Like a hick out of the movie “Deliverance,” a man in full scruff too short to for a beard and too long for a single day’s growth stood next to silver and grey Bronco. He was fumbling with his keys as we approached our car parked grill to grill with his Bronco. He tipped his trucker-styled camouflage and orange hat in a friendly way.
As my wife and I rounded our car, I returned his hat-tipping how-do-you-do with an equally friendly chin-up what’s-up. I unlocked my door. My wife unlocked hers.
“You accepted Jesus into your heats as savior, brother.”
I looked up. My mouth hung open. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my wife quickly hop into the car and shut the door.
Another gentile man, similar in appearance to first, minus the hat, his hair was unkempt and beginning to grey, stepped out of the driver’s side of the Bronco. He mimicked my chin-up what’s-up.
I said, “What the fuck,” and got into the car. Without looking up through the windshield, I backed out and exited the Mall of America’s parking ramp.