Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Well At Least He Wasn't 70

Many who know me well know that I am shy and I attract the greatest generation. My theory is that these gentleman know I will take care of them. I am pretty sure my pheromones smell like oatmeal and Ben-gay.

Last night I talked to a horse of a different color. As I was in line waiting to order sliced turkey at the supermarket, a man initiated conversation. You know, usual, do you live here (in the city not the store), what do you do, and are you analyzing me right now? I learned he was a truck driver whose route is Salt Lake City to Oakland. He hates it when other truck drivers curse on the CB radio and he refers to African Americans as "Negroes." This last piece shocked me and I didn't know what to say (besides the 1950's are calling and they want their word back). I also learned that he is married with 2 daughters, and he's trying to avoid putting his truck on a scale (why I was afraid to ask).

I was happy with myself for talking with him, until it felt like he was following me around the store. Then I just prayed I would get out before he killed me and left small pieces of my body along 1-5. Sure he was a freak. But he wasn't 70.

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