Wicked Witch of the what?

I feel the need to say this now, since this marks the second blog in which people of Christian faith have filled an antagonistic role in my little stories. I do not, of course, believe all Christian people are like this--I have no problem with the religion as a whole, I've met some perfectly lovely Christians, blah, blah, blah. It just happens that the neighbourhood in which I lived and worked at the time had a fairly large population of completely batshit insane people. Some of them were Christians, such as those featured here. Many of them were not, and have been (and doubtlessly will be) featured many times here. So Christians; unless you're a member of Westboro Baptist, my somewhat disparaging remarks about people of Christian faith throughout this blog very probably do not apply to you.

I have a lot of theatrically talented friends, and they often shanghai me into helping them with their various theatrical productions--not in any kind of starring role, because I can't actually act or sing. I can, however, paint one hell of a backdrop, among other notable backstage-worthy talents. While you do tend to end up getting paid in hilarity ensuing rather than money, there's the added bonus of having absolutely no dress code. (It's worth noting that during this time period, I was also a fan of big fluffy black trench coats and long flowing black lacy skirts and often overdosed on eyeliner and black nail polish. I also naturally tend to look creepy or intimidating a lot of the time.)

The production I was working on was a musical--what it was called isn't really relevant, but it was being performed in a hall on the same block the church I cleaned at the time. The Saturday morning before opening night, we had a full dress rehearsal and run through. I got there quite early with the other stagehand types (decked out in full goth regalia,) and got to work. I wiped down backdrops. I oiled the wheels on mobile set pieces. I ironed costumes. I sharpened eyeliner. I even vacuumed the curtains. And I refilled the fog machine. The end result of all manual labour was, of course, a sweaty goth girl with frizzy hair, runny eyeliner, and pockets filled with dry ice, wrapped in paper. (Yes, I steal small amounts of dry ice when I get the chance. Why? Because dry ice is awesome. Duh.)

Two of the other stagehands ask me to go to lunch with them, and I agree. We decide to walk past the church on the way there, because I had been told that there were some religious nuts who were going to protest there the next day, and I wanted to ask the reverend if he wanted me to come by and make sure the lawn was cleaned up after they left.

Well we got to the church, and as it turned out, the religious nuts had decided against a Sunday protest (I guess it must have been too much work for a Sabbath day.) Instead, they were going with a Saturday protest. They were handing out pamphlets on the usual stuff--condoms will kill you, you'll go to hell if you have an abortion, gay people want to cut your heart out and molest your children with it, etc. They were also giving out involuntary baptisms--i.e., throwing water on random pedestrians who the protesters believed had 'the devil in them.'

So: especially freaky, somewhat worn-out goth chick. Redneck Christian fanatical protesters with buckets of holy water. With me so far?

(Daniel, re: your comment on PSA #2: I don't think throwing liquid counts as a form of assault in my country, because these guys were throwing a lot of liquid and as far as I know no charges have been laid. Of course, it might just have been because they didn't chance to throw it on any coppers or barristers.)

Of course when the protesters saw me, they decided I definitely had the devil in me. (Because, of course, I dress differently to them and probably do not share their beliefs! I Am Evil Incarnate!) And, screaming various things about Jesus and exorcisms and blessings, they proceeded to douse me heavily in holy water.

What they had forgotten about (and admittedly what I had forgotten about until the water made contact) was the dry ice, still in my pockets. The water soaked through the paper and hit the ice, causing it to melt and produce rather a lot of steam.

So: crazy bogan Christian protesters throw holy water on what is presumed to be some random goth girl on the street. Smoke starts billowing from inside the goth girl's clothes. What does the goth girl do?

Scream "I'M MELTING, I'M MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING," at the top of her lungs, of course.

The bogan protesters now think they've got a real live demon on their hands, so of course they throw on more holy water, which make more of the dry ice go off. I run down the street, wailing like a banshee, circle back, and go into the church via the back door. I have a very brief chat with the reverend about when he'll next want me there, then stroll out the front doors and through the crowd of rednecks like nothing has happened. They, naturally, freak. I, slightly damper than previously, rejoin my friends (laughing their asses off slightly further down the street) and we merrily go to lunch.

If you find the right church in the right city, you can probably still hear the bogans whisper about the time Satan walked among them.