Let Me Ass a Question

I’d been having 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 had to get out of my truck, and so I (safely) abandoned it and hauled ass to the closest place to get a sandwich and a smoothie. 

A few bites and sips later, manager of the cafe dropped by my table to instruct me on the proper use of a glass catsup bottle. Just before he left me to my fries, he shyly inquired, “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 had a few questions of my own, but they were better left unasked.  

But the story didn’t end there. Because after lunch, I took a walk and stopped in a Starbuck’s for a coffee and a half-hour with my new sketchbook. The barista consulted me on something she could not comprehend at all, which was 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 had this headache. 


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