Tuesday, November 30, 2004

I think my relationship with my Express distributor has moved to a new level. I don't even read the Post's little morning 'zine, but the same fella is always by my metro stop handing them out each day. For the first few weeks that I was living at my apartment I would always greet him with a "Good morning" and "no thank you" when he tried to hand me a copy. Despite my never taking the paper he would always wish me a good day as I scooted past and into the depths of the Virginia Square station. Sometimes I thought he said something else, so low that I couldn't hear it, but I've never been sure. I just hoped that it wasn't vulgar or, worse, that it was something I should be replying to but I was unwittingly being rude by not answering. But this morning, as I passed him, after my "Good morning" I heard, low and clear, "Have a good day, BABY." Normally I would feel this was taking liberties and constituted grounds for an eye roll, but with him it's all good. BUT if we move into the realm of "sugar" or "boo" that's a whole other ball game.


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