One funny story for you all . . .
There is a woman who comes to the bank frequently (at least twice a week). She's about 70 years old and no taller than 4'9. To be honest she's sort of the epitome of walking misery. She moved down to Utah a couple of years ago from Washington and she absolutely hates Utah and everyone in it and she makes sure everyone she talks to knows it. I wish you could hear some of the conversations I have with her--each is epoch in its own right. I play a fun game with her where I try to get her to say something positive each time I see her. So far I've never been successful. Our conversations usually go like this: (use a really bitter voice when you read her part):
Eli: Hi Alice (name has been changed)! Isn't today the most beautiful day?
Alice: It will probably rain later.
Eli: Oh? Well I heard the forecast. No rain for the next week. Should be sunny and warm.
Alice: Well the weatherman was probably from Utah and therefore a complete idiot! And even if it doesn't rain I still have to live in this hellhole with a bunch of morons for the rest of my life.
Eli: Oh now Alice, it's not all bad. I know lots of great people that live in Utah.
Alice: Yeah right. They probably all moved here from somewhere else.
Eli: By the way I heard you live near your cute grandchildren now. That's so great. I bet you just love getting to see them more often.
Alice: They'll probably stop visiting me once they get busy with school. It's too hot in this building! Can't idiots from this state at least figure out how to make a building the right temperature.
So these conversations go on and on and usually I'll just bite my tongue. Sometimes I stand up for my home state a bit and say something like, "hey now, that's my home and family you're talking about." That's usually followed by some comment about how I don't know any better because I've probably never been outside of Utah so I've been immersed in ignorance all of my life (I'm ignored when I explain how much time I've spent outside of Utah and outside of the United States).
Then Christmas came and went and afterwards Alice came to the bank and said she had some pie she wanted to bring over because pie makes her sick but since there's nothing else to do in Utah and since she's SUCH a good cook she bakes constantly. I thought that was pretty nice of her to want to bring us some. She then told me in a very loud voice that she would only bring some if I made sure my boss didn't have any because she is completely outraged at him and has been so for months for a COMPLETELY unfounded and irrational reason that I won't bother detailing here today. I explained to her (for the 30th time) why her animosity toward him was baseless and even presented the proof that recently fell upon us that shows without a doubt that he is not guilty of what she is so convinced he is, but it was useless.
She called once before she came in, making sure I understood that he was not even allowed to smell the delicious pie. Then she brought it in and complained to me for an hour about every problem in her life. After she left I opened the pan that contained what I counted to be about 13 different kinds of pie, all smashed together. I could have sworn a few flies flew out of it when I opened the thing. It smelled worse than it looked. I of course had to take a picture and post it here.
Oh, and don't worry--I didn't let my boss have any.
It Just Gets Stranger~
One funny story for you all . . .
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