Coming into work this morning, I am greeted by a fellow taxpayer arriving at the same time. Young, pretty, college-educated and always beaming, she seems out of place in the otherwise dreary establishment. Part of me thinks she can do better, but, as long as I have to be here, it's a private comfort to know that I'm not the only one living short of expectations.
"How's life?" she asks me.
"Not bad, 'cept I have to be here." Nothing witty. Just my standard response. "You?"
"Not bad, 'cept for those douchetools in the White House."
What an odd thing to say! Under different circumstances, I might nod in agreement and yell, "Right on!" But this is not the place, and I have given no indication that I am the person to whom to make such bold remarks.
Is she testing me? Trying to get my measure? No, most likely she had been waiting since waking to unleash the "douchetools in the White House" line, and I just happened to be the first person she ran into.
"What did they do this time?" I inquire.
"Nothing," she answers, smiling as she walks off.
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