I have come down with a case of the Costanza

If you were ever a hardcore fan of Seinfeld, you may remember the episode in which George Costanza suspects that people close to him are being brainwashed by a religious cult disguised as a carpet cleaning company.

So George "offers" himself up as bait to the cult. He hires them to clean his carpets at work. But the cult ignores George and instead converts his boss Mr. Wilhelm, who changes his name to Tanya. The harder George tries, the more the cult ignores him.

Not to suggest that any mainstream religion is a cult, but you'll get this analogy: The platform near my house where I catch the train to work a couple of days a week has lately been blanketed with Jehovah's Witnesses in the mornings. Not knocking them. They believe something. I believe something different. You believe something. They believe their something enough to get up early and try to share it with grumpy commuters. More power to 'em.

So when I arrive at the platform in the mornings, I notice the JWs approaching virtually every passenger on the platform and offering a Watchtower, a religious pamphlet, and asking if they can share a few words about their faith.

They never approach me.

I swear, they've set up shop at my platform for weeks now. And they won't even look at me.

At first it didn't bother me. I was grateful for being able to read my paper in peace, while waiting for my train. But then a couple of times they approached and chatted up the person sitting on the bench right next to me. And still, not even a glance in my direction!

I know I don't stink. I'm pretty damned fresh-smelling in the morning. And I know I'm pretty. I admit I do frown a lot, but more often than not I wear a neutral facial expression, a gentler version of the poker face, if I do say so myself.

This morning the elevator doors open and I'm about to step on so I can cross the tracks to a different platform. Two JWs step off the elevator. They're chatting and laughing. They look up and see me, and I swear they stop laughing for a split second. They give a brief, obliging smile, and then continue walking to the other side. Their chatting and chuckling resume. By the time I get to my side and sit down to wait for my train, they're walking up to a guy directly across from me, offering him reading material, laughing with him, and chatting him up.

What gives? Am I not worth reeling into Heaven to these people?

Here's the funny thing - I'm not looking to be proselytised or converted to anything. But the vain side of me hates not being wanted. Why won't they try to convert me, already? Yes, I would say I'm not interested, or I appreciate it, but I'm happy with my belief set. But at least try me. They don't know I'm unavailable! I know. I'm a sick man.

In case you never saw that episode of Seinfeld, in the end a frustrated George finally confronts the carpet-cleaning cultists and demands to know why they haven't tried to woo him.

Their answer? We're just not interested.

I'm afraid to ask.