Let Me Ass a Question
I've had a day full of traffic stress and other such inconveniences that low blood sugar transforms into Godzilla-level disasters, leading me to a mild panic attack. I have to get out of my truck, and so I (safely) abandon it and haul ass to the closest place to get a sandwich and a smoothie.
A few bites and sips later, the manager of the cafe drops by my table to instruct me on the proper use of a glass catsup bottle. Just before he leaves me to my fries, he shyly inquires, "If you don't mind, I was hoping you could help us with something we need to know."
"Sure," I say. After all, he did outwit the catsup for me. Besides, I was curious.
"Do you say 'd-OHN-key,' or 'd-AHN-key'?"
"Um," I reply. I now have a few questions of my own, but they are better left unasked.
But the story doesn't end there. Because after lunch, I take a walk and stop in a Starbuck's for a coffee and a half-hour with my new sketchbook. The barista consults me on something she cannot comprehend at all, which is the American obsession with pumpkin-flavoring every autumn.
And so, all it took to wipe away all the stress and tension of the previous ninety minutes was a brief discussion of the regional accents and seasonal flora of my home country. Seriously, I forgot why I have this headache.