Jehovah’s Witnesses drive by in SUVs, creeping up and down my block all weekend. I hide behind the blinds, doing them a favor; I’m an apostate, dangerous to their faith. A single word from my mouth could poison their minds and jeopardize their chances of living forever in
the
new system.
It turns out they don’t care if anyone’s home—they ring anyway. I open the door to an adult and a teen asking me if I know who they are. Do they know who
I am? Can they see the mark of the beast on my forehead? The teen, who’s perhaps around the age I was when I stopped going door-to-door, seems removed, and might’ve already mentally checked out of their religion. The pair show me a video on a tablet about the end of the world, as if mine hadn’t already ended many times over. I suffer through it because I’m curious how the JW pitch has evolved over the years. Turns out, while the delivery is different, the message hasn’t changed much.