He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a monk. But he’d tried practically everything else. He’d been a waiter for a while but had gotten fired for dumping a bowl-full of chocolate fondue on a senator’s wife. After that incident, he had gone into hiding, becoming a closet poet and beatnik. And when he’d been booed off the stage during an open mike night, he figured that wasn’t his milieu either.

So he was sitting in front of the bishop who was giving him the evil eye. “Are you sure about this, son?” He asked in a rough gravelly voice that reminded the young man of the rock polisher he’d purchased a month or two ago. He’d been trying to start his own jewelry line at the time but when his first necklace turned his then-girlfriend, now-ex-girlfriend’s neck a disturbing shade of avocado green, he’d hidden the rock tumbler away. “I say, Ignatius, are you even listening?” The gruff bishop asked. Ignatius nodded his head fervently.

“Oh, yes, brother.” He said swiftly. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“See that it stays here next time.” The bishop sniffed. “As I was saying, if you are indeed serious about becoming one of the order of the Byzantine monks, here at the monastery, you must do three things. Firstly, you must take a vow of poverty.”

Already done, Ignatius mused, running his hand through his shaggy hair. It had been his poverty that had removed him from the company of his friends as he could no longer pay rent. Some friends, he thought bitterly. Catching the steely eyed glare from the bishop, Ignatius smiled winningly and folded his hands in his lap.

“I do say, Ignatius, you have the flightiest mind of anyone I have had the misfortune to meet.” The bishop replied in exasperation.

“I am sorry, brother.” Ignatius replied again. “Perhaps I would listen better if we were less formal. My friend’s call me Iggy.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for the bishop to take it. “I don’t go by Ignatius. My mother was a bit of a kooky gal in her younger years. I have sisters named Prudence and Zechariah.”

“But Zechariah’s a boy’s name.”

“Try telling my mother that.” Iggy said with a chuckle. “Believe me, we’ve all tried. Even our priest, the day my sister was baptized.”

“Ah…well…” The bishop cleared his throat. “That is of no real consequence Ig- Iggy.” He said shaking his head. “I was explaining the three vows you must take in order to join this monastery.”

“Yes, brother…” Iggy frowned as if something dreadful had just occurred to him. “I won’t have to take a vow of chastity will I?”

The bishop, blinked a few times, clearly taken aback by his question. “That is common practice when joining a monastery, yes.” He said slowly. He watched as Ignatius’ face folded up in a comical-looking grimace.

“Well that won’t do.” He muttered. “I’ve got a date with a particularly beautiful lounge singer tonight, brother.”

The bishop sighed heavily. “Then perhaps, my young friend, it would be best for you to think of another career path.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Iggy admitted. “I don’t know if the monastery’s the right choice for me. I do like women – a lot.” He grinned, seeming entirely too young and impulsive to the aging bishop. The older man sighed and sat heavily in his desk chair, another minute standing idly watching this impish young man and he believed he would fall over. Iggy bounced up from his seat almost the moment the other man sat down. “I heard there was a cab company that was hiring.” He thanked the bishop again before hurrying from the office. A bemused smile curled the corner of the old man’s mouth as he sat in the fading daylight.

“What were You thinking?” He mused aloud, spinning around and staring out the window. Iggy raced down the stair of the monastery out towards his small, fast-looking car. The monk made a steeple of his fingers and laughed softly as if someone had whispered an amusing secret in his ear, “A monk one minute, a taxi driver the next – Abba Father, your ways are strange.”