Every time I go to Starbucks, the cashier always asks, “How are you?”
And I was having a great day, so I wanted to tell her, “Peachy, thanks.”
But I was feeling sorry for all those fruits that never get picked to describe how a person feels. So, I replied with, “Persimmony, thanks.”
The look on her face—like someone had just jolted her with electrodes, but she didn’t want anyone to know—let me know that she either had no sense of humor or that she had just been secretly jolted with electrodes.
My money’s on the lack of humor.
“And what can I get you today?” she said.
I was tempted to just say, “A tall drip, decaf,” and let it go.
But on the other hand, I really wanted to know whether she genuinely had no sense of humor, or whether she might be willing to admit to the electrodes.
I knew it was likely going to be a fruitless effort—pun intended—but I decided to press it, since no one else was in line anyway.
“Are you telling me that no one has every said ‘Persimmony’ to you? What about ‘kumquatie, thanks’?”
She looked genuinely confused.
“Okay, what if I said, ‘Peachy, thanks.’ People say that sometimes, right?”
A hopeful smile of recognition crossed her face. I guess she’d heard that expression.
“So, don’t you think it’s unfair to the kumquats and persimmons that they never get picked to describe how someone’s feeling?” I asked.
Huh oh. There it is—the glassy stare again. And no subconscious jolt this time. So I guess it’s not electrodes after all.
Poor thing. Going through life without a sense of humor? I think, maybe, that is worse than the jolt of electrodes.
“A tall drip, decaf,” I said, as I made a silent prayer for her humorless soul.