I just remembered that at the County Fair, I spotted a guy wearing a Wawa shirt. So of course my next move was to clutch the sleeves of the DHFs and stage-whisper, “Look! Look! Look! Over there!” Then we all stared fixedly at the guy until he started to notice and inched away.
Off on a tangent already and I haven’t even started. Well.
Today I volunteered at my place where I volunteer which because I am paranoid I shall not name. (Even though it has ten names anyway.) I’ve told you about this, right? No? Jeez Louise. The summarized/edited version, then: Mom works there, got me to volunteer there on their volunteering day, and I was set to work in the Health Center (where people can come and get checked for free by these nurse/pharmacist/podiatrist people). I like coming, being busy, being out of the house, helping.
The nice nurse lady was there today, the nice, quiet lady. Then there was the lady of the infamous “Kenyan is not in Africa” shirt story. See, because there’s a college called Kenyan which one of her children goes to (as I was told thrice the first time I met her), but it’s not in Africa. Hence, she has a shirt that says, “Kenyan is Not in Africa”. (Personally I think a Wawa shirt is much cooler.)
Her: “Kenyan is not in Africa… Haha, get it? Because it’s Kenyan but it’s not in–”
Guy in line: (with an extremely concerned look on his face) “Ma’am, Kenya is in Africa.”
Her: “No, it’s a joke, because it’s Kenyan and it’s not in–”
Guy: “But Kenya is in Africa.”
When that happened, the person I was working with decided to use it as a segway to start talking in fifty different accents. Today, I had a different colleage, and she wasn’t very talkative.
Nor did she quite appreciate my comments in what tiny conversation we did have, about the weather…
Her: “What kind of weather do you like?”
Me: “Cold. Chilly and drizzling, bare trees. And winter. I like weather that’s atmospheric, you know?” (And I’m sure you, dear reader, can guess that by ‘atmospheric’ I was not referring to a meteorological term.)
Her: “Yes, that’s a good day for staying inside. Watching TV.”
Me: (thinking) “…’That is not what I meant at all; / That is not it, at all.'”
But it was a good day after all, though, because I got to use a huge walkie-talkie. Also, I got alphabetizing practice.
Which reminds me! I had another interview at the library (a different branch) yesterday! And I think it went really well! And I sorted a cart! And I got it perfectly correct! Also very quick!
Ahem. I did not use all those exclamation marks. I am very deadpan and dry-humored.
OK, not really, but I try to be. I want to be all cool and “Yeah, clever one-line comeback, sly smile”. Instead, it’s usually: “…then I fell into the closet door again! And my dad was like, ‘Please don’t continue to replicate these circumstances.'” (True story, by the way. Happened last night. And that reply came via text message that for once wasn’t accidentally in all-caps.)
I think people find it weird that I tell funny stories about my family rather than myself. Even non-funny stories. The majority of my anecdotes are about my family, and often I am either a side character or a mere observer. Is that weird, really? Or am I just imagining people think so?
PS: I have quoted so many things in this post that I believe I have reached my quote quotia. But this, used for the title, has been in my head all day:
‘…”My dear! I really must get a thinner pencil. I can’t manage this one a bit; it writes all manner of things I don’t intend–”
“What manner of things?” said the Queen, looking over the book (in which Alice had put, “The White Knight is sliding down the poker. He balances very badly“). “That’s not a memorandum of your feelings!”…’ ~Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass