Burning Buildings and the Holy Mother or What Happens To Me When I'm Alone

I stepped out of the abandoned building, having returned with a better camera to take some more photos. I couldn't resit. This time, however, I was alone. David, as is his habit, changed his mind and did not return with me. Alone, the building had a more ominous air. I could not bring myself to open closed doors, and every creek or bump made me freeze. I forced myself to enter nonetheless, and climbed three flights before abandoning my task on the fourth floor. There are squatters living there, as is evidenced by the smoldering paper in the waste baskets, a mattress on the floor scattered with porno, and a rotting pile of fecal matter in the toilet. Not being interested in meeting a bum right there and then, I decided to leave.

Not five seconds had passed since I left the building when I heard a siren whine. Getting closer. An ambulance. I watched as it approached. There was a man running ahead of it. Pointing and shouting. Pointing and shouting at the building I had just stepped out of.
The ambulance pulled to a stop right in front of me. Just behind it a fire truck pulled up. Men in suits and masks leap out, yank out a hose, and take off passed me toward the building. I turn and look back. Just behind the building are billows of dark smoke. Something apparently caught fire somewhere.

How embarrasing it would have been to be caught taking pictures in a burning abandonded building.

It wasn't my building that was on fire though. I think someone was burning a bunch of trash in their backyard actually.

My main task downtown, however, was not to watch firemen hose down heaps of smoldering trash, but to find a pair of nice shoes for work. So I continued my search. I entered every store with shoes that I saw. There are plenty of very nice shoes. And plenty of passable knockoffs. But very few perfectly decent shoes. I'm kicking myself for not bringing a pair. That pair that I returned to Journey's just before I left would be perfect.

It's getting dark. And I've pretty much exhausted my options. As usual, I'm not sure where I am and I'm not looking forward to the prospect of wandering around in search of the bus stop again. Out of nowhere a man appears at my side. He's wearing a suit and tie and is carrying a briefcase. Yet there is an easy, almost childlike air about him. I suspect he's either a Jehovah's Witness or a missionary. I've already been approached once by a JW. I was caught off guard at home and didn't even check the peephole. One of his eyelids didn't work. His right eye was yellow from over exposure and everytime he blinked, he winked at me. I couldn't focus enough to understand his broken English, so I just smiled and nodded and took the flyer with Jesus on it.

But the man in the suit. He introduced himself as Mr. Nam. Asked my name, made basic conversation. His English wasn't so good. But he knew enough for some basic Q and A. I quickly learned I was correct in my suspicion. He asked if I knew of the Holy Mother. I told him I did not. This sounds interesting, I thought. Perhaps he is a part of some strange cult. We spoke as we walked, I kept one eye open for a shoe store. He told me his church was having a festival. Movies, food, a sermon on the Holy Mother. I'm curious as a cat. Then, he asks if I would go now.

Right now?

Yes. Right now.

Where is the church?

Five minutes taxi.

Of course my rational mind is telling me of course you don't get into a cab with a stranger and go to his cult's festival. However, curiosity killed the cat.

Only in Korea, I think, would I ever get into a cab with a random man. I feel about as at risk here as a fish in a plastic fishbowl. Plus, I'm dying for some local interaction. I'm easy prey for proselytizers. Hell, I didn't care if he was Buddhist or Muslim or Christian or Scientologist.

We passed through glass doors with Church of God etched in them in English and Korean. The interior was designed in a large corporate style, gray marble floor and stone pillars under vaulted ceilings. If it was a cult, it was doing well. It wasn't as much of a festival as I had hoped. Actually, I just sat at a table and listened to a man talk about the Holy Mother and the importance of Passover for about an hour and a half. I wasn't bored however. It was acually a rather engrossing hour and a half. His lecture was firmly backed up by scripture verses. Much of it I has never considered. I was a bit taken aback.

After an hour and a half I met an American Air Force captain named Mike and his five year old son. He gave me a lift home and we continued to talk about the beliefs of the church. He gave me his number and told me to call him. He told me to come by the church on Saturday or give him a call and he'd pick me up. Said he'd show me around the base if I wanted. I thanked him for the lift and promised to call. Mr. Nam had ridden with us. He shoke my hand and told me he really hoped to meet me again soon. I said, yes so do I. I don't know if I meant it though. Just being polite.

It was an odd evening all told. I failed to find a decent pair of shoes, so I had to buy a cheap pair of knockoffs down the street. They hurt my feet.

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