A man of the cloth?

In my profile here I list Religion as the Industry I am part of. This is, I had thought, an exaggeration. But a funny thing that happened on the way to work today has given me pause. Is it possible to be a man of the cloth and not even know it? Was an Industry listing meant to be humorous really an unconscious leap into the truth? Have I entered the twilight zone?

It happened like this:

I'm waiting on the corner for the bus when a car stops and its horn beeps. I peer in and an Indian man sporting a long beard is motioning to me. He looks vaguely familiar as so many Indian men do. He continues to motion and I am unsure exactly what he wants so I open the car door.

"Come in," he says. "I give you a ride." He says this with an accent.

I am surprised because an Indian man with an accent has never before stopped and offered me a ride to the El. There have, of course, been numerous cab rides with similar sounding and looking men, but those were business transactions and while those men may have looked Indian, they were for the most part Paki. I digress.

"I always see you on the bus," he says. "I often thought that some day I would sit and talk with you."

I'm thinking, WTF? But in a friendly manner I say, "Well, thank you for the ride."

And then he asks, "Are you in the clergy?"

When I explain that he must have mistaken me for some other holy man, he says again, "Yes, I always see you on the bus. I thought I could talk to you, and now I am."

It's a short ride to the El, and a less lazy man would leave a few minutes earlier and walk. But that man is not me. I am the man who is mistaken for the clergy and the clergy are given rides.

When we get to the El I thank the Indian man for his trouble. He says it is no trouble at all. I nod. He nods. Then I call D to share this story. She says, "Weren't you scared?"

Scared? Of a Gandhi-like Samaritan? He and I are cut from the same cloth. There is nothing we fear.