Long ago, back in the mid 1970s, I was on a plane headed down to Florida when a schoolmarmish woman dressed in a long 1937-style flower print dress plopped down in the aisle seat next to me. I said to myself, "Well, what do we have here!" and, never being Mr. Social and minding my own business, opened up my latest paperback acquisition (science fiction, no doubt, since that's all I read back then). In those days, I had very long hair, well past my shoulders, and even a bit of a beard. My uniform of the time was jeans and an army shirt. We made a fine odd couple.
Then, I noticed that she had started reading some sort of bizarro-looking Christo-Funda-Mental tract. "Oh, great," again just speaking to myself, "I get the biggest wackjob on the plane." I could barely tolerate all of the old men in pink shirts, white belts, and lime green trousers as it was but I get her! I quickly checked to make sure she didn't have a belt of mini-pipe bombs strapped around her waist.
About ten minutes go by and we're in the clouds when she suddenly blurts out to me, "Have you heard the word of our lord and savior Jesus Christ?" My reaction was instant. I summoned my best exorcist voice (I do a really good one), looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I am Jesus Christ." It literally shook her. I then waved my hand at her in the sign of the cross and returned to my book. Not a peep out of her the rest of the way. She just stared straight ahead the whole time, only occasionally looking down at her religious Christonut mumbo jumbo. Little victories!