Knock, Knock...

"Who's There?"

"The Mormon."

"The Mormon who?"

"The Mor-money I make off of you, the better my chances of going to Florida with my class!"

(Insert rimshot here.)

A few of my friends have learned to put small signs on their door saying, "Please no religious or commercial solicitation." I should've learned that the moment I moved into Apartment 252 at midtown Tucson's Fox Bay in 2000.

Up to now, the only people who came knocking on my door were magazine salespeople, students looking to earn points and bucks for some leadership trip. One person came around selling a magic citrus cleaning solution. That's how I ended up with subscriptions to Spin magazine and a bottle of Tropic-Solve under my bathroom sink.

I wasn't ready for the LDS missionaries. They always work in pairs, always on foot or on bicycles, always in those white shirts and ties. They are out nearly year-round, proselytizing to anybody with a door. I wonder what their success ratio is, but I gather the hard numbers don't matter in the bigger picture.

So on a blistering summer day, they gave a friendly tap at my meager entrance. At that time, I was largely a Christian in name only, years before I got right with GOD and started reading the Bible nearly every day, but I had enough humanity to invite them in so they could at least cool down.

They gave me their sales pitch. They talked about John 3:16, the "football verse," as one of them (and many others) called it. They prayed with me. They gave me their book. They asked when they could come back. I gave them a date and a time when I didn't think I'd be home.

But as things turned out, I was. And I knew I didn't want a second visit. So when they knocked a second time, I pretended I was asleep on the couch. I don't know if they looked through the window next to the door and saw me playing possum. Either way, they didn't come back a third time. I still have their book. I never read it, but it's still in my bookcase, just in case somebody asks me some question about Mormonism and I need to do some homework.

If I get another visit from the LDS, I'll simply tell them, "Go in peace. We can debate your book versus what the Bible says. But I don't want to. You're not going to convince me, and I'm not going to convince you. Why waste each other's time? And for cryin' out loud, get your elders to let you wear shorts in Arizona!"

But don't go off before I give you a Cool Church card. I dare you to go. Dare ya!