August 9, 2006
I am telling Rob a story about a horrible salesperson at the bookstore, which as an aside what is wrong with these low level people thinking they own the store, when the following conversation occurred:
Me: I really don’t know why she was so awful. I did go and complain to the manager so great was her awfulness.
Rob: Was she young, old, or what?
Me: Uh, I don’t know. I am not good at judging ages.
Rob: Was she middle aged?
Me: No. I don’t think she was that old. Maybe she was my age.
Rob: Well then she was middle aged. YOU are middle aged you know.
Me: I am not middle aged.
Rob: Yes you are.
Me: I am not!
Rob: Then what is middle aged?
Me: I don’t know. Forty? Is forty middle aged? God, I am depressed now. Am I really middle aged?
Rob: Yes you are.
Me: How depressing. I feel like someone just pissed in my cheerios.
Me: Then you must be a senior citizen… a senior citizen who isn’t getting any, anytime soon.
Rob: So I was talking to [his best friend since childhood] about our upcoming trip and I told him to make sure he brought his glove. And he said that he was going to tell me the same thing.
Me: gloves? is it going to be that cold there?
Rob: not gloves, GLOVE.
Me, hearing the words yet not understanding: what?
Rob: baseball glove?
Me: And why would you want to bring your baseball glove on a trip with you?
Rob, as if it were completely obvious: So we can play catch? (I swear he followed this statement up with a duh?, but he insists he didn’t.)
Me: What are you,10?
Rob: Oh c’mon you are being unfair. What’s wrong with bringing a baseball glove?
Me: Not a thing. I know when I was sitting around in San Jose I frequently thought, “You know what would make this experience perfect…playing a game of catch right now.”
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