Scene: A suburban UPS store.
Me: Dropping off a return box of shoes from Zappos. (Do you not adore them?!)
Girl at counter: Bopping her head along to the radio.
Man across room: Tall, built, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. You would not want to meet him in a dark alley.
“Hi,” says the girl behind the counter.
“Hi,” I say, “I just have this return package.”
“Okay! Cool!” She’s very peppy. “Hey, do you know who this is on the radio?” she asks me and tall, built, leather man.
I do know who it is. It’s George Michael, and the song is Faith.
“It’s George Michael,” I tell her.
“Oh yeah, I was thinking Michael Bolton!”
“Oh, definitely not,” I say.
The hugely tall and now nearly frightening man in leather crosses the room toward me, bends a little closer to talk to me and says “Ma’am, not meaning anything by this, but you were really quick to answer that question.”
“I know,” I say, “it’s my curse. Bad, huh?”
“No,” he says, “bad would be if you walked out of here letting this girl think it was Michael Bolton.”
I love people.
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