I've forgotten how formal they are here. I went to Wendy's the other day (hamburger, mmm. my vegetarian soul depairs of me), and you know how there's a long counter opposite the cashiers? Napkins and soda lids and plasticware and blobs of ketchup drying on the formica under big pumps? I leaned against that counter, waiting for my order, and I swear every person who walked in the door looked at me, looked at the cashiers 30 feet away, and asked, are you in line?
Personal bubbles the size of South Dakota. I'd forgotten that. One of my new coworkers told me, it's a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I was like, oh! Uh, cool. Are you making fun of me?? She laughed, awkwardly.
On the other hand, during a slow spell we ended up discussing walking in on patients having sex, and the secretary - excuse me, communicator - laughed so hard she had to put her hand over her mouth. Tear down the walls, I say.
[Slight break, McDonald's. Shush.]
Still have not located the camera. Worried. Cell phone does not work well out here, so can't upload photos. I actually had to get a landline! So archaic. If you want to leave me a filthy voicemail, anyone, my new # is 262-439-9528. I don't really answer that phone either.
Hey, I found a copy of No Strings Attached at Goodwill the other day! Listen to it in the car going places! What a great record. Hee. Space Cowboy - that JC. He's kind of weird, I think. Where do ya suppose he is, these days?