Reverend Ref +

JIMMIE -- or -- LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY WEEKEND -- or -- I'M HERE TO SAVE THE WORLD, PART II

It was Friday afternoon when Mrs. Ref came upstairs and says, "Honeeeeeey, there's someone here who is looking for the priest . . . " If you don't know, that's code for, "I'm not dealing with this one."

I met Jimmie. It was apparent from the get-go that he wasn't the sharpest individual on the planet. He told me his hard luck story about how he used to be a lawyer, but now he isn't and he doesn't have anywhere to stay and is there a place he could stay and could I help him out. Okay, sure, that's why I have a discretionary fund.

The motel across the street was booked. Luckily the other motel had a room, and I got him in there, along with some extra money (paid to the motel) so he could have dinner and breakfast before we went to Bozeman on Saturday (see the 2nd half of the post entitled, "I'm here to save the world"). Seems like everything is under control. RIIIIIIIGHT.

1:30 Saturday morning Mrs. Ref wakes up to knocking on the front door. This is amazing for three reasons. 1) Nobody knocks on my door at 1:30. 2) Mrs. Ref NEVER NEVER NEVER wakes up at night for any reason -- including baby feedings, but that's another story. 3) I didn't hear it. She goes downstairs to find Jimmie knocking on the door, wanting to use the phone.

She comes back upstairs and says, "Honey, your friend is here and he wants to use the phone."

So I get up and go downstairs to find out what's going on.

"I need to use your phone to call a friend. The motel is trying to kick me out. They've turned up the heat so I can't sleep, and they want me out. They called the cops on me and they're taking me back to the mental hospital to get defaced at 7."

I let him make the call.

"I can't stay here . . . No . . . the hotel is trying to burn me out . . . the cops are coming . . . they're taking me back to get defaced . . . I don't want to be defaced . . . No, it's not freezing here . . . I never said it was freezing . . . the hotel turned up the heat to make me leave . . . He hung up." (Said conversation was actually much longer.)

I sent him back to the hotel. First thing in the morning, I called the Sheriff's office to determine if they were indeed planning on picking him up. I had a nice conversation with a very rational dispatcher. Turns out they know Jimmie. She had the deputy call me. I had a nice conversation with a very rational deputy. Turns out that Jimmie isn't bad enough to be committed, he knows where he's at, he can call his brother (who has been trying to get him to Salt Lake for help), but Jimmie doesn't want to go there. He wants to go to Wyoming.

I take Jimmie to Bozeman. At this point, I'd just like to point out that this post could be way way WAY longer than it is already. I'll spare you the minor details. We get to Bozeman and I buy him a toothbrush and sandwich. Then he tells me that he needs to leave from Dillon, not Bozeman. So I took him to the Greyhound bus station and bought him a ticket to Dillon (he already had a ticket to SLC).

At this point, he says, "Is there a church around here that might be able to help me out?" At this point, I'm about ready to blow a gasket.

"No, there isn't. You've got a ticket to Dillon and you've got a ticket to SLC. The bus leaves at 4, I expect you on it."

After that, I go to my meeting. I had a meeting, remember? I relay this story at the meeting. Thirty minutes later, the rector says, "Hey, your friend Jimmie just called asking for help."

"Tell him, 'No,' and that he needs to be on a bus at 4."

I went to bed at 8.

I'm hoping the real life scenario was more compassionate than this post sounds.