Go on...

I’ve been in the same line of work for the last nine or ten years, and it involves the thing that is purported to be peoples’ number one fear: public speaking. If you’re wondering if I see the humor in the fact that I am afraid of everything, but I do something that other people would rather punch their own grandma than do, the answer is yes. I see the humor. And I’m not scared of it at all. It’s not a forced death march, so how bad could it be if things don’t go as planned? I just tell a funny story and move on.

Anyway, I regularly get asked what attracted me to what I do. And I have the same response every time: “Well, I think people are really weird, and the weirder I find out people are, the better I feel about the world. And this job gives me the chance to find out a lot of weird stuff.”

And I’m not talking about, “I’m married to my cat,” kind of weird. I’m talking about fork-in-the-road kind of weirdness. You can choose between A and B, and you chose A. I like to know why. And what happened after that. And what happened after that. It is a fact that, if you tell me a story about your neighbor’s cousin, who struck up a friendship with a professional boxer over cantaloupe at Kroger, I will be on the edge of my seat, hands clutched together, listening to your every word. “GO ON…,” I will demand, trembling with excitement, despite the fact that your neighbor’s cousin lives in Tuscaloosa, I will never meet her, and this story happened twenty years ago. Because people are weird, and I love their stories.

One of the stories that fascinates me is just a little vignette from my local Kinko’s (which is now called Fed Ex. But I don’t want to confuse you, so Kinko’s it is). I was there on my lunch hour one day, picking up some posters for some high school event that my son was doing. This Kinko’s is in the middle of our downtown, so there is a combination of drug addicts who wandered in from the clinic a block over, business people trying to get stuff done on their lunch hour, people who seem to have thought Kinko’s was a taqueria, various homeless, and the people who worked there. I was concluding my transaction, when the most fascinating man walked in. He was dark, dark black, wearing bright white pants. And a bright white shirt. With a bright white jacket over that. And a white cane. Oh, and sunglasses with a bright white frame like Kanye. AND A WHITE TOP HAT. The short kind, not the Abraham Lincoln kind. The best part: the man behind the counter looked over at him, and in a way that made it clear that this happened every day, said, “Hi, Sno-Cone.”

I couldn’t move, I was so overwhelmed by the perfection of the moment, and the multitude of questions I had. I literally just sat there, looking at the counter, knowing that if I looked at either Sno-Cone or the cashier, I would have to yell, “Wait! We all need to stop and discuss some things!” and then I would have to ask the following questions: 1) WHY does the cashier know you by name? 2) Where did you get your cane? 3) What came first? The name Sno-Cone, or the outfit? 4) Why are you at Kinko’s? 5) Can we be friends? 6) Is this what happens at Kinko’s? 7) If so, can I work here? And on and on.

My point is that people are surprising, and awesome, and do the weirdest freaking shit, and just being around them changes your life if you’re paying attention. Every time I pass someone, whether he is wearing one spiked glove, she has an ugly skirt on, they are Mormons on a mission, he is morbidly obese, or she is holding hands with her spouse, I want to just stop and say, “Tell me about the choices you make. Tell me what it’s like to be you. Tell me everything. I want to know.” Because I know that the stories have got to be great.