Maybe it’s just me, but why do people feel the compulsion to tell complete strangers their life story? As I was trying to get to Seattle last week, some guy sitting near me in the gate area started telling me his life story and how proud of he was of his son-in-law (Does my father-in-law brag on me to complete strangers? I sure hope so–I mean what’s not to love and brag about?) and near-famous wife. Seriously, to hear him tell it, her family is single-handedly responsible for the prominence of Atlanta. Then the guy next to me on the plane told me stories galore and answered his phone–in all seriousness–”Dan, The Real Estate Man.”
When I got home from work last night, there was a Suburban obstructing 3/4 of our driveway. (At least half of the block was open to parking.) Disappointed in mankind, I looked for a note on the vehicle and found none. I looked to our neighbors’ houses for signs of a party and found none. The police came and placed a ticket on the vehicle. As Speed and I were leaving for his soccer game, someone came out of a neighboring home, looked at the ticket, and went back in side–leaving the vehicle where it was!
When Speed and I returned home, another car was parked nearly in the same spot except that it blocked only an 1/8 of the driveway. However, because of the tight street, it was practically impossible to actually get out of the driveway with the car parked there. And my secretary wonders why I don’t like meeting new people.
