notice that not one of those positions calls for me to handle anything squishier than a cheeseburger. I am not going to be able to hurt a shovel, broom, leather strap, book, cardboard box, item of clothing, or sheaf of paper by squeezing it too hard, and none of those things are going to be utterly destroyed by my dropping it occasionally. Even if I did squash and/or drop a burger, it's wrapped in paper, and if you're buying greasy fast food, your expectations of its quality are probably not high in the first place. All of my employers have been aware of my limitations and usually aren't bothered by it.

The customers, however... well, put it this way. This is an actual conversation I had while I was working in a church. I was polishing one of several antique silver crucifixes at the time, and holding it extremely tightly. Let's refer to the church-goer as Spudface.

Spudface: OH MY GOD.
Me: ...can I help you?
Spudface: You are STRANGLING JESUS.
Me: Y'know, I'm really not sure how to respond to that...
Spudface: What the hell is WRONG with you? LET GO OF HIM.
(Spudface attempts to wrench the Silvo-covered crucifix from my hands. Due to the combination of my ridiculously tight grip and the very slippery metal polish, she fails. She tries again.)
Me: That isn't going to work.
Spudface: YOU'RE THE DEVIL!
Me: ... Okay, wha--
Spudface: YOU POSSESSED MY HANDS! YOU STRANGLED JESUS! YOU'RE BEELZEBUB!
Me: Lady, if I was the fucking devil, do you really think I'd spend my time cleaning a church?
Spudface: ...Oh.
(Spudface wanders off.)

Y'know, I still have no idea what that was about. And Spudface was relatively harmless. The really scary fundie attack? That came much later and involved people armed with hockey sticks. The only other time I was ever hassled by a religious zealot, it was far more comical, at least to me.

Spudface was right about one thing, though--poor motor skills are clearly a sign of demonic influence. How could I not have seen it before? It's all so obvious now!